Viper Moon (19 page)

All the little horrors had scrambled away in terror, so we were alone—for the moment. This sewer wasn’t the largest I’d been in, ten feet high and ten wide. To my right, it tunneled into darkness, black and thick as roofing tar. To my left, the faint glow of lichens marked a funnel deeper into the Barrows.

I managed to get to my feet without using my hands, but filth coated me from the boobs down. I went and crouched by Flynn. “You hurt?”

“No.” He choked on the word and retched again.

“You’re doing good,” I told him. “My first time down here I couldn’t talk for a couple of hours.”

Clinging to the wall, Flynn forced himself to his feet. With shallow breaths, I could see him fight for control. I wanted to wrap my arms around him.

But first we had to get out. “If one of you gentlemen could give me a boost, there’s a rope in my trunk.”

“We don’t have time for that.” Michael nodded to the sewer hole behind me.

At least four hulking predators stood at the edge of the pool of dim light, and there might’ve been more behind them. Not as big as the one who climbed out, but still dangerous.

I’m not sure what they were waiting on, unless they could sense the bronze rod in Michael’s hand. The monster that dumped us into this mess had ignored the bronze hatch. If they charged en masse, they’d overwhelm us in an instant. Why hadn’t they charged? All Michael had was a single piece of bronze. They almost seemed to be waiting on something, some signal to attack.

I glanced the other way. Nothing, and the faint lichen glow meant we wouldn’t be completely blind.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve done this before. They eat anything organic. I’ll take one of them down, and we leave while the others have dinner. They’ll follow, but it’ll buy us time.”

Michael nodded.

The predators staring at us walked upright on two legs and had arms that ended in clawed hands. A couple of them had porcupine quills down their backs like some I’d seen before, but the others were a new . . . breed? Species? And when did there get to be so many of them? A year ago, I could walk these tunnels for a mile or more and never encounter one.

They twisted and shuffled as they watched us with glowing eyes. I have an affinity for Earth Mother’s animals, even those that are not special like Nirah and Nefertiti. These strange creatures did not belong to her.

I aimed for an eye of the one that appeared the softest. “You guys head the other way. I’ll catch up with you. Shouldn’t be too far to a manhole or grate.” I pulled the trigger.

Good shot. The bronze hit the eye and sheared off the top of its head. Before it hit the floor, the others pounced on their meal. One more shot and another went down.

A storm sewer, like an enclosed building, isn’t a good place to shoot a high-powered gun. The blast slapped my already sensitive eardrums again. I didn’t want to hear the feeding frenzy anyway. Too many beasts and not enough food. If I’d had an extra magazine, I’d have killed more, but I had to save the precious bronze for whatever lay ahead. I hurried after Flynn and Michael.

The lichens’ faint glow showed only the silhouettes of the two men ahead of me. Michael led the way and Flynn staggered along. When I caught up with them, I could see that with each step, though, he grew stronger. He’d glance at me occasionally, but I couldn’t read him. I prayed the memory of what we shared last night would override the impromptu lesson I’d thrown at him like a grenade.

Flynn cleared his throat. “Doesn’t this terrify you?” His voice came out with the texture of a rasp.

“Yes, but . . .” I tried to find a way he would understand. “Aren’t you frightened when you bust some bad guys? When you go into a place where you know they’re going to be shooting back?”

“Yes, but I’m trained to put it aside. You—”

“Oh, I’ve been trained. By experience. By focusing on the job to be done. Knowing what happens to children in this place.”

Fear. It coursed through me as we spoke. Mostly fear for him. Michael and I knew how to take care of ourselves. Our odds? Fairly good, given that knowledge. Flynn didn’t belong. I didn’t like the thought.

Then he touched me. Just a brief hand on my shoulder. How idiotic. One touch and I felt desire rise. Not so much for sex as for the sheer pleasure of him at my side. Great Mother, what was I going to do?

The sewer grew lighter here, more glowing lichens and less monster shit covering the floor. Occasionally we’d pass a storm grate, where wonderful sunlight poured down, but all were too high to reach. Getting out required a manhole.

