Good & Dead #1 (19 page)

“Don’t move,” the guard’s face shook as he spoke.  Sweat rolled down the bridge of his nose.  Michael put his hands up in surrender, coughing on the stink of the man’s adrenaline.  “Don’t you move!” He glanced at the body in the bed, and turned a purply-gray color. 

Michael looked around desperately for a way out of the tiny room.  The guard’s body took up the entire doorway.  Michael bent slowly and shouldered his bag. 

“I said don’t move!” his voice was hysterical.

The radio at his hip beeped, and static crackled through the room.  “Do you have him?”

The guard jumped at the question, and let out a faint whimper.  He wiped sweat off his brow with his free hand.  Michael eyed the doorway and crouched, ready to run the moment he had an opening.

“Do you have him?” the question came again, more insistent.

The gun shook as he tried to detach the device from his belt without taking his eyes off of Michael.  His sweaty finger slipped off the trigger.  Michael ducked and shot forward, shoving the man’s outstretched arm to the side as he passed.  He lowered the scythe with his right hand, taking out the man’s legs as he swept past.  He heard the rattle of the curtain as he dove out the door and into the hall.  Then he was running. 

He shot into the hall and back into the room next door.  The nose-haired man sat bolt upright in the bed and shouted obscenities at him as he shoved everything out the window. He followed his things out before the guard had finished grunting himself off the floor.

Michael stumbled out onto the cold ground, and gathered the backpack in his hand as he staggered forward.  He snatched up the scythe and sprinted across the yard.  The moon was huge and yellow in the sky as he vaulted over the fence and started down the street.  He didn’t have to strain to hear his foe’s labored breathing at the window.

“Yes, I said he went out the back!”

The static and the beep replied, “There’s a car headed your way!  Get eyes on him!”

Michael didn’t even clear the alley before the world turned red and blue.  A patrol car shrieked into his path, the smell of hot rubber igniting his lungs with smoke.  He took off the other way, but a second squad car blocked him in.  Michael was dazed by an assault of noises and flashes of headlights.  The doors flew open, and uniformed officers leveled their weapons.  He was frozen in the middle of the street, his backpack over one shoulder and the scythe in one hand.  Michael heard the metallic click of hammers sliding back.  The rent-a-cop glared at him from the other side of the fence, a smirk waiting behind his loaded gun.

A gust of wind blew down the alley toward them, carrying a familiar scent along with it.  It was Jasmine.  Michael caught the faintest, shrill echo carry through the cold air. 

The nymphs are here
.

His body reacted to the idea with resolution.  He knew it, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Turn around!  Put your hands up!” Michael could hear the tiny clink of wedding band against metal as the gun shook in his hands.  A confident voice whispered, “You’ve got it, rookie.  Stay calm.”

Michael’s senses reached into the darkness all around him.  He took it all in in a moment.  A stray dog by the front sidewalk was scratching an itch.  Someone in the building across the street was brewing coffee.  And the nymphs were waiting in the shadows to the east, in the fire escape of the adjacent building.  He could sense them there, see the cluster of shadows and smell the same flowery scent that had enveloped the man in the alley. 

The cops would never even see them coming.  All Michael could think of was the red spray that went up the brick wall when they’d descended upon their cowering victim.  They would tear these cops apart in an instant. 

He remembered Bell’s words. 
You’re certainly their type
. Another eerie howl swept toward him.

They weren’t going to wait.

Michael didn’t even think first, his body screamed at him what to do.  He leapt the fence, landing behind the rent-a-cop.  The report of the guard’s hand gun was so loud it felt like a physical impact, but his bullet chipped the brick across the alley, and Michael was already running flat-out across the narrow lawn, turning the corner of the ugly building. 
Follow me
, he thought desperately. 

Obscene screams tore the night apart: guttural and terrified, and accompanied by many piercing, angry howls.

Michael’s sneakers skidded on the sidewalk.  “No!” He screamed, looking back, “Follow
me
!”

Two heavenly light-brown eyes appeared around the corner of the retirement home. She was dressed in black from head to toe, and wore a cunning smile.  Her eyes were alight with excitement.  “Hello Michael.”

Michael’s breath caught in his throat.  For a moment they stood under the silent moon, a cat and a mouse.  A very terrified mouse.  Michael bolted.  As fast as he could, he ran. 

His body responded to his desperation as though he’d done this a thousand times.  He sped forward, power in his stride, leaning into turns as they wove through the streets, his only thought escape.  He caught lightning glimpses of her shadow on the brick, joined now by many more.  He heard the startled exclamations of pedestrians as the wind of their passage left only the echo of that low hunting growl behind.

Fingertips brushed his shoulder.

He couldn’t outrun them.

Panic coursed through his veins more powerfully than adrenaline.  His bag caught on a lamppost, yanking his shoulder backwards.  A shockwave of pain raced up his arm and into his back.  The growl was all he could hear now.

He searched for safety in vain.  He realized he was in a part of the city he didn’t recognize.  Shorter buildings surrounded them; metal buildings paired with the hulking forms of construction equipment.  His muscles began to burn.  He stumbled, hitting the sidewalk hard with both knees.  Inertia flipped him several times across the icy pavement.  Blood burst from his nose, turning his vision red as he tumbled.  Somehow he ended up on his feet, and cried out with the effort of moving forward.

“Michael!”

He ignored the voice and fought his way through the pain that seared in his knees.  He was only dimly aware that his jeans were stained with blood.

The sidewalk narrowed and the city quieted.  Lights got further apart.  Michael was assaulted with the sticky, rotten smell of the river.  He was running toward a watery dead-end, and he couldn’t swim.

How do I slow down
? He though in a panic.  He glanced behind and saw those honey-colored eyes staring back at him.

