Tainted Blood: A Generation V Novel (28 page)

The impact was incredible, rattling through the car and sending my head smacking into my deployed air
bag, which puffed out with enough speed to prevent me from dashing my face against the windshield, since I had not been wearing my seat belt. The bear was completely draped over the crumpled remnants of the Fiesta’s front end, which bowed around its body as the bear blinked up at me, stunned. There was a long minute of complete silence as we stared at each other, and it crossed my mind that the bear looked rather freaked-out all of a sudden.

Then the bear started moving, extricating itself slowly and with clear pain from the crumpled metal surrounding it, and I realized that this wasn’t over yet. Then there was sudden movement behind me, and Suze shoved my gun duffel into the front seat. My hands started flying, and I pulled the zipper open so fast that it tore, but I kept ripping it, and then I yanked the Ithaca .37 sawed-off shotgun out and broke it across my lap while my other hand snatched out the box of shells. I was moving as fast as I’d ever moved before, popping the box open and spilling the shells out into my hand, but Suze had already stuck her own hand into the bag and hauled out my Colt .45, which I kept loaded in the bag. She’d always professed herself more of a knife fan than a gun person, but today she was clearly willing to make an exception, and she thumbed off the safety, popped open her door, and started firing.

The first shot went wild—she was doing too much, and she was still clearly physically shaken up from being tossed around in the crash. But that was more than enough for the bear, and it turned and started running for the woods. It was limping badly, its chest and face covered in blood, and Suze managed to land a few shots in its furry butt as it went. It flinched upon each impact, but kept going—bears had a thick layer of fat that made it difficult for most bullets to penetrate deeply. I had the Ithaca fully loaded, but when the bear hit the tree line and kept going, I just let the shotgun drop down onto my lap while the events of the last minutes caught up to me and I started hyperventilating. Suze collapsed into the
backseat, panting hard as well, and I noticed, in a horribly, horribly inappropriate moment, that she was still completely naked. I pulled my eyes forward with an effort.

“Holy fucking shit, Suze,” I gasped out. “What the fuck just happened?”

“That was an ambush,” she said, reaching over and dropping the empty Colt onto the bag. “The wind was in our faces when we came into the parking lot, so I couldn’t smell it. It waited until we were halfway to the car before it started coming toward us—that’s when I heard movement.”

“That was a
metsän kunigas
, right?” I asked.

“No doubt about it—a normal bear would’ve run after you sprayed it. Plus, all those normal bears should be hibernating right now!”

“Why did it wait for us to get close to the car? It let us get by it before it attacked us!” I glanced back at Suze, meeting her eyes, and felt my stomach sink. “It had a plan.”

“One that we disrupted by not getting eaten,” she said grimly.

“I am stating for the record that
I don’t like this
,” I gritted as I reached over, stuffed another clip into the Colt, and tucked it into my pants. Suze slid back into her fox form, and we cautiously got out of the car. I held the Ithaca carefully with both sweaty hands—even for a bear, this wasn’t a gun to mess around with. Next to me, Suze had her nose pressed to the gravel and was snuffling loudly. The damp fur along her back was standing completely on end, showing that at least she was as terrified right now as I was. I wanted nothing more than to get back in the Fiesta and find out if it could still drive. The ignition was somehow still running, albeit with several extremely concerning rattles, so the impact hadn’t completely demolished the engine.

Suze led us back to the spot where we’d exited the
woods, and when her ears pricked up, I knew that she’d caught the scent that she wanted. Then her ears swiveled around like alert little radar dishes, listening for any hint that the bear wasn’t completely gone, and she moved very slowly and cautiously, with me right behind, keeping my Ithaca raised and ready the whole time.

The scent led us to a small outcropping of rocks and fallen trees with a clear eyeline to the parking lot and the Fiesta, along with the broken path in and out, but that offered good cover for anything hiding. And waiting there was a small, red plastic bucket, the kind that little kids played with at the beach. There was even a price tag still hanging off the handle. We both stared. Then I reached over and grabbed it. There was something inside—a sealed gallon-size Ziploc bag, with some light blue fabric inside. I opened the bag carefully and withdrew a woman’s button-up shirt. I leaned down and let Suze shove her eager black nose into the folds of the shirt. She inhaled deeply, and her tail whipped suddenly in surprise.

