Bloodshot: Kingdom of Shadows (Kindle Worlds) Page 17

  Footsteps, padding softly.

  Speed and surprise.

  The soft susurrus of the Master’s respiration.

  The Master stopped and stood over Bloodshot. He would be ready for an attack, yes. But would he be ready for what Bloodshot had planned?

  Bloodshot made it look like his hands were folded, the way he thought a body in a casket would be positioned.

  He head the Master chuckle softly. “You have a sense of humor, Mr. Mortalli. Gallows humor, to be sure, but a sense of humor nonetheless. Now, will you acquiesce to my wishes, or will you persist in your futile resistance?”

  “I don’t like to give up,” Bloodshot said, taking care to make his voice sound strained.

  “That punch to the chest I gave you hurt you badly, did it not?” the Master asked.

  “Yes,” Bloodshot lied.

  “You will experience far worse if you do not allow me to drink.”

  Bloodshot swallowed. “Will you let Malcolm go?”

  Again came the soft laughter. “You are in no position to bargain.”

  “True. But the transfusion will go more smoothly if we’re not punching each other in the face.”

  The Master seemed to think it over. Then he said, “Very well. Raise your chin so I can find a good artery.”

  “If you go for the neck, I could still surprise you. My hands would be free.”

  The Master’s voice grew edgy. “Then what do you suggest?”

  “The forearms,” Bloodshot said. “The backs of my forearms have veins in them the size of fire hoses. I’ll keep my hands folded like this, and that way you’ll know I’m not going to fight you.”

  The Master knelt over him. Though the king vampire attempted to exude an unhurried demeanor, it was obvious to Bloodshot how eager he was.

  Speed and surprise, Bloodshot thought, readying himself.

  The Master bent lower, his mouth yawning wide. Slender fingers closed over what lay on Bloodshot’s belly.

  The Master froze, his voice tight. “Your arms are cold. Is that from the nanites?”

  “Yes,” Bloodshot lied.

  “Very well,” the Master said. The teeth punctured Frankie Canelli’s right forearm and began to suck. Though the Master tensed, his hunger was too great to allow him to stop. Which gave Bloodshot the opportunity to bring up the artificial daylight box from Gia Carboni’s pool room and position it a half-inch from the king vampire’s face.

  “Master?” Bloodshot said.

  “Don’t … interrupt …” the Master said through his powerful slurping.

  “Do you see this?”

  The Master’s mouth, dripping with Frankie Canelli’s blood, asked, “What is that?”

  “A box of happiness,” Bloodshot said and opened it.

  The reaction was even more violent than Bloodshot had anticipated. One instant the king vampire was peering at the opened but dark screen Bloodshot had positioned before his face; the next moment the light was blaring at the Master and he was shrieking in the loudest, most anguished voice Bloodshot had ever heard. The violence of the Master’s shuddering was so great it was as though the king vampire’s limbs had become the whirring blades of a fan. The Master had jerked away at the first glimpse of light, but not before Bloodshot had seen his white skin scorch in a black and red explosion of blisters and sizzling boils. The Master’s eyes had been seared by the light, the pale silver orbs becoming messy pools of pus and blackened tissue.

  The Master’s retreat had taken him seven or eight feet away, but knowing he would only get one shot at this, Bloodshot followed with the box and aimed it at whatever exposed flesh he could find. Screeching, the Master flopped away, but Bloodshot followed. He got the Master’s hands, the back of his neck. He reached down to rip the king vampire’s black shirt off, but somehow the Master anticipated this and lashed out at Bloodshot’s groping hand. The Master’s talons ripped away a swatch of skin as large as a man’s wallet, and Bloodshot recoiled, hissing in pain.

  He looked around desperately. He knew he should kill the Master now, when he was the most vulnerable, but there was nothing nearby with which to impale him. If he got close enough to tear off the Master’s clothing in order to roast his flesh with the light box, he would be inflicting pain but not ending the Master’s life. Furthermore, Bloodshot would very likely get torn up even worse if he persisted in trying to fry the Master’s flesh. Bloodshot regarded his bleeding forearm in mute frustration.