We moved along quickly, until we came to an intersection where four tunnels joined.

“Now what?” Michael spoke softly.

I went to the first corner, drew my knife, and scraped lichen from an area four feet up on the stone. Nothing. The same at the next corner. The third gave me what I was looking for, a series of numbers and letters.

“There’s a system,” I told them. I pointed down one tunnel. “If it’s open, there should be a manhole, about fifteen hundred yards.”

“You come down here often?” Flynn asked.

“Only when I have to.” There wasn’t enough light to see his expression.

“What if it’s blocked?” Michael asked.

“We come back and go another way.” I hoped it was open, because the other way led deeper into the Barrows toward the Zombie. I headed into the tunnel.

Fewer lichens grew here, and walking was treacherous where rushing water had loosened stones on the floor. Flynn went to his knees once and even graceful Michael staggered.

We trudged on, occasionally sloshing through a seemingly endless tube.

“How long have they been here?” Flynn asked. His voice sounded almost normal. “These . . . things. What are they?”

“They were there when I was a boy,” Michael spoke softly. “Only a few, though. There is no name for them. We always believed they came from the Bog. They came out on dark nights and fed. It was a terrible time to live in the Barrows.”

“I’m still having trouble with why all of this is ignored.” Flynn had moved closer to me. I wanted to hug him, shit and all.

“I asked my questions when I first came and Abby said—” I hesitated, expecting his reaction to the mention of Abby.

“What? Just say it. I’ll believe. Or at least I’ll accept it.” Resignation filled his voice.

“Abby says there’s a spell, cast by Mother, to keep people out. But it clouds people’s minds. The longer they stay here, the less susceptible they are, but they become more accepting. Like Joe Holey, at the strip bar. He knows what’s here, but he stays away and plays ignorant.”

Flynn said nothing, but I’d bet he had heavy thoughts on the matter, or had pushed all thoughts away rather than deal with them right now.

The tunnel grew brighter. It could be light from a hole like the one that dumped us here.

As we approached, we could see it was indeed a hole, one with sloped sides that led into a rough basement. The basement wall had collapsed into the sewer. The structural integrity of the building above concerned me, but not enough to pass up the chance to get out. From the looks of the debris, it hadn’t been open long. This, unfortunately, wasn’t unusual. One of my great fears was that I’d be running for my life and be trapped against a cave-in.

The light came from a single bulb hanging from a cord, welcome as a lighthouse warning ships away from the rocks. We’d actually come out of the Barrows and into one of the periphery buildings, one with electricity.

Boxes, cartons, and assorted scrap metal lay scattered across the room, much of it directly below a set of wooden stairs leading up to a door. Flynn grabbed a rag he found on the floor and cleaned his hands as much as possible. Then he wiped down his gun. Our clothes and shoes were a total loss.

We climbed the stairs and easily opened the door at the top.

I kept my gun drawn as Flynn opened the door. He had his in his hand, too.

Silence greeted us as we entered a large warehouse; then came a sound I’d heard before. The faint jingle of the metal chains Bastinados wore around their necks to show their particular affiliation. They weren’t close, but if we could hear them, they could hear us—or smell us.

We couldn’t see anything because of a mountain of wooden crates stacked between the sound and us. High windows near the roof gave dim, dirty light. The boxes had markings, some Oriental, others English letters and numbers, and none specifying the exact nature of the contents.

Flynn nodded and I followed him as we eased toward the sound. Michael came silently behind us. It didn’t take long to locate the source.

Two Bastinados sat in plastic chairs near a door in the building’s metal-clad side. Both had plugs stuck in their ears, plugs connected by wire to something in their pockets. One sat motionless, but the other rocked back and forth in his chair in time to a rhythm only he could hear. Both had their eyes closed.

I glanced at Flynn to tell him I’d take one and he could have the other, but Flynn wasn’t looking at me. His attention focused on the contents of a box with the lid pried off. Lying on blocks of foam were rows of automatic rifles. Flynn carefully lifted one. He gazed at it, then at the boxes around us.

