“I don’t see any now,” Alice pointed out. “We can arm ourselves. There are plenty of knives in the kitchen.”
“I know.” Jordan said this so softly, Alice almost didn’t hear it.
“I understand that it’ll be dangerous, but we don’t have a choice. Sure, we might die out there, but we’ll die for sure if we stay in here. We’ll starve.”
Jordan turned away from the window at last. He looked at Alice, eyes filled with sorrow.
“I won’t,” he said, a tear rolling down the left side of his face. His hands had been at his sides the entire time since Alice had sat down. Now he started to bring his right hand up.
Moving far more swiftly than Jordan, Alice brought her right hand up from beneath the table and slashed out with the butcher knife. Jordan’s eyes widened in surprise as the blade sliced open his throat. His blood sprayed the air, splattered onto the table, hit Alice, adding fresh gore to the front of her already bloodstained blouse. Jordan slumped back against his seat, eyes glazing over, crimson still jetting from his wound but less strongly now, for his blood pressure was dropping rapidly. His fingers went slack and the knife he’d been holding clattered to the floor.
Alice watched the blood fountain dribble off into a slow-running trickle, then she brought the knife blade to her mouth and—careful not to cut her tongue—began lapping blood off the metal.
Dan knew he had only a split second to get out of the biker’s way. He leaped to the left but he was too slow, and the motorcycle’s front tire clipped his right foot. The impact spun him around, and he hit the ground hard as the biker roared past. The breath was driven from his lungs, and he gasped for air as he struggled to get back on his feet. His ankle hurt like hell, and he wondered if it was broken. He feared the ankle wouldn’t support his weight and he’d have to finish this fight hopping on one foot like a child playing some sort of surreal and deadly game. Fortunately, the ankle held as he stood, but then he realized he had another problem: his hands were empty. He’d dropped both the 9mm and the hunting knife when he’d fallen.
The biker’s momentum had carried him onto the Way, and Dan hoped the thorn-stalks would detect the man was wounded and attack. But the biker bore a thrall-mark, and the thorn-stalks moved aside as he braked and swung his back wheel around, preparing to make another go at Dan.
How the man could maneuver like that without legs to steady himself, Dan had no idea, but the fact was he could and did. Eyes wild, mouth stretched into a maniacal grin, the biker hit the throttle and popped a wheelie as he surged forward.
“Here.”
Dan heard the girl’s voice in his ear, felt the cool metal of the 9mm as she pressed the gun into his hand. Without pausing to question, Dan raised the weapon, took aim, and started firing. The biker’s shoulder-mounted shotgun let go with its other barrel, and Dan felt hot agony erupt in his left bicep. He cried out as he staggered backward, but he kept hold of his weapon and discharged the rest of the clip. The biker’s grin vanished in a burst of blood and shattered teeth, and the bike wobbled, swerved, and crashed to the ground. The man-machine carved a furrow in the barren gray soil as he skidded to a halt. The engine cut out, and the man lay limp as the front wheel of his bike slowly spun to a stop.
Dan stared at the dead biker for a moment, the only sounds the ticking of hot machinery as it began to cool and the ragged wheeze of his own breathing. His entire left arm felt as if it were on fire. He examined the shotgun wound and saw shredded meat and a glimpse of bone through a ragged hole in his leather jacket.
Fuck. He really liked that jacket.
He remembered the girl then, and remembered that he’d dropped the hunting knife the same time he’d dropped the 9mm. He spun around and pointed his weapon at her, even though he wasn’t sure if he had any ammo left. She stood several paces away, gripping the knife handle tight, holding it easily, as if she knew how to use it. He wondered if she’d been in the process of sneaking up on him when he’d turned around.
“Drop it.”
The girl glanced at his wound then met his gaze, defiance in her eyes. “No.”
“I suppose you’re thinking about just standing there and waiting for me to bleed to death, huh? That’s not going to happen. I need to provide my Master with a sacrifice, but it doesn’t have to be you. If you don’t drop the knife, I’ll shoot you and leave your corpse out here for scavengers to feast on. I’ll bandage my wound as best I can, walk the rest of the way to my Master’s lair, and ask to be healed so I can procure another sacrifice. I’ll also ask for another car while I’m at it.” He smiled. “I probably won’t get it, but what the hell? Like my mother used to tell me, the worst they can say is no, right?”
The girl looked at him for a long moment, and Dan hoped she hadn’t been counting the shots during his battle with the biker. A minute passed, maybe two, and then the girl relaxed her grip and the hunting knife slipped from her hand and fell to the ground. Dan moved forward, gun trained on her the entire time. He switched the 9mm to his left hand before bending down to pick up the knife with his right.
“I want you to stand very still now. I’m going to cut off your blouse.”
She looked at him incredulously, then burst out laughing. “After all this you’re going to rape me?”
Dan snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I need to make a bandage for my arm.”
“Oh.” She gave Dan an embarrassed look. “Okay.”
He needed both hands to do the job, so he tucked the 9mm into the back of his pants, then pressed the tip of the knife to her right shoulder and began cutting.
Sweat dripped off Dan’s face, but he shivered as if caught in the grip of a winter wind. He’d wrapped the girl’s blouse tight around his bicep, but crimson had already soaked through the white fabric, and he knew he’d only slowed the bleeding, not stopped it. He walked behind the girl, limping on his injured ankle. It hurt like a motherfucker with every step he took, and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to make it to his Master’s lair. He’d considered taking the biker’s motorcycle, but seeing as how the sonofabitch was merged with the machine, the only way Dan could think of to get him off the bike was to cut him free. There were a few problems, though. One, Dan only had a hunting knife to work with and right now he didn’t think he had the strength to do the job. Two, just because the motorcycle looked like a normal motorcycle didn’t mean it was. It was entirely possible that the machine wouldn’t work with its human half cut free. And third, it would be awkward as hell trying to carry the girl with him. Given the injury to his arm, he didn’t think he could manage her unconscious body as he drove the bike, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to risk riding with her conscious. She had every reason to keep him from reaching his Master and would undoubtedly do her best to wreck the motorcycle to stop him. Sure, there was a good chance she’d be injured in the crash, too, maybe even killed. But that would be preferable to what his Master would do to her.
Since the girl’s hands were still bound by duct tape, he’d had to cut the rest of the blouse from the sleeves and then undo the buttons to get it off her. The girl now wore only a purple bra and black pants… and her cutaway blouse sleeves, of course. It was an odd look, but somehow it seemed to suit her, was almost sexy in a way. Haute couture for the World After.
Dan was beginning to regret not at least attempting to remove the biker from his motorcycle. The mark his Master had given Dan didn’t grant him any special powers beyond providing him a certain amount of protection from predators—and letting him know when his Master hungered, of course. Dan possessed no special strength, no preternatural healing abilities. His Master might heal his injuries after Dan delivered the girl, but he’d receive no aid until then. He was a thrall, and it was his job to serve his Master, not the other way around. And if he failed once more…