Adrift 3: Rising (Adrift Series) (24 page)

Through an airy lounge and into the botanical gardens, moving like a driverless train. No stops, no brakes. Nothing to do now but hit the throttle and hope it was enough.

Jerome ran.

Breath detonating in his lungs, pouring from his lips in ragged gasps.

Feet barely touching the floor; slipping and sliding on the broken and torn bodies, threatening to dump him on his ass and end his life at any moment.

He moved like a frightened rabbit, barely taking in his surroundings, only dimly aware that Watts and Baldwin were behind him. All thoughts of being a soldier, of being part of a team, were forgotten; washed away by terror. There was no
fighting
the creature that had done
that
to Eddie Baker.

No fighting, and no
team
. The two men running at his heel were as likely to shoot at Jerome as they were to stand alongside him.

This is what it feels like when your mind starts to disintegrate.

Jerome ran with a scream lurking in his lungs. He didn’t dare let it out.

The botanical gardens were an indoor feature: Japanese-themed and overly busy to the eye. There were densely packed flowers everywhere, their colours deep, oversaturated, lending the room the feel of a hallucinogenic nightmare even before the corpses scattered on the floor were taken into account.

Incongruously, at the centre of the long room, beneath a glass ceiling that allowed in the last of the daylight, there stood a single—resolutely
non
-Japanese—marble obelisk. A giant, twelve-foot-high solid needle, rising from the highly decorative floor like a spear.

Someone had been impaled on the top of it. Of
course
they had. The strange creatures who had attacked Las Vegas—and which had gleefully tormented Bravo Team all the way through the hotel—didn’t seem to ever pass up the opportunity to make dramatic visual statements. The thick stone column had almost split the body of a concierge into two entirely separate, sickening parts, dividing him right down the middle.

Jerome only had time to see that abomination for a split-second—and to wonder about the force it must have taken to drive a human being down onto a fat, blunt spike like that—before the gardens were gone, and he rocketed beneath an arch and out into the mall, tearing past boutique windows displaying dresses it would have taken him a lifetime to afford.

Behind him, someone opened fire, spraying bullets back into the gardens.

Jerome didn’t look back. Bravo Team weren’t brothers-in-arms anymore, they were terrified animals fleeing from a predator. Jerome felt certain that both Watts and Baldwin were thinking the same thing as him:
the slowest member of the panicked herd is the one that gets eaten
. Maybe Watts and Baldwin, too, were determined that it wouldn’t be them.

What was it?

A monster? A demon?

What the creature
was
didn’t seem to matter as much as what it had done to Eddie Baker. Merely the presence of the thing had caused Baker to blow his own head off, and in some murky recess of his mind, Jerome thought he understood why. The creatures that were devouring Las Vegas had surely crawled from the festering belly of Hell itself. Jerome was a God-fearing man, just as Baker had been, and he knew the work of Satan when he saw it. He’d seen evil plenty; he’d never seen malevolence like that which he had seen on the face of the grinning abomination in the revolving door.

Demons, then.

Whoever was shooting behind Jerome stopped, and started to scream instead.

The scream twisted around itself, tightening. Coiling up, like razor wire slowly being twisted around a baseball bat. It was a sound no human throat should have been capable of producing.

And there was another sound now, far more unsettling; far more terrible.

Clicking.

Thunderous
clicking.

The sound of clawed feet racing across polished marble.

It’s chasing me down
, Jerome thought, and he sprayed bullets over his shoulder in a blind panic, no longer caring that Watts or Baldwin might be right behind him.

He raced on, hearing nothing now but the frantic thudding of his heart, certain that his next step would be his last.

Movement ahead.

In the shadows.

Jerome didn’t look.

He veered to his left, charging into a door marked
staff only
, and then he was tumbling down into space, rolling down a narrow stairwell, his body ricocheting off bare stone walls.

Hitting the bottom.

Rolling forward without pause.

Running again.

He risked a glance over his shoulder.

