Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [150]
I knelt by Wren, hand under his arm, the other full of shotgun. Over the ringing in my ears from the guns I heard Tucker say, “Something brushed my leg.”
“Out, now!” I tried to force them up the stairs with my voice. I dragged Wren to his feet and pushed him up the stairs. He didn’t need much urging. When he reached sunlight, he turned back, waiting for the rest of us.
Reynolds was almost with us. Two wet, dripping arms came up on either side of Tucker.
I yelled, “Tucker!”
The arms closed and she was suddenly airborne, backwards, under the water. It closed over her like a black fist. There’d never been anything to shoot at.
Her voice was crystalline over the radio, breathing so ragged it hurt to hear it. “Wren! Help me!”
I slid down the steps, falling into the water, letting the blackness close over me. My cross flared through the water like a beacon. I saw movement but wasn’t sure it was her.
I felt movement in the water seconds before arms grabbed me from behind. Teeth tore into the suit, hands ripping the helmet off like wet paper. It rolled me in the water, and I let it. I let its eager hands carry me around until I shoved the shotgun against its chin and fired. I watched its head vanish in a cloud of blood by the glow of my cross. I still had the breathing mask on, which was why I wasn’t drowning.
Tucker’s screams were continuous now. Her screaming was everywhere, in the radio, in the water, echoing and constant.
I stood up, the remnants of the suit sliding down my body. I lost some of the echoes of Tucker’s screams. The water was conducting the screams like an amplifier.
Reynolds and Wren were both in the water. A bad idea. He was struggling towards something, and I saw it. Tucker’s Haz-Mat suit was floating on the other side of the basement. He threw himself into the water trying to swim to her. Reynolds was trying to stay with him, gun in hand. Her cross was blindingly bright.
I yelled over the radio, “Everyone out! Out, dammit, out!” No one was listening.
Tucker’s screams stopped abruptly. Everyone else screamed more. Everyone but me. I went quiet. Screaming wouldn’t help. There were at least three vamps down here with us. Three revenants. We were going to die if we stayed down here.
The vampire exploded out of the water in front of me. The shotgun fired before I realized I’d done it. The vampire’s chest exploded, and it grabbed for me anyway. I had time to jack another shell in, but not to fire. At moments like this the world goes too fast and too slow. You can’t stop anything from happening, but you can see it all in excruciating detail. The vampire’s fingers dug into my shoulders, painfully tight, holding me still while he reared back to strike. I had a glimpse of fangs framed by a dark beard. My cross’s glow was almost frantically bright, highlighting the vampire’s face like a Halloween flashlight. I fired the shotgun straight up under the chin, no time to brace, just to pull the trigger. The head exploded in a red rain all over my face mask. I was blinded by blood and thicker things. The recoil of the shotgun sat me down in the water. I went under without knowing if the thing was still coming or if it was dead.
I struggled to the surface. The water had streaked the face mask clean of blood, but heavier things clung to it, so I was still blind. I jerked the mask off my face, losing the radio but gaining my vision.
The vampire was floating in front of me, not facedown, or faceup. Faceless. Goody.
When Reynolds’s gun fired, the shots sounded strange, and I realized I was deaf in the ear I’d fired the shotgun next to. The vampire’s body reacted to the bullets, staggering, but not stopping. She was hitting it full middle body like they teach you on the range.
I yelled, “Head shot.”
She raised the gun, and the gun clicked empty. I think she was going for extra ammo in a pocket when the thing jumped her and they both vanished