Something moved near us, a flash of black, and we both jumped apart, me swinging the gun desperately and her baring her sharp teeth. A crow scolded us loudly from a tree, spreading its black wings and cawing. I shuddered with relief, but that was definitely enough of a reminder. Stuffing everything back into the bucket, I slung it over my arm, and we hightailed it back to the car.

Even in the long and lengthening shadows, the Fiesta was in
bad
shape. The front bumper hung down, barely still attached, while the hood was crumpled back. My left headlight was completely shattered, and the right one drooped drunkenly. The engine continued to groan dangerously, and I could smell burned oil in the air.

However, it didn’t even merit discussion, because this was the last place in the world that I was willing to wait for a tow truck. The Fiesta was still running, and I needed to try to limp it home. I reached forward and tapped on my hazard lights (in small mercies, the Fiesta’s back end
was still completely intact), tucked the deployed air bag as much out of the way as possible, then carefully let off the emergency brake, massaged the clutch, and eased onto the accelerator. The sounds that the engine made were horrible, but the car faithfully responded and rolled forward. “I’m sorry, old girl,” I said, patting the dash and feeling guilt ripple through me. “You’re a good car, and you don’t deserve this. You deserve a ride of honor on a flatbed truck straight to the nearest mechanic.”

In the passenger seat, Suze had returned to human form and was busily yanking clothing back on at near-warp speed. It was, after all, still the middle of November. “Stop anthropomorphizing your car, Fort,” she grumbled, struggling into her shirt.

“The Fiesta saved us from a bear attack today,” I said severely. “You will never bad-mouth this car again.”

“Fine.” She finally got the hem of her shirt pulled all the way down, and I glanced over. I couldn’t help but notice that she had not bothered to put on her underwear, which was still lying on the floor of the passenger seat. After noting that small, yet salient fact, I forced my brain back on target.

“What did you smell on that shirt, Suze?” I asked. “I know that way you flip your tail. It was something important.”

Leaning down, she started yanking on her socks as the Fiesta finally made it back to the main road, and I tentatively accelerated to fifteen miles per hour. “That was Dahlia’s shirt,” she grunted as she started putting her shoes back on. “And thanks to that plastic bag, all it was going to ever smell like was Dahlia. That bucket was new, too new to pick up any defining house smells or anything other than what was probably a CVS and the fifty people who likely handled it there.”

“Frame job,” I said, the pieces coming together. “Someone is setting Dahlia up to take the fall for killing the
karhu
.”

“We were meant to find that knife in Dahlia’s house,” Suze agreed. “Wasn’t Dahlia. Probably wasn’t even Ilona. Someone stuck that knife there for us to find.” She started wiggling into her sweater. “How much stronger is your sister’s nose than yours?”

“What?” I eased the Fiesta onto Route 147, creeping along and watching as other cars passed me, their drivers shooting incredulous looks at us.

“You smelled the blood on that knife when I couldn’t pick up anything except the diapers. It was put there for a vampire to find. Now, Chivalry is mourning his dead wife. Usually he’s the one who would investigate a murder in this territory. But he can’t right now—that leaves you or Prudence.”

I followed where she was going, slapping my forehead with one hand. “Someone killed Matias
now
for a reason. If Prudence was investigating, she would’ve found that knife and just killed Dahlia
and
Ilona on the assumption that one of them was the murderer!”

“Exactly. But Prudence didn’t get the job—you did. And you found the knife, but you didn’t point to a suspect.”

“Which must’ve completely frazzled the person doing this setup, since they must’ve assumed that we missed the knife. Until we went to the funeral today and told one of the
metsän kunigas
that we
had
found it.”

“That same guy who seemed awfully fixated on us checking out the woods today.”

“Gil,” I said grimly. I was really looking forward to shooting him. “I thought I saw a pair of balls on that bear.”

But Suze shook her head. “That wasn’t Gil that attacked us. I’ve gotten a few good, close whiffs whenever we talked to him, and that wasn’t him.”