  There was only one way. He had to grab Malcolm and escape.

  Giving himself no time for second-guessing, Bloodshot hurried over, grabbed Malcolm’s boneless body, and slung it over his shoulder. Then, he made straight for the tube down which he assumed these bodies had been tossed. It appeared to be a steep incline, but it was likely the most direct route out of this black hell.

  He could hear the Master behind him, still wailing in agony. That was good. With any luck, the creature would stay that way for a long while. Maybe the Master would die from his wounds, or perhaps remain blinded. Bloodshot suspected that the Master would heal to a degree, but he also thought the king vampire stood a good chance of being permanently disfigured by the damage Bloodshot had inflicted. That wasn’t victory, but it would do for now.

  Especially if Jillian got out alive too.

  Bloodshot leapt into the tunnel, Malcolm’s body flopping on his shoulder. Sorry old friend, he thought. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow, but at least you’ll be alive.

  Focusing on taking short but steady strides, Bloodshot labored up the tunnel.

  Behind him, the wails of the Master gradually faded.

  “I can’t climb anymore,” Gia Carboni said.

  Jillian armed sweat out of her eyes, aimed the flashlight up the ladder until she illuminated Gia’s feet. The woman wore white sneakers, which were a heck of a lot better for climbing than bare feet were. Jillian had lost her high heels long ago, probably before she’d even been dragged out of the museum. Keeping her voice as diplomatic as possible, she said, “We’ve made it up how many flights now? Twenty?

  “Feels like a thousand.”

  “The point is,” Jillian said, struggling to quell her annoyance, “it can’t be much longer, right?”

  Gia didn’t respond, only remained leaning against the ladder, panting like a parched animal. Jillian pointed the flashlight down behind her and saw the floor eight feet away. Gia’s upper body was already above the next floor.

  “At least climb a few more rungs,” Jillian said. “Then we can rest.”

  Gia didn’t move for a long moment. Jillian was just considering smacking her in the Achilles tendon with the flashlight when Gia finally began moving slowly upward. When they’d both gained the next level they rested, Gia lying on her back and silently weeping, Jillian sitting cross-legged and listening for anything threatening in the darkness. There had been a terrifying period of maybe thirty minutes when, every time they paused to listen, they’d heard the chuff and growl of vampires. There was no doubt the creatures were after them. But after Jillian had discovered the ladder affixed to the wall of what appeared to be a dead end, their luck had seemed to shift dramatically. Since then they’d hardly heard a sound.

  With the flashlight turned off, Jillian couldn’t see Gia at all, but she could certainly hear her muted sobs. She said, “Rest for a second, then we’ll get moving.”

  “So thirsty,” Gia muttered. “I’m so thirsty.”

  You’re thirsty? Jillian wanted to scream. I haven’t had a drink of water since three o’clock this afternoon!

  But instead Jillian said, “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  Gia uttered a bitter laugh. “It’s not Louie I’m sad about, it’s Ed.”

  “Were you two …”

  “He wanted to marry me,” Gia said. Then, her voice hoarse, “I should have, too. I would’ve married him if I wasn’t so scared of what Louie would do. He might’ve seemed okay, but he had a really nasty side.”

  “I’m shocked.”
>
  “He would a killed Danky if he’d a found out.” Gia paused and swallowed thickly. Then, she wailed, “I guess Danky got killed anyways.”

  “Hey, keep your voice down. You’re gonna draw their attention. You’re—” She crawled hurriedly over and got an arm around Gia’s tremoring shoulders. “Shhh,” Jillian soothed at her ear. “Please stop crying. I know you’re hurting, but if they hear us we’re going to be hurting even—”

  Jillian broke off, hearing movement in the dark. It came from very near, and it was growing louder. Oh God, she thought. They’ve found us. She cursed herself for not procuring a weapon somehow. When Eddie Maza went crazy and started shooting, she should have grabbed one of Lou Carboni’s guns or maybe the one Ed Danks had carried.

