Blood Rules (12 page)

With his technologically enhanced leg, he used his toe to nudge the naked, humanized body of the man he knew to be Sammy Ramos. A dead were-creature was a good were-creature, no matter how human they looked. Monsters had gotten Stamp's parents killed, no matter how indirect the process, and seeing one here with the life gone out of it went only a fraction of the way toward making Stamp feel better.

One down. Four weres, an Intel Dog, and a vampire to go.

Before he left, he took out a scent-catcher unit from his belt, turned it on, and ran it over the scraps of clothing that had fallen from the old fella when he'd turned into a scorpion-man. Once the smell was locked into memory, Stamp gave the machine a moment to process. Then, keeping his revolver skinned, he jogged on his spring-stepped FlyShoes down the tunnel, hoping Mags had seen a flash of the were-creatures leaving in such a hurry.

But if she hadn't, no big deal. He'd soon find out which direction they'd taken.

He emerged into the outdoors, where sunlight was still hours away. Even so, he knew it was going to be a great day.

Inspecting the upset dirt, he saw the sure trail of hoof tracks, the signs of a group that didn't have much time left until Stamp caught up. And, right next to the disturbed ground, the Monitor'bot rested, its wire innards busting out of its sleek dirt-hued stealth airplane casing.

Stamp glared down at it. The government had sent a 'bot. Good move. As if a Monitor could ever take the place of a Shredder . . .

A
whoo
-ing sound made him step back, just before a light beam flashed at him.

He raised his firearm, but the 'bot shut back down.

Stamp's heartbeat knocked in his temples. Had the Monitor caught an image of his face? Even now, was there a satellite focused down upon him?

Would the government think he'd destroyed the 'bot?

The roaring of an engine took over Stamp's attention—Mags was here with the van. He put the 'bot out of his mind, thinking that if it'd seen him, then the government could come after him. Or, at least, it could try.

Opening the door so he could talk to Mags, Stamp stayed outside the van, already working off his Shredder gear so he could put on his heat suit. “I didn't see Gabriel, nor that werewolf.”

“And the rest?”

“Gila-man? Dead. The remainder of them—the old guy, the dog, and two more—took off. You drive on ahead while I walk, Mags. Their tracks and the scent of the old man are going to lead me right to where they'll need to hide when the sun rises.”

“They're going to do everything they can to mask themselves once they come to their senses.”

“But I'm not going to be fooled.” Never again by these weres.

He stored his weapons in the back of the van, pulling out his heat suit, which would provide for easier travel in the Bloodlands. When he knew where the scrubs were hiding, he could always change back, but he wanted to be prepared for the sun when it came up. He didn't want the unforgiving heat to suck the energy out of him, because he'd need every bit of it when he found the scrubs.

As he peeled off the upper half of his Shredder outfit, he looked up at Mags. She was watching him, but when he caught her, she glanced away.

Oddly embarrassed, Stamp stepped to the side, where the van blocked him, and he continued undressing. When he'd slipped into his heat suit, with its sun-shield hemp material lined by coolant, he stowed his Shredder outfit in the vehicle, then stood by the door, ready to close it.

“You can drive ahead to find us a place for later, about five hours after sunrise. My suit will need to restore itself by then, anyway.”

“Understood.” She sounded detached, as if she were just as embarrassed at having been caught with the ogling.

Stamp shut the door, and she drove off slowly, the engine purring. The sound remained behind in Stamp, as if something were rumbling in his body that he had no former acquaintance with. It buzzed through him, settling in his belly.

As he walked, he thought about cold blood. Soon, he felt it chilling his veins, a method he'd been taught when he was too young to really understand how much it'd benefit him.

Then he pulled on his heat mask and followed the hoof-prints, a hunter on the loose.

A Shredder through and through.