There was nobody following now. Baldwin and Watts, if they were still alive, were out there on their own.

Deep in the darkest part of his mind, in the part he would never have allowed anybody to see, Jerome hoped that they were still alive, still running.

That the monsters were chasing them instead of him.

He slowed, gasping explosively for air that felt toxic in his lungs.

He was in a maintenance corridor. Here, all the glitz of the Bellagio was stripped away: the walls and floor were sparse, functional concrete, and the only light to be seen poured not from extravagant chandeliers, but from a couple of garish bare red bulbs mounted on the wall. The emergency lighting, down in the belly of the Bellagio, made the hallway look like a vein.

There were battered metal doors set into the wall at regular intervals, and up ahead, Jerome could see a couple more stairwells, each presumably leading up to a different area. This was how the Bellagio staff got around the building without getting in the way of paying customers: by shuttling around this blank maze.

Jerome shut his flashlight off, afraid that the beam would be seen, and padded forward, wincing at the soft shuffle of his boots.

Somewhere above him, someone screamed.

He thought it was Baldwin.

Jerome felt his bladder loosen a little at the sound, and his cheeks burned. He had left his team to die.

He held his breath, and eased open the nearest of the doors.

As he had expected, it was a supply closet, stuffed with cleaning products and toiletries for the hotel rooms. He saw rows of miniature soaps and shampoo bottles, larger containers filled with bleaches and detergents. The closet stank overpoweringly of lemon.

Above, Baldwin screamed again, but only for a moment. The scream ended abruptly, in a manner that could only mean one thing.

I’m next
, Jerome thought.

But had the demons in the casino seen which way he headed? Did they even know this network of veins ran beneath the body of the hotel? As far as Jerome could see, there were no bodies down here, no blood.

Maybe I got away
, he thought.

And his blood ran cold as he heard clicking on the stairs behind him.

There was no time to think. Jerome slipped into the supply closet and eased the door shut.

Ventilation slats set high in the door let the faint blood-red glow of the emergency lights filter into the closet, and Jerome crouched low, almost kissing the floor. He stared at the square of crimson light filtering through the slats, casting a pattern on the floor right in front of his face.

And he waited.

Click.

Click, click.

Beads of sweat popped on his brow, running down his nose, threatening to drop onto the closet floor. Would the demon outside hear him?

Would it
smell
him?

Click.

Click.

Click.

The clicking sound of the demon’s claws on the concrete got louder.

Click, click.

Louder.

He held his breath, until it felt like a shrapnel grenade had been deployed in his chest...

Click.

...and the red light spilling through the ventilation slats onto the closet floor was suddenly obscured by a shadow.

It’s right outside the door.

Is it looking in?

Can it see me right now?

Jerome didn’t dare to look up. Didn’t dare to move a muscle for fear that the creature would pick up the sound of tendons stretching and cartilage creaking. With every passing moment he feared that his uniform would brush against the supplies in the closet, knocking over a broom, alerting the demon to his presence.

He stayed frozen; trembling: his eyes fixed only on the floor, his mind pointed at the space where the faint pattern of red light had been; praying that he would live to see it again.

Click. Click. Click.

The demon began to move away slowly.

The shadow lifted.

The patch of red light returned. The demon was continuing on down the hallway, past Jerome’s hiding spot.

His nerves sizzled.

Somewhere on the floor above, an inhuman voice screeched. Jerome thought he heard something that sounded sickeningly like glee in the hideous cry.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick
—

At the distant shriek, the demon in the maintenance corridor charged away, the sound of its clawed feet receding fast as it raced up one of the nearby sets of steps which led toward the floor above.

And after what felt like a long time, Jerome finally allowed himself to breathe.

He shifted his weight, sitting heavily with his weapon facing the door, his finger curled around the trigger. He wasn’t going to go back outside, now, he decided. The supply closet would be his world, until the real world either righted itself or the fires of Hell scrubbed it clean.

