Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [146]
Wren stepped onto the floor. It made a noise like a giant groaning in its sleep. He froze, then stomped his feet so hard I thought my pulse was going to spill out my mouth.
“Shouldn’t we be quieter?” I asked.
Wren’s voice came in my ear. “Walk exactly where I walk. Don’t deviate, don’t spread out.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Just because the floor is solid where I’m walking doesn’t mean it’s solid anywhere else.”
“Oh,” I said.
I went right behind Wren, so I got a closeup view of his little stomping dance. It was not comforting. Tucker came behind me, then Detective Reynolds bringing up the rear.
I’d given everybody a cross to put in the pockets of their suits. Why wasn’t everyone wearing one like I was? Because Tucker and Wren were carrying a pack of opaque body bags apiece. Plan was to put the vamps in the bags and take them back up. Inside an ambulance in the body bags they’d be safe until nightfall. If we pulled this off and the ceiling didn’t collapse before darkness, I was going to be pissed. As long as it didn’t fall while we were down here. That I could pass on.
I walked where Wren walked, religiously. Though I did have to say, “Even out of this suit my stride isn’t as big as yours. In the suit I’m damned near crippled. Can I take smaller steps?”
“Just as long as the steps are directly in line with mine, yes,” Wren said.
Relief. The floor was covered with debris. Nails were everywhere in the blackened boards. I understood the metal insoles now. I was grateful for them, but it didn’t make them any easier to walk in.
There was a line to one side going down a hole in the floor. It was a hard suction hose attached to a loud pump some distance away. They were draining the water out of the basement. If the place was watertight, it could be full to the ceiling. Comforting thought.
Fulton had called in a Haz-Mat tanker for the water. He seemed to be treating vampirism like a contagious disease. It was contagious but not in the way he seemed to think. But he was Incident Commander. I was learning that that title equated with God at a fire scene. You couldn’t argue with God. You could get mad at him, but it didn’t change anything.
I concentrated on moving my feet. Watching for debris. Stepping in Wren’s footsteps. I let the world slide away except for moving forward. I was aware of the sun beating down, sweat trickling down my spine, but it was all distant. There was nothing but moving forward, no thinking required. My breathing was normal when I bumped into Wren’s back.
I froze, afraid to move. Was something wrong?
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Stairs,” he said.
Oh, I thought. I was supposed to take the lead now. I wasn’t ready. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how good I could walk on stairs in the damn suit. I just hadn’t appreciated how hard it would be to walk in it.
“Stairs are the most dangerous part of a building like this,” Wren said. “If anything is going to collapse it’ll be the stairs.”
“Are you trying to make us feel better?” Reynolds asked.
“Just prepared,” he said. “I’ll test the first few steps. If it seems solid, I’ll move back and let Blake take it.” He wasn’t teasing anymore. He was all business, and we were suddenly on a last-name basis.
“Watch the body on the stairs,” he said. He moved onto the first step, stomping hard enough that I jumped.
The body on the stairs was black, charcoaled. The mouth gaped open in a soundless scream. You had to look close to see the fangs. Real vamp fangs just aren’t that big. Tendons were stretched naked looking like they’d snap if you touched them. The body looked fragile, as if one touch and it would be dust. I remembered Larry and the skull that had turned to powder at his touch. This body looked tougher than that, but not by much. Could it be alive? Was there some spark inside it that with nightfall it would move, live? I didn’t