  The sounds—footsteps and labored breathing—got louder. Gia had heard the noises too and now lay rigid as a length of pipe in Jillian’s arms. Jillian compressed her lips. If she was going to die, she wasn’t going to just sit here and let them take her. And it was too late to flee. They’d catch her and Gia in seconds if they tried to escape up the ladder now.

  No, Jillian thought, climbing out from under Gia and standing erect, she was going to scratch their filthy eyes out and show them she wasn’t scared of them. And if there was only one of them, who knew? Maybe Jillian could kill herself a vampire. Her fingers bunched into fists. The creature drew nearer. She could hear it, just a few feet in front of her. Jillian cocked her fist, swung.

  A huge hand caught her fist. Jillian swung with her left hand, pounded what felt like a concrete wall covered in fabric.

  “That’s a hell of a welcome,” a voice said.

  Jillian sucked in startled breath. “Lazarus?”

  Soft laughter. The hand released her fist.

  “Oh my God!” she said and fell against him. But there was something else she rammed into. She reached out, patted it.

  “Malcolm,” Lazarus explained. “He’s sleeping like a newborn.”

  “Is that really you, Mortalli?” Gia asked.

  “I told you that’s not my name anymore,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry. Just tired.

  Jillian wrapped her arms around his broad back. Her fingers didn’t quite touch. “I thought you were dead. I felt so awful for leaving you … after you came for me …”

  “You were smart,” he said, a big hand resting against the middle of her back. “I was worried you would stay behind, try to be a hero.”

  “I’m not a hero,” she said.

  “The hell you’re not,” Gia said, standing next to them now. “I woulda died back there if it wasn’t for you.”

  “She’s got a point,” Lazarus said. “But we still might all die if we don’t get aboveground.”

  “How much further is it?” Gia asked.

  “A few more levels,” Bloodshot replied. “Is that what you’ve been climbing?”

  Jillian blinked in the pitch-black tunnel. It astounded her that Lazarus could discern the ladder on the wall behind her. But according to her father, Lazarus’s senses were hyperacute. “We’ve been climbing for a while,” she said.

  “What about Danks?”

  “Eddie Maza killed him,” Gia said in a quiet voice.

  “And those other clowns?” Lazarus asked.

  “They’re dead,” Jillian said.

  Lazarus’s voice was tense. “Maza too?”

  “I don’t know,” Jillian said. “We ran from him after he killed Gia’s husband.”

  If Lazarus was surprised by that, he made no sign.

  “Come on,” he said. “Can you two climb?”

  “Yes,” Jillian said right away. But she held onto Lazarus, her face only coming up to the middle of his chest.

  When Gia didn’t answer, Lazarus asked her, “And what about you?”

  Gia’s voice quavered a little. “I guess so.”

  “You can do it,” Lazarus said. Then, to Jillian, “We better go.”

  “Okay,” she said. She’d started to turn away, but she paused in midstep, turned back to him. She reached up with both hands and placed them on his face. She pulled him down, rocked up on her toes, and kissed him on the mouth. He seemed uncertain at first, but then she opened her mouth and kissed him long and hard, and eventually he relaxed and kissed her back. They stayed that way for maybe fifteen seconds or so, though for Jillian it was much too brief.

  “We’ve gotta go,” he said into her face.

  She nodded. “Lead the way.”

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “You first. Gia comes second. I’ll go last in case they try to sneak up on us.”

  When Jillian had grabbed hold of the iron rungs and begun to climb again, she asked Lazarus, “What if they come from on top of us? What do I do if they go at me first?”

  She heard the smile in Lazarus’s voice. “Just hit them the way you hit me a little while ago. That’ll be enough to scare ’em away.”

  Smiling, Jillian began to climb.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  When Jillian first spied the dim glow on the iron rungs above her, she didn’t credit the accuracy of her vision. She’d been moving in the dark for so long she’d begun to doubt she’d ever see streetlights again. Sure, she could have switched on the flashlight to verify what she thought she spotted above—the terminus of the ladder—but a superstitious fear had been growing in her that the vampire horde would prevent her from escaping the tunnels at the last possible moment just to make her disappointment as acute as possible. Turning on the flashlight would only make it easier for them to attack.