He sat back, leaning on the brooms and mops, and wiped the sweat from his brow before touching the
transmit
button on his comms.

Sending out a message that nobody would hear.

“This is Master Sergeant Jerome Mills of the 190th Chemical Recon out of Draper, Utah. Coming to you live from a closet under the Bellagio hotel. I think I’m all that’s left. There are demons here, and I don’t think I’m getting out alive. Get away, if you can. Stay away. I repeat: there are demons in Las Vegas.”

Dan twisted away from the hand that was digging into his shoulder and started to turn.

Rage bubbled up inside him, spitting like hot oil, filling his mind.

Herb had been right. There was only one way to show the sarcastic old bastard who ran things at NORAD: the hard way.

He had no idea what he would do to the soldier who’d laid hands on him: no thought beyond unleashing the fury inside; getting it
out
before it burned through him like acid.

He didn’t get a chance to find out. Before he could turn fully to look at the soldier, another hand was on him, equally strong, but not digging into his flesh this time. Herb’s hand cupped Dan’s face gently, almost tenderly, falling over his eyes, blocking out the light.

Before Dan was fully upright, Herb was at his back, wrapping his arms around him and pinning him in a firm embrace.

Defusing me.

Like an active landmine.

“Easy, Dan.” Herb muttered the words in a tone a rider might use to soothe an unbroken horse. “Easy. Not like that.”

For a moment, Dan’s fury spiked and he struggled wildly. Yet it was his mind that was the weapon, not his frail body. His muscles were no match for Herb’s bulk. After a moment of coruscating rage, sense began to return. Dan’s shoulders dropped in defeat, the sudden rush of fury subsiding almost as quickly as it had arisen.

He nodded.

Herb held on for several more seconds, and then released him.

Dan blew out a long breath as Herb’s hand lifted away from his eyes, letting the light in once more.

What was I just about to do?

It was impossible to know. He had been operating on animal instinct, and though he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, it was unlikely that he had been about to put on a show to persuade General Armitage to believe in what he was saying. He didn’t have that level of control. He never had, and with each passing hour, the amount of control he had over his emotions didn’t get better—it got worse.

No, he hadn’t been about to
demonstrate his power
before Herb stepped in. He was going to spill blood.

A faint aftershock rippled through him.

What have I become?

Red eyes reflected in dark glass.

My eyes.

I’m the monster.

He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly afraid to point them at the men in the room with him.

No,
he thought.
I’m becoming a monster. I’m not a monster yet.

Somehow, that seemed worse. Perhaps because he knew that he couldn’t stop it; perhaps because some part of him suspected that he didn’t even want to.

“What in the hell was that?”

The general’s voice.

“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you,” Herb said.

“Try me.”

“He can do what the vampires do,” Herb said quietly. “Take a person’s mind. Make them...do things.”

“Huh, is that right?” Armitage sounded unconvinced. “Convenient that you stopped him then, I suppose? Just when he was about to show off this little magic trick of his?”

Dan’s eyes flicked up. He caught the general’s gaze and held it.

“Convenient for you, General,” he said. “I can’t control it. I was probably just about to have your soldier do something that we all might have regretted.”

The general waved a dismissive hand.

“Escort our guests back to the holding cell,” he said to the soldiers who stood behind Dan. “I’ll figure out what to do with them lat—”

The door burst open, cutting off the general’s words mid-sentence, and a young soldier charged breathlessly into the command facility, his expression apologetic.

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you asked me to tell you if we received word out of Las Vegas.”

The general’s heavy brow knitted.

“Las Vegas has been silent for the best part of an hour, son.”

“Not anymore, General. We still have men alive in there. A man.”

The soldier raced to one of the computers, jabbing at the keyboard, and moments later the room filled with the sound of a radio message, playing through heavy static.