So did I, but my eyes stopped at eight four-by-four shrink-wrapped pallets set along the wall. I carefully walked toward them and used my knife to slice the wrap open a foot or so. Inside were brick-sized cubes of what looked like individually wrapped gray modeling clay.

Flynn drew a sharp breath. Michael merely stared, his face grim.

It had to be C-4. I’m not an explosive expert, but I knew it was relatively stable, requiring a detonator or blasting cap to set it off. Flynn had said that the Bastinados on Exeter Street had plastic. The idiots must have tried to use it, or maybe they already had some made up, ready to go and set it off.

To my surprise, Flynn turned to Michael.

Michael had left his bronze rod behind. He stood, loose and relaxed, with his hands at his sides.

“Are these yours?” Flynn spoke softly, mouthing the words.

Michael shook his head. I believed him.

Flynn leaned close, whispered in my ear, “You take the one on the right. I’ll do the left. Probably shouldn’t do any shooting in here.”

My heart did a little flop.
You take the one on the right
. He’d acknowledged my skill as a fighter. Did this mean he wasn’t too ticked off at me for having him dumped into a hellhole sewer? Or was it the fact that we were now in a place, a situation that he moderately understood?

I agreed with the no-shooting rule. We had no idea if more men waited outside. Of course, it all went to hell the minute we started toward the Bastinados. Mine glanced up as we started our charge. He was on his feet by the time I reached him. I already had my fist balled up to punch him but came within danger of impalement. A ten-inch knife suddenly appeared in his hand.

I dropped back, but my feet didn’t get the message in time. I landed on my ass and slid into his legs. He came down on top of me. In a tangle of legs and arms, I focused on the most important thing. Where the hell was the knife?

I saw it in the corner of my eye as it arced toward me. I caught the Bastinado’s knife hand by the wrist. A look of surprise crossed his face when he realized my strength. I could hold the knife back, but he had a free hand. He locked the hand on my throat and dug his fingers in with enough force to crush my windpipe. Each finger gouged in and his fingernails cut into tender skin. I had a free hand, too. I jammed my forefinger into his eye. The eye popped and gooey stuff gushed over my hand.

He forgot the knife and my throat. He rolled off me, howling as he went. I hadn’t had time to get short of breath, but my throat hurt like I’d swallowed fire.

The Bastinado writhed across the floor, holding his hands over his face, wailing like a child. I staggered to my feet and drew my gun. If there were more outside, I’d need a weapon. The Bastinado’s strident cries abruptly stopped. I guess he fainted.

Flynn stood over the other Bastinado, who lay silent on the floor. Michael stood not far away, shaking his head.

“What?” My voice croaked like my POS on cold winter mornings.

“I could have distracted them for you,” Michael said. He sounded irritated. “But you and Flynn were in such a hurry, you left me behind.”

“Fuck you, Michael,” I said. Or at least tried to say. My voice came out as a whistle. A very painful whistle.

“What was that, Cassandra?” Michael smiled.

“She said, ‘Fuck you,’ ” Flynn volunteered. He picked his phone out of his vest pocket, where the leather had kept it shitless. He would have phone service since we’d come to the Barrows’ northern edge. “I’m calling this in. It can’t be legal. Bastinados, heavy weapons, explosives.” He glanced at Michael. “You’d better go. Might be a few questions asked that you don’t have answers for.”

Michael nodded. He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I whispered. “For saving him. If you hadn’t gone into that hole after him, those things would have taken him.”

“You’d hate me forever if he died,” he said softly. “I’d never have a chance to prove that I’m better for you.” He kissed me on the forehead.

“Go by my car and check on your money. It’s probably gone, though.”

“I brought no money. Only a briefcase.”

Michael went to the door and opened it. No point in looking outside. If there had been any more Bastinados outside, we would have known it by now.

“Michael,” Flynn said.

Michael turned back, his face once again calm and beautiful. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Flynn. Perhaps you should think of an explanation for how you both came to be in the sewers.” He nodded gracefully, then left us, carefully closing the door behind him.

Flynn sighed. “What
are
we going to say?”