“So we’ve got more than one—shit!”

The Fiesta’s horrible rattles had suddenly gotten much louder, and the heat sensor had just whipped right up to
the highest possible marking. It was hard to tell in the dark, with only one barely functioning headlight, but I realized that there was smoke billowing out of what was left of my hood.

I pulled the Fiesta hard into the breakdown lane and tumbled out of the car. The smoke was now dense and black, billowing out of the front as I scrambled out, ran to my trunk, and started hunting for my fire extinguisher. On the other side, Suze was also out, and she set to work immediately, grabbing stuff out of the car (starting first with the duffel bag that contained the Ithaca and the Colt) and tossing it into the grass, well away from the Fiesta. Everything in the trunk was still all tumbled around from the bear-ramming impact, and everything that wasn’t the extinguisher I threw out over my shoulder. Finally I laid my hand on that blessed red canister, and ran back to the front of the Fiesta. Flames were licking out from it now, and the heat was incredible. With my hood already pushed back from the crash, I just aimed the nozzle at the engine and deployed.

There was a tiny hiss, and about a teaspoon of foam emerged. I stood there, stunned, for a second. The extinguisher had been in the car when I bought it, and had probably been waiting twenty years for its heroic moment to arrive—and now had completely failed.

Suze grabbed my arm and yanked me backward as the fire spread, until we were standing on the dead grass beside the road, surrounded by the pile of all the stuff that she’d pulled out of the car. She had her phone against her ear and was discussing the situation with the fire department, but I knew that they weren’t going to get here in time, and there was nothing to do but watch as my faithful Ford Fiesta died in a pyre.

*   *   *

Hours later, after talking to the fire department, and the police department, and after watching the steaming remains of the Fiesta be hauled away to the dump, then
waiting for Dan to drive over and pick us up, I lay prone on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and mourning my car. The police had definitely taken notice of the crumpled front end. We’d explained by lying, claiming that we’d hit a deer near the state park area, and after the deer had run off into the woods, we’d tried to limp the car home.

My hair was still wet—it had taken two straight shampoos in the shower to get rid of the scent of burning metal, plastic, rubber, and oil. I’d thrown my clothing and Suze’s into the wash along with a double dose of detergent, and was hoping that it took care of the odor. I heard the pipes stop rattling—Suzume must’ve finally finished with her own shower.

There was a scuffing at the door, and I was sitting and aiming the Colt all in one motion. I waited, frozen, as the door opened to reveal Dan. He glanced at the gun I was currently pointing at him, and raised his eyebrows. I tucked it back onto the coffee table, where it sat next to the Ithaca. Both were fully loaded.

“I just checked on your laundry,” Dan said. “All done, and the worst of the funk is out. I tossed everything into the dryer, so Suze will at least have something to wear tomorrow when you guys head out.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Listen, some bears might come and try to murder us in the night, so you might want to go crash at Jaison’s.”

Dan looked remarkably calm about my statement, and simply crossed over to the fridge to take out the ice cream. He set it on the counter, then removed two bowls and commenced scooping. “Fort,” he said, “firstly, I knew that rooming with you was going to entail a certain level of being in the shit.”

“You did?”

He paused in the act of scooping ice cream, and gave me a very level stare. “Your last roommate got murdered, Fort. Exactly how dumb do you think I am?”

“Sorry,” I apologized meekly. “Continue.”

“Like I said, I knew this kind of thing might come up. At least you wash your dishes and clean the bathroom when it’s your week, so it’s not the end of the world. And as for Jaison, the guy lives with his grandma. That’s not a morning-after walk of shame that I want to experience.”

I winced, then nodded in understanding, and watched as my roommate re-covered the ice cream and put it away. “I’m sorry your car died,” Dan said, and handed me one of the bowls.

“It was a really good car.” Ice cream seemed small solace for losing my car, but it was certainly better than nothing. I ate a bite.

Dan paused, and seemed to be considering my statement.

“It was,” I defended. “It rammed a fully grown werebear in defense of our lives.”

“At least it died in battle, then,” Dan noted. “Gloriously, even. And then got a full Viking funeral.”

“There is that,” I acknowledged.