...Master Sergeant Jerome Mills of the 190th Chemical Recon out of Draper, Utah….closet under the Bellagio...get away, if you can. Stay away…I repeat: there are demons in Las Vegas…

The soldier replayed the message, trying to clear up the words that had been lost in blasts of interference, but shook his head. “That’s the best I can do, sir. I’ll have a tech try to clean it up for you.”

The general waved the soldier’s words away.

“Demons,” he said softly, staring at Dan with interest.

“That word serves just as well as vampires,” Dan said with a shrug. “And I’m sure you don’t want to admit it, but I’m willing to bet you’ve heard the word
monster
at least once in the last few hours.”

General Armitage turned away, plucking a radio mike from the desk he perched on.

“Tell the raptors to circle around Vegas. No permission to fire yet. Repeat: no permission to fire. Stand by for further orders. Armitage, out.”

He dropped the mike back onto the desk and heaved a sigh, scratching at his chin and staring at Dan, Herb and Mancini thoughtfully.

“Raptors,” Mancini said. “Airstrikes have been sanctioned?”

Armitage glanced at Mancini.

“Why did you leave Force Recon, son?”

“I’m sure you already know why, General. Sure you’ve already seen the files.”

The general nodded.

“In
your
words,” he said.

“I left for the money,” Mancini said. There was no hint of remorse in his tone. No trace of shame. “Figured killing folks should command a better salary.”

“Yeah,” Armitage replied. “You ain’t the first. Which makes me wonder...why are you
here
? Ain’t got a heroic bone in your body, Mr Mancini, not from what I heard about you. A capable soldier, but you’re a mercenary, balls to bones. So what are you doing turning up on my doorstep with a tale about vampires? Where’s the money? What’s your angle?”

Mancini held the general’s gaze for a moment.

“Money’s no use if there’s nowhere left to spend it, General.”

Armitage snorted.

“You really believe all this hogwash about vampires. The end of the world is nigh?”

“I’ve seen them,” Mancini said with a shrug. “And I’ve seen what Bellamy can do. You don’t realise it, but Rennick probably just saved your life, General. Bellamy’s dangerous. To vampires, to himself. To everyone in the same room as him. He’s a weapon. If you want my advice, you should use him, before it’s too late.”

General Armitage switched his gaze back to Dan, peering at him intently for a long time.

“Is that right?” he said at last, his tone soft. “So, Dan Bellamy, tell me: if you’re a weapon, how exactly should I
use
you?”

“Get me to Las Vegas,” Dan said. “Get me face-to-face with a vampire. I’ll do the rest.”

Armitage shook his head and laughed ruefully.

“Didn’t you hear that message, son? Master Sergeant Mills said ‘stay away’.”

Dan grinned.

“I heard.”

Armitage stood.

“I can get you boys there in a C-160, but be aware that you will have a small window to do whatever the hell it is you think you can do before I turn that city to rubble. Go find Master Sergeant Mills, if he is still alive, and get him out if you can. If you can’t, well, it was...interesting, fellas.”

The general didn’t believe their story, Dan thought, but he was desperate enough to try their method anyway.

“You need to know how to fight them, General,” Dan said, standing. “If we die in there, remember one thing. Don’t look at them. Send in drones, send in blind men. Make sure your troops are flooded with light at all times. Light that can’t be easily switched off.”

The general waved a dismissive hand.

“You can record your...uh,
intel
en route, Mr Bellamy. I’ll take it all under advisement. For now, get moving. Once you get to Vegas, I’m giving you thirty minutes before I turn that shithole into a parking lot, understand?”

Dan nodded.

“We’ll need to land as close to the hotel your soldier mentioned as possible, then.”

“Land?” The general blinked, and then barked a genuine laugh. “Ain’t gonna be
landing
, son; not in my C-160.”

Dan stared at him, puzzled.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” the general said, waving at the soldiers by the door, who started to usher Dan, Herb and Mancini away from the command facility.

Afraid?
he thought, as he allowed himself to be marshalled through the door and out into the cold half-light of the giant cavern.
No, General, I’m not afraid. Not anymore.