His hand closed around the synthetic grip of the gun in the bag and he drew it out as he rose to his feet, exposing the AA-12. The Auto Assault–12 had a thirty-two-round drum magazine already attached, and the only regret he had about lugging the damned thing around all this time was the fact that he hadn’t loaded the drums with slugs.
Alas. Luckily, it’s not going to make one ounce of a difference at this range.
The full-automatic shotgun roared to life as it came up to his shoulder, and the night was filled with fire and rage.
Fifty-caliber BMG rounds were the size of small flashlights, they could blow through lightly armored vehicles with ease, and the report they made when fired was loud enough to figuratively wake the dead. That was one reason why a sniper like Hale always preferred to work with a spotter he could trust; otherwise it was so very easy to become lost in the narrow arc of your scope and forget about the world directly around you.
Hale was a pro, however, and he’d done the solo thing once or twice before. So when he heard — no, when he felt the movement of something behind and below him — he didn’t question it. He just acted.
Abandoning the Barrett for the moment, Nathan rolled off the peak of the roof just as a body slammed down on the spot where he’d been. He had to scramble at the roofing to keep his balance, sliding toward the edge until he managed to slow his descent enough to dig his feet in and look up.
“You’re one ugly bastard — you know that, right?” he asked the thing above him, the question as rhetorical as they came.
There was no response, of course, but that was fine. The creature turned to bare its teeth at him, gleaming white in the cold night air. This one had taken care of its chompers before its blood had been drawn from its body, turning it into the mockery he was looking at now.
Nathan reached over his shoulder, grasping the hilt of the sword that was never far from his reach, and pulled the blade free. It too gleamed, but it wasn’t the silver glint of steel — no, the weapon shone with an almost buttery glint that was nearly a match for the finest polished gold. The bronze blade was part of him and had been at his side ever since he’d crossed over the invisible line that divided the real world from the world in which the majority of humans lived.
With his blade in hand, Nathan didn’t bother with any more words. He bared his own teeth at the monster before him and, while mentally offering up a prayer for the departed soul of the person who had once lived in this husk, he charged up the roof even as it charged down.
He twisted to avoid the creature’s lunge, slashing his blade hard as he did. The bronze weapon was of an ancient design that put a little more weight in the tip than comparable modern swords. It bit into the dry, cold flesh of the monster with an ease that always surprised Nathan, slicing the vampire nearly in two as he and Nathan moved in separate directions across the roof.
Nathan glanced around as his foe hit the ground below with a resounding thud, wondering if he should push his luck and try for a few more shots.
No. I’ve already spent too much time here. Time to move.
Old lessons and hard lessons stick best, and Nathan quickly began to pack up his kit. He had to leave before anything else found its way to his hide.
The steady boom boom boom of the AA-12 was a beacon for every vampire for a little over half a mile around, but it also threw up a wall of steel around Masters’s position as he held the intersection against all newcomers. More than that, the sheer volume of death the weapon pumped out had created small mountains of bodies that his enemies literally needed to climb over in order to reach him, pushing the line back with every salvo.
Of course, he only had four loaded drums, and two of them were already gone.
When those went dry, it was all over save for the screaming.
His screaming.
Looks like I won’t get to kill that fucking sea beast after all.
Ever since that night he’d crossed the veil, that dismal night that still haunted his nightmares, he’d been planning, dreaming, fantasizing — all about how he’d gut the damned overgrown chunk of calamari that had taken out most of his team and an entire destroyer in just minutes. The only reason he’d come back was to get that chance, and now what? First mission out, and he was about to be eaten alive by a bunch of B-movie rejects.
The third drum clacked as the last round exploded from the barrel of the AA-12, causing him to hit the release reflexively and drop to the ground to pick up the fourth and final loaded drum.
There was a certain calming, Zen-like quality to this moment, he found to his utmost surprise. The roar of the automatic shotgun faded into the distance, like it was something happening in a dream, and the rest of the world sprang into vivid relief. He could hear the monsters’ joints crackling as they tried to climb over the veritable mountains of their own dead; he could see the ghostly fog in their eyes, which had no place in the living. For those few seconds it was like he’d surpassed anything he’d ever known, reached beyond his greatest previous pinnacle.…
And then it was gone.
The shotgun slapped open on an empty space, and he was out of ammo. Masters shrugged it off, dropping the AA-12 to the mud in front of him, and drew the kukri he’d stolen from his would-be assassin.
I hope the others got clear.
It really was shocking just how fast the things, the vampires, could move. Once the wall of steel fell, it was only seconds before the creatures in the lead had surmounted the bodies of their fallen comrades — some of which, Masters was chagrined to see, weren’t as dead as he’d hoped — and made it within striking distance.
He shifted to face the closest, and was cocking his arm to deliver a strike with the kukri when a roar from behind him shocked him from his combat trance. The closest of his foes was blown back with a large chunk of its skull missing.
He looked over his shoulder to see Rankin and Norton standing behind him, a smoking Beowulf in the master chief’s hands.
“I told you to get out of town,” Masters growled, dropping his arm and turning toward the duo.
Rankin shrugged, shot another of the attacking monsters, and looked at him with a bored expression. “Sorry, bro, we must have misunderstood.”
“Right.”
“Yes, yes, you’re both so very cool,” Alex muttered. “Could we consider moving along now? While you’ve managed to accumulate a terribly impressive body count, dozens I’d say, I’d just like to remind you that we’re in a town of thousands.”
Knowing that he was right, Masters knelt down to retrieve the AA-12 and the empty drums.
“It’s empty, isn’t it?” Alex asked over the boom of another shot from Rankin. “Why take it? It’ll slow you down.”
“Unlike the Beowulf”—Masters shrugged, nodding to the abandoned weapon behind him—“this is a twelve-gauge. I can find ammo for it. Let’s get out of here.”
Eddie started taking shots at the leaders, putting them down and slowing those behind, who were starting to fall back from the pile of corpses Masters had left in his aborted last stand. After a few more shots, they all turned and broke into a run while Eddie reloaded.
“If we hurry, we can catch up to the others,” Alex said.
“No,” Masters growled, “I’ll be damned if I lead this mob right to them. Anything could happen.”
“You mean like we might actually live?” Alex asked sourly. “Fine. I know a place.”
The other two looked at him, surprised.
“You know a place?” Eddie demanded. “In Barrow, Alaska? Are you freaking kidding me?”