  Keep climbing, Jillian, she told herself. Don’t get your hopes up. The light up there could just be your imagination. It could be a lot of things.

  But when Gia Carboni gasped in delighted surprise, Jillian realized it was no mirage. The light was growing stronger. And the ladder really did end directly above. Her chest swelling with barely suppressed joy, Jillian clambered up the last few rungs and scrambled onto the tunnel floor. She reached out, helped Gia up, and then made sure Lazarus and Malcolm made it too. In the past few minutes, Malcolm had begun to moan. A couple of times his utterances had been so loud Jillian had been afraid the vampires would be alerted to their presence. Now, as Lazarus laid him out on the ground, Malcolm mumbled something unintelligible.

  “He’ll be awake soon,” Lazarus said. “Bad luck for him. He’s going to be in a lot of pain.”

  “Are his injuries severe?” Jillian asked.

  “Nothing a couple weeks of bed rest won’t cure.”

  “Where did his pants go?”

  Lazarus chuckled. “Long story.”

  “Where’s the exit?” Gia asked in a scared voice. Jillian couldn’t blame her. The closer they’d drawn to the end of their climb, the more frightened of an attack Jillian had become. Wasn’t that always the way it was in movies? Just when you thought the characters were safe, the bad guys would come back for one more jolt?

  Lazarus walked a few paces, stopped. “Right up there,” he said.

  Jillian opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but he was suddenly leaping into the air, palms facing up, and then a faint orange circle appeared, the displaced manhole clattering on the asphalt above them. The opening was maybe ten feet above the floor.

  Without pause, Lazarus said to Gia Carboni, “You first.”

  “Gladly,” she said, hurrying over to where he stood. He bent, got hold of her waist, and hoisted. Her shoulders disappeared through the manhole, and Lazarus put a hand on her rear end to compel her the rest of the way through.

  “I notice you let her go first,” Jillian said.

  “That was in case the vampires were lurking up there.”

  She took in his deadpan expression. Then she began to giggle and put a hand to her mouth to stifle it. He smiled too, said, “Okay, up you go.”

  A little thrill went through her at the touch of his hands on her hips. Then she was rising rapidly through the air and emerging from the darkness. Though the alley was relatively dark
, compared to the lightless tunnels underground the illumination here seemed brilliant. Jillian put her face to the manhole and said, “What about Malcolm?”

  But Malcolm’s gelatinous form was already rising toward the hole. “Help me with him,” she muttered to Gia Carboni, who was standing there hugging herself as if the temperature were twenty below zero rather than a comfortable seventy-five degrees.

  Together, she and Gia were able to drag Malcolm through the hole. Lazarus came next, the huge man pushing through the hole and instantly scooping up Malcolm again with such briskness that it seemed as if Lazarus hadn’t just endured a harrowing ordeal.

  But he has been through a nightmarish situation, Jillian reflected. A real-life horror show. And now, seeing Lazarus’s hulking frame in the increasing glow of the streetlamps they approached, she realized just how much damage had been inflicted on him. There were rips and holes all over his trench coat, an incredible amount of congealing blood. To Jillian it appeared as though he’d been besieged by an army of feral dogs.

  Isn’t that just about the truth? a voice in her head asked.

  Yes, Jillian thought. She supposed it was the truth. There were slashes on Bloodshot’s hands, his neck. His face was abraded in a dozen places, and his left eye was swollen nearly shut. The insane part of it, she thought as they moved around the corner into the glow of a populated street, was that he would have looked worse had she seen him a half-hour earlier. The nanites had already healed him somewhat, clotted large rents in his flesh and regenerated the tissue there. He’d been smashed under a delivery truck earlier that day, yet now he walked as if he’d never been injured at all.

  “Where are we going?” Gia asked.

  Rather than answering, Lazarus walked right out into traffic and blocked the nearest lane. It was a two-way street, so the car heading at him had to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting him. Lazarus scarcely seemed to notice. The car—a taxi, Jillian saw with mild surprise—screeched to a halt a foot from his knees, its back end sluing around in a white haze of tire smoke. The taxi’s horn blatted.