“Please,” his voice came out as a plea “No!  Please!”

The sidewalk ended abruptly.  In a moment his sneakers were buried up to the laces in gravel.  He flipped spectacularly, head, elbows, knees and back all getting a full-speed beating against the rocks.  The scythe slipped from his hand, flinging toward the river, and he slid face-down for thirty feet.  His feet came to rest just off on the end of a short dock.

He curled into a ball, trying to protect his head with his arms.  He held his breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the pain of their many fangs and claws tearing into his body.

Nothing happened. 

He peeked an eye open.

A pair of knee-high leather boots were a foot in front of him.  Bell was standing over him.  Joseph and Tanish flanked her.  He looked around.  A semi-circle of battle-ready vampires surrounded him.  Michael looked between Bell’s shapely calves and saw more than a dozen nymphs standing opposite them, unsettlingly beautiful, and barely even breathing hard. 

Behind him, he heard the distant sound of the scythe splashing into the middle of the river.

One nymph stood ahead of the rest.  She was the most exotic-looking person he’d ever seen.  Her skin was so black that he thought he might not have seen her in the darkness a week ago.  Her cool smile was framed by a mane of ebony hair.  Her eyes were an unnaturally rich cobalt blue, and they were leveled at Bell.

“You can’t have him, Callista,” Bell’s voice was taunting.

“My girl,” the woman named Callista said, glancing down at Michael and flashing the brightest and most terrifying half-smile he had ever seen, “You’re not playing fair.”

Bell’s muscles tensed.  “You want to go home, Callista.”

Callista didn’t move.  “I would love to, child.”  Her eyes narrowed to slits of cerulean. “But Bram has made that quite impossible.”

Bell smiled.  “Yes, and I’m
quite
proud of him.”

Callista took a deep breath and considered Bell for a long moment.  “I think you are underestimating me.”  She smiled at Michael where he lay on the dock, “I usually get what I want.”

“That’s not how my father tells it,” Bell said, her posture eager.  “How many of your daughters have you lost now?  I’d think you’d be rather used to losing.

“C’mon,” Bell taunted, “I love a good competition.”  Michael’s eyes grew wide as he watched Bell’s fingernails grow to glistening razor blades at her sides.

Tanish put a hand on Bell’s arm, but she shook it off.

Callista’s vibrant eyes flashed icy blue.  She glared across the space.  The nymphs behind her began to transform, their many jagged fangs just visible behind bewitching lips.  For a moment, Michael was sure she was about to launch at Bell.  But she gestured to the others, and their claws retracted.  Callista shot Michael a final, devilishly friendly smile.  “We’ll get together soon.” 

Michael swallowed hard.

She turned on her heel, and then they were all gone; the only hint of their departure a metal shop sign swinging madly in the wind they created in their wake.

Bell let out a long breath and rounded on Michael.  They all turned to glare at him.  Their expressions made Michael feel like the worst, most pitiful slug to ever exist.

“Sorry,” he cringed.  He pushed himself up off his stomach and got slowly onto his knees.  He started to rise but Bell held out her hand.  “Stay there,” she commanded. 

The gravel dug into his knees, but he obeyed.  She hooked her hair behind her ears and laughed to herself.

“Joseph,” she said, the gravel crunching under her boot as she spun to face him.

“Yes?”

“What were you saying to me earlier about this young man?” she placed a soft hand on Michael’s shoulder.

Joseph looked him in the eye before he spoke.  “I said he was a loser, and we should just kill him before he causes us any real trouble.”

Her nails dug into his shoulder.  “Anything else?”

“I asked you what use he could possibly be to us.”

Bell bent and spoke into Michael’s ear.  “Joseph is a bit of a dullard, Michael, but I think he has a pretty good point for once.”  She straightened and began to pace. As she walked past him, her nails began to lengthen again.  She stopped in front of him, her left hand now armed with five lethal blades.  “Do you know the only surefire way to kill a vampire, Michael?”

“No, ma’am.”

Bell smirked at him.

“Sorry,” he corrected.  “No.”

“Beheading,” she said with a smile, tapping her nails against the buckles of her brown boots.

Joseph smiled sickeningly behind her back.

“Do we look like a social club to you?  A bunch of babysitters?”

Michael glanced up at the livid crowd that had saved his life mere minutes before.  They stood with arms crossed or hands on hips, their faces reading disgust or hatred.  Jessica looked at him as though he was human garbage.  Tanish had one eyebrow raised above a mirthless stare.

He shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead.  He stared hard at the rocks under his knees.

“I guess you forgot what I told you during our little dinner.  This is a family.  We have each others’ backs.  We’ve proven that tonight.”  She laid the sabre-length nail of her index finger on his shoulder, “Now you’ll have to prove you have ours.  I will not put my people in danger for you a second time.”

“I have let you play this adorable game long enough.  Enough.  Enough theater attendance.  Enough dice-rolling.  Enough sweater chasing.  I’ll give you twenty-four hours to walk away from it.”  The blade retracted slowly, and she stepped back.  “Or I’ll take Joseph’s advice.”

With a gesture to the group, they vanished as quickly as the nymphs.

Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  He was alone on the little wooden dock, surrounded by the shadows of the bulldozers, the stink of the river, and the unceasing sounds of the city.  Car doors, radios, buzzing streetlamps, and the constant wail of police sirens wafted toward him from across the river. 

Those cops are dead because of me
. 

All the lies he’d been telling himself caught up to him in that moment.  The distractions and mitigating factors he’d built as a shield to protect himself from the truth failed. 
I’m a murderer.
  Michael heard his own cries echoing off the deserted buildings around him, but he couldn’t stop the noise any more than he could stop the horrible riptide of guilt that clawed at him from the inside out.