Jason turned his attention to Amber, only to find a demanding look on her face. The young man just shrugged and pointed one finger toward his own ear, twirling it quickly. “He kinda gets, like, ‘Nam flashbacks an’ shit, right?” he huffed. “We don’t talk about it much.” The young man wavered under Amber’s disbelieving glare. “I try to respect his privacy, y’know?”
The vampires got the point before too long. Rachel laid waste to every challenger-usually several at a time, as they swiftly realized none of them could stand against her alone. Their natural vulnerability to fire was enough to deter most of them, but even those who thought they might avoid her sword soon found that her strength and dirty tactics provided formidable additional threats.
The werewolves were another matter entirely. As the vampires withdrew from the fight, the furry monsters redoubled their efforts. Their bloodlust only grew with every passing second. Rachel dodged one by leaping up to stand atop its shoulders, flipping forward to slash her sword up along its spine before coming to ground, and then felt one of the werewolves catch her wing in its claws and tug roughly.
Typically, Rachel had to be immaterial or not; she couldn’t have it both ways, couldn’t interact with the physical world and let it pass through her at the same time. The wings of the angels and their demon counterparts were usually the exception to that rule, but as she was lifted off her feet, flung sideways and slammed into a wall, she learned that the werewolves apparently had enough of the touch of Hell in them to allow for such contact.
They could also hurt her. Rachel had gone toe-to-toe with demons of considerably greater strength and come away victorious, but she’d never faced fifteen such foes. As she bounced off the wall and hit the floor face first, Rachel understood why the werewolves hadn’t been hunted down and eradicated long ago. Not only were they difficult to find, but it turned out that werewolves-at least in groups-could put up a real fight.
As she picked herself up off the floor, she found the werewolves closing in for another coordinated attack. They didn’t communicate as far as she could tell, and probably didn’t have to. Predatory instinct made up for that.
Still, these were not just predators. They were people, too, or at least they had been once upon a time. Rachel scanned the group until she found the large brown one with the bald spot. That one seemed to be the leader.
Rachel pointed to her and warned the others, “She’s gonna cost you assholes everything.” She kept her sword at the ready, still up for the fight despite being battered and bruised. Her confidence never wavered. “You know that, right? Shit creek without a paddle for any of you, and she’s still not gonna get what she wants for it.”
The lead werewolf growled. Rachel glanced back to confirm that Alex, Jason and Amber were long gone. Her eyes turned back on Diana. “You can’t have him.” She smirked a bit as Diana took an angry step forward. “It’s not ‘cause you’re furry. It’s not even because you aren’t human. It’s ‘cause you’re such a psycho cunt.”
Diana reared back and howled. Several of the others did, too, which Rachel took for a final group psych-up before charging-but then one of the werewolves to her left rushed in just as the howl began. She was ready for it, sword up and level to impale the monster as it closed. With that, Rachel decided to play her trump card.
Guardian angels had the strength to defend their charges. Those who held Dominion carried the power to defend their cities. Without that strength, Rachel might not have survived this long into the fight. Without mortal witnesses, she could draw upon all might the Hosts had invested in her.
The werewolf on her sword all but exploded as flames burst from his body. The pommel of Rachel’s weapon sent beams of light out in every direction. Clouds of fire followed, growing slowly at first but quickly wafting through the tunnel. Most of her opponents wisely fled. Those who did not died where they stood, engulfed in divine flame and wrath.
Further down the hallway, a lone figure in ash-stained white jeans and a black leather jacket stirred. The first thing she felt was a deep, almost painful thirst. She felt an all-encompassing coldness in her body, from fingers to toes, and if it wasn’t uncomfortable it was still disconcerting. She felt thirsty.
The thirst had to be obeyed. The thirst, beyond all things. She knew that. She needed to drink.
Rosario’s dead eyes fluttered open for the first time. She needed to drink. She looked around for something-someone, she knew instinctively-to feed upon. She needed to drink.
Then she saw the great, expanding ball of fire not far down the tunnel, and she came to understand another deep, overriding need as she scrambled to her feet and threw herself over the rails to the floor below.
Chapter Eight: The After-Party
They never saw him coming.
The escalators leading to and from the street above were separated by a wide staircase between them. The entrance was mostly enclosed by the front façade of a department store. The overhang of the department store’s second floor and the partial enclosure of its walls provided partial shelter. Two men in police uniforms guarded the top of the stairs.
He hugged the corner at the base of the stairs and held up an open palm to signal his companions to wait. Luckily, the enemy hadn’t seen him peek around the corner. Now he had to watch their shadows against the wall of the stairway and wait for an opening.
Shooting these guys with his AK didn’t seem like a viable option. That would give away their position to anyone else patrolling the street. He’d have to take them both out quietly. For all he knew, a dozen more such enemies lingered just out of sight upstairs, but he’d have to take the chance.
His slippers made too much noise, he figured, so he left them behind and waited for his chance on the cold concrete. The sentries looked outward, suggesting they served to deter anyone on the outside from coming in rather than staying in place to keep anyone inside.
One moved out of sight. The other one followed.
Alex leapt up the stairs, clearing three or four at a time in his rush. He was in it now, nothing for it but to push through and hope Charlie didn’t waste him.
The first of the men in the police uniforms appeared again just as Alex reached the top of the stairs. He caught a brutal buttstroke from the young man’s rifle across his head. Moving as he’d been trained, Alex followed up by thrusting the butt of his rifle forward again on his victim’s face, knocking him to the ground. Then he spun and crouched, assault rifle trained on the second enemy before the guard had his gun out.
“Hands up, cracker. Now!” Alex hissed. He saw compliance and said, “Step back into here. Slow. Closer.” He could hear Jason and Amber hurrying up the stairs after him. Emergency tape and no entry signs blocked the entrance to the bus tunnel. Alex gestured to the stairs. “Grab your buddy’s ankles and drag him in with you. Steady, motherfucker, don’t waste my time.”
“Ohmygod, we’re fighting cops?” Jason blinked.
“Listen, kid,” the second sentry began as he obeyed Alex’s instructions, “you don’t know-“
“Wait, shut up,” interrupted Jason. “Real cops would’ve gone in to check out all that noise from downstairs, right? Wouldn’t they?”
Amber frowned and nodded. “Yeah, they would,” she agreed, “but that doesn’t mean… oh, man.” Her mind raced. Monsters and angels and now assaulting men in uniform. It was way too easy to get on board this crazy train. She shook her head. “They might be fake uniforms or they might be the real thing on the take, but we can’t just… Alex?” she asked. “You okay?”
“Long as the honky don’t do nothin’ stupid, he lives through this,” Alex answered curtly. Once again, his diction and accent had changed. He kept his rifle trained on his prisoner.