G
abriel and I didn't set out to the necropolis until the next sunset. That was because we'd promised to provide the psychic with vittles, so we had to hunt far away from the outpost. After that, we slept in our host's tepee, burrowing under the ground and covering ourselves with sun-shield blankets until dusk came round.

When it did, the camp rustled to life, since everyone burrowed during the days. There were more carrion feeder fights and people wandering aimlessly in and out of their tents. I was already wearing my backpack as the campfire smoke rolled over my view of the moon.

Twenty-one more days until a full one. If I didn't turn my life round before then, I wasn't sure I ever would.

The little old man hobbled out of his tepee with his cane and tall-crowned hat, meeting me at the edge of his fire pit. Gabriel trailed him, keeping his distance from the flames.

The psychic shook my hand one last time. “Maybe I'll be seeing you in that necropolis if you stay there long enough.”

Gabriel rested his hand on top of his leather carryall. “Is that a prediction?”

“That's just a fact. I don't have too many more dusks in me. I hope you make the most of yours.”

This was his way of saying good-bye, so I bent to him, offering a hug. He patted my back, and when I let him go, he was blushing.

Cute, that blushing.

Gabriel obviously noticed it, too, and he grinned to himself as he shook the psychic's hand. The guy had never told us his name. I even wondered if, like the oldster, he'd abandoned it in the hubs. All oldsters were in the process of fading off, and maybe their names just went first.

As we walked away, the psychic stood near his fire, leaning on his pipe cane, then tipping his hat. A shadow seemed to stretch behind him, even in the night, and, for a second, it looked like death was inching up on him.

I waved back until we rounded the corner of a tent and couldn't see him. My chest felt a little hollow because I wished good things for the psychic, not shadows. But, as I well knew, life didn't always see fit to give us what we desired.

“Do you think he wanted to come with us to the necropolis?” I asked Gabriel.

“I think, when he feels it's time, he'll get there fine on his own. If I were him, I wouldn't want to arrive too soon.”

“You ever been to one?”

“No. Just heard about them.”

I'd heard, too. Necropolises were part graveyard, part a place where the half-living gathered. Never in my existence did I believe one would be on my itinerary.

We wandered onto the main street, where a glance into the eatery showed a bunch of vacated tables topped by rickety, stacked chairs. Probably no one had any currency to spend on food. This was a hunting and gathering camp for certain, and last night Gabriel and I had found sustenance together again, and damned if we weren't using some teamwork.

I wasn't sure if he realized it as much as I did.

We kept walking—we weren't about to use our preter speed this close to camp—and, about a half mile away from the outpost, the yelling started.

“Shade fight,” Gabriel said.

“If you want to go back to try your luck, feel free.”

He lifted an eyebrow at me, like he was trying to figure out if we could kid with each other or not. When he barely grinned, I got a glowy halo round my heart. Dorky, I know, but that was what it felt like.

“Not my sport of choice.” Then he just as quickly changed expression, leaving me wrinkling my own brow. “You have Sammy's comm on you?”

I'd hooked it on my belt, so I worked it off. It was a palmsized item, square and black. I rubbed my thumb against the “on” panel and a screen appeared. It was blank. I circled my thumb the opposite way over the panel to turn on the audio function, which Sammy would've tuned to one of his own little simple receptors.

I spoke into the comm. “Hello?”

Static answered, just as blank as the screen.

“No reception,” Gabriel said. “We'll just have to try later.”

We kept walking, not bothering to take cover as we had before. We were amongst more humans now, and we could be more lenient about being in the open if we moved like they did, without preter speed. At this point, we wouldn't stick out to surveillance like sore thumbs amongst other people who were wandering round.

Soon, the clamor of the outpost melded with the wind and desert silence. After that, the sounds seemed not to exist at all. And, believe you me, the silence got to be overwhelming. It put Gabriel and me back in our places, reminding us that there was nothing for us to talk about. Or maybe too much.

I had to break it. “Gabriel?”

“Yeah.”

