It was only twenty yards away. I swung the Stratocaster across myself; its weight made my feet stumble.
Ten yards…
Suddenly human figures shot past me out of the darkness, meeting the creature head on. Bright metal weapons flashed, and the monster’s screech echoed down the tunnel. Someone knocked me to one side and pinned me against the wall, holding me there as the beast streamed past. Cylinders of flesh sprouted from its length, grasping the steel columns around us, ending in sharp-toothed mouths that gnashed wetly. Human screams and flying gravel and the shriek of rats filled the air around us.
And then it was gone, sucking the air behind it like a passing subway train.
The woman who’d shoved me against the wall let go, and I stumbled back onto the tracks. The monstrous white bulk was receding into the darkness, leaving a trail of glistening black water. The dark figures and a stream of rats pursued it. Weapons flickered like subway sparks.
I stood there, panting and clutching the Strat like I was going to hit something with it. Then the creature slipped out of sight, disappearing into the hole I’d found, like a long, pale tongue flickering into a mouth.
The hunters followed, and the tunnel was suddenly empty, except for me, a few hundred crushed rats, and the woman.
I blinked at her. She was a little older than me, with a jet-black fringe of bangs over brown eyes, a scuffed leather jacket and cargo pants with stuffed-full pockets.
She eyed the guitar in my hands. “Can you talk?”
“Talk?” I stood there for another moment, stunned and shaking.
“As in converse, dude. Or are you crazy already?”
“Um…” I lowered the Strat. “I don’t think so.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. So, like, dude, are you trying to get yourself killed?”
She led me to an abandoned subway stop farther up the tracks, a darkened ghost station. The stairways were boarded over, the token booth trashed, but the graffiti-covered platform was abuzz with hunters regrouping after the chase. They slipped up from the tracks, as graceful as the dark figures climbing down the fire escape that night I’d met Pearl.
Angels was what Luz called the people in the struggle. But I’d never figured on angels carrying backpacks and walkie-talkies.
“Easy with that thing,” the woman who’d saved me said. “We’re all friends here.”
“What?… Oh, sorry.” I was still clutching the Stratocaster like a weapon. The shoulder strap dangled from one end, so I slung the guitar over my back.
Confusion was finally setting in. Had I really just seen a giant monster? And wanted to fight it?
I looked at her. “Um… who are you?”
“I’m Lace, short for Lacey. You?”
“Moz.”
“You can say your own name? Not bad.”
“I can do what?”
Instead of answering, she pulled a tiny flashlight from a pocket and shone it in my eyes. The light was blinding.
“Ouch! What are you doing?”
She leaned closer, sniffing at my breath. “Garlic? Clever boy.”
A guy’s voice came from behind me. “Positive? Or just some wack-job?”
“Definitely a peep, Cal. But a self-medicator, by the looks of it.”
“Another one?” Cal said. His accent sounded southern. “That’s the third this week.”
Tracers from the flashlight still streaked my vision, but I could see Lace’s silhouette shrug. “Well, garlic is in all the folklore. Who told you to eat that stuff, Moz?”
I blinked. “Um, this woman called Luz.”
“A doctor? A faith healer?”
“She’s, uh…” What was Min’s word? “An esoterica?”
“What the hell’s that?” Cal said. My vision returning, I noticed he was wearing a Britney Spears T-shirt under his leather jacket, which seemed weirdly out of place.
“Probably something esoteric,” Lace said.
I shook my head. I’d never met Luz face-to-face. “She’s a healer. Some kind of Catholic, I guess. She uses tea and stuff.”
“Amateur hour,” Lace said in a singsong voice. “So, Moz, how long have you had an appetite for rare meat?”
I thought of Min’s kiss. “Three weeks and four days.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty precise.”
“Well, that’s when I first…” My voice faded. It didn’t seem like a good idea, telling them about Min. “Who are you guys anyway?”
Lace snorted. “Dude. We’re the guys who saved your butt. You almost got flattened by that worm, remember?”
I swallowed, watching as two angels lifted a third onto the platform. He was bleeding from a huge gash on one leg, black water dripping from the wound. He didn’t cry out, but his face was knitted in pain, his teeth clenched.
And I’d been about to fight that thing alone?
“Uh, thanks.”
“Uh, you’re welcome.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you got any girlfriends? Any roommates? Cats?”
“Cats?” I thought of Zombie’s strange gaze. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Or what that thing was! What’s going on here?”
“He doesn’t know anything, Lace,” Cal said. “Just bag him and let’s get moving. That beastie’s only wounded; it might swing back around.”
The woman stared at me for another moment, then nodded. “Okay. So here’s the thing, Moz. Old-fashioned folk remedies aren’t going to keep your head together for much longer. Very soon, you’re going to do unpleasant things to your friends and neighbors. So we’re taking you for a little trip to New Jersey.”
“New Jersey?”
“Yeah, Montana’s full.” Lace smiled, pulling a small, thin object from her cargo pants. A needle glistened in the darkness at its tip. “This won’t hurt a bit, and you shouldn’t be there more than a week or two, thanks to your esoterica friend. Got to admit, she kept you in pretty good shape.”
“Hey, wait a second.” I backed away, holding up my hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a gig next week.”
“A gig?” Lace glanced at the guitar on my back and shrugged. “Cool. But I’m afraid you’re going to miss it. We need to train you.”
“Train me for what?”
“Saving the world,” Cal said.
I swallowed. “You mean Luz is right? There really is a struggle?”
“She told you about the…?” Lace’s voice faded, and she closed her eyes, sniffing the air. “Hey, Cal—did you feel that?”
I had. My magic powers were spinning. I took a step away.
“Not so fast, Moz!” Lace grabbed my arm, thrusting the needle closer.
As I pulled free from her grip, the ground broke open beneath us…
Columns of flesh tore themselves up from the concrete of the platform, rings of teeth flashing in the darkness. One whipped past me, leaving my jacket sleeve in ribbons. I was already running, dodging through the flailing tendrils, stumbling over broken concrete.
The angels fought back, swords whistling through the air around me, as deadly as the gnashing teeth.
I jumped from the platform, then glanced back. Lace was spinning in place, her long sword slicing low through the air, cutting through columns of flesh as they thrust up from the ground. Black water spewed from the ragged stumps.
My hands reached for the neck of my Strat again, itching to pull it off my back. I was dying to run back and rejoin the fight, but I shut my eyes, yanked out the garlic, and bit straight into an unpeeled clove.
The burning sharpness cleared my head: I didn’t want to be part of any struggle. I didn’t want to go to some camp in New Jersey. All I wanted was to stay here, be in my band, play gigs, and get famous!