I felt dumb for sounding as if I'd been checking if he was still there. “I'm curious about what the psychic said about vampires and weres. . . . What's
your
theory about how we're able to coexist?”

“Are you asking me if there was anything concrete about our pasts in that introductory vampire pamphlet I used to have? I barely know about my own capabilities from that little piece of crap. And it's not as if I go to a fang convention every year to share the latest discoveries in Vampireland.”

He was in a mood. Maybe he'd remembered that he was supposed to be mad at me.

“Just making conversation,” I said.

He made a low sound, like he was chiding himself, then reached into his bag to bring out a scrap of long cloth that he used when a smell was bothering him. He wrapped the hemp over the lower half of his face, and I wondered if he was trying to block
me
out.

“The necropolis,” he said, his words muffled. “It's getting stronger.”

“Ah.” That brightened things a bit. Not that I wanted him to smell foul things, but I was just glad it wasn't me.

And that was where the vampire versus were-creature topic ended. But it didn't keep me from thinking about the history between our kinds and how it'd been lost through the years. It'd be interesting if we could uncover something about it along with a cure in one of those asylums. Maybe I'd even get some peacemaking hints from past lessons.

Would this Taraline lead us to answers?

I walked faster, bypassing Gabriel. He kept pace behind me, our connection like a line that attached the two of us. A leash of sorts. I felt him watching me, and once, I even peeked behind me to find his gaze on my fanny.

He pretended he was considering my backpack instead, but I turned back round with a tiny smile on my face, my chest warmed, the sensation trickling down in a melt that wasn't as violent as usual.

It felt real good until I thought about having to change into were-form, just so we could gain some significant ground that would result in our arriving at the necropolis well before sunrise.

I didn't want to change. I liked walking like this, knowing Gabriel was right here, the sky over us clearer right now. But, like all nice things, this wasn't meant to last, and Gabriel accessed his vampire powers, blasting ahead of me to the nearest brush covering.

Halting, I undressed, shoved my clothes and holsters into my backpack, then kept hold of the bag as I brought the change on myself.

Soon, I caught up to him, even though I barely recalled it in my were-state. I only remember Gabriel grabbing me, pulling me to the ground, and saying, “Rumbler ahead!”

Stamp's men had used rumblers, with their small aircraft bodies and jagged wheels that ate the ground. The word forced me to change back to human form right quick.

By the time the giant vehicle rolled over a hill in the distance, I'd gotten my clothes back on. I rubbed my arms, helping my skin to stop pounding and the hurt to go away. The air felt cooler on my skin, too; it'd kept getting that way as we ventured farther out of the desert. It'd never be as cool as our cavern homestead, though.

The thought stayed with me. Homestead. And then that thought led to Chaplin.

I rubbed my skin harder to chase off the isolation.

The rumbler flashed its blue lights at us, requesting a palaver. The occupants must've caught us on radar at about the same time Gabriel had heard the contraption.

“We're not far off from the necropolis,” Gabriel said, tugging down the facecloth. “I'll take charge of the talking, if you don't mind.”

He'd done the same with the psychic, so it was fine by me. Gabriel had a strong grasp of Text, and my weakness in the dialect was suspicious, to say the least. I wasn't a businesswoman, didn't work for the government, and wasn't a hub shut-in—every one of them humans who generally still spoke Old American. The only category left for a poorer “person” like me was monster because, after humans had started hunting us in earnest, we'd gone into hiding, avoiding outside trends. Hence, some of us either had never learned Text or just never used it, unless trying to blend in with society. I'd been trying to absorb more of it, though. Gabriel had been teaching the others, and Hana had been tutoring me in return.

I could understand superficial conversations in Text, but anything more than that and I was a goner.

The rumbler tossed dirt at us as it jerked to a halt. As the engine whined down, a single man jumped out. Well, I think it was a man. He wore a veil that covered him from head to waist and long gloves that disappeared under his covering.