Read Online Under Cover of Darkness by Julie E. Czerneda - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie E. Czerneda
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civilian . . . .
In a thundering explosion, the door was blown off the hinges, a maelstrom of smoke and splinters buffeting me hard. Blindly, I triggered the Glock, blasting the big Magnum rounds at the shadowy figures gliding through the burning remains of the door.
One was hit and fell, flashing into ash. Another staggered backward, clutching a withering arm that pumped yellow blood. But the rest pulled out sawed-off shotguns and discharged a volley of steel flechettes, the fiery barrage tearing my desk apart until only the Lexan military plastic shell underneath remained. That caught them by surprise, and I used the confusion to kill two more of the demons. To achieve success, plan for failure. And, brother, did I ever plan .
Firing twice more at their misshapen heads, I rose and kicked aside my chair, then dove through the closed window. The shattering glass sounded like the end of the world, and searing pain slashed along my back and legs as I fell five stories toward the misty waters of the Chicago River.
Holding my breath, and praying that I didnât smack into a boat, I hit the water hard, losing a shoe as I just scraped past a concrete pylon, missing a grisly death by a scant inch. Hand grenades and horseshoes . Dark things rushed at my face from the murky depthsâold cars, shopping carts, union officialsâbut I stayed calm and tried to holster my gun before flailing my arms and swimming for the surface. Follow the bubbles, hot shot. Always follow the bubbles!
But even as I started heading upward, big things with too many arms dropped into the water alongside me. Fueled by adrenaline, I tried to swim faster, but clawed hands reached out to rip at my clothing and flesh, pulling me down, away from the light, down to the muddy bottom and a slow death by suffocation.
Glowing eyes filled the darkness, and blood began to cloud the water. Red blood. My blood .
Reaching desperately into my jacket, I fumbled for the cigar tube I had carried since the day I became the Guardian. My predecessor had carried it for fifty years without ever using it, as had the man before him. The ancient steel was oily beneath my fingers, but I managed to pop the top and a tiny vial floated upward. Gnarled hands snatched for it, but I was there first and crushed it in my fist.
The contents of Christian Holy Oil, blessed kosher salt, and Moslem Holy Water mixed freely and then dissolved into the Chicago River to spread outward like a healing balm, clearing the dirty water to crystal clarity. Choking and burning, the things slithered away from me, seeking refuge in the Stygian mud below, bottom feeders seeking their natural habitat.
Now free, I moved for the surface, concentrating on the task, not the goal. My lungs were nearly bursting. I was burning for air, tiny bubbles squeezing out from my clenched lips, sips of life leaving me behind. But I had to ignore that. Get past the pain. There was only swimming, nothing else in the world mattered but the movement of my arms and legs. Keep swimming, keep going. Move with a purpose, Freemason!
Erupting from the expanding pool of clean water like a dolphin on steroids, I splashed about, pulling in a ragged lungful of fresh sweet air, almost reeling from the rush of oxygen.
As my head cleared, I swam out of sight beneath a wooden pier, and clawed my back onto the brick-lined shore. I was exhausted, but could not stop. Had to keep moving. Get away from here and find someplace to hide. Steal a car and drive out of town.
Glancing across the river, I saw Them standing in the smashed window frame of the office building. Human shapes with nightmare eyes that watched me hatefully, desperate to follow, but knowing to do so would burn them to the bone, or whatever demons had. Chitin ? Could be. Lord knows, they always bugged me.
A swirling cloud covered the moon for a single heartbeat, and when it returned, they were gone. Instinctively, I went for my gun and found only empty leather. Damn!
In a thundering explosion, the door was blown off the hinges, a maelstrom of smoke and splinters buffeting me hard. Blindly, I triggered the Glock, blasting the big Magnum rounds at the shadowy figures gliding through the burning remains of the door.
One was hit and fell, flashing into ash. Another staggered backward, clutching a withering arm that pumped yellow blood. But the rest pulled out sawed-off shotguns and discharged a volley of steel flechettes, the fiery barrage tearing my desk apart until only the Lexan military plastic shell underneath remained. That caught them by surprise, and I used the confusion to kill two more of the demons. To achieve success, plan for failure. And, brother, did I ever plan .
Firing twice more at their misshapen heads, I rose and kicked aside my chair, then dove through the closed window. The shattering glass sounded like the end of the world, and searing pain slashed along my back and legs as I fell five stories toward the misty waters of the Chicago River.
Holding my breath, and praying that I didnât smack into a boat, I hit the water hard, losing a shoe as I just scraped past a concrete pylon, missing a grisly death by a scant inch. Hand grenades and horseshoes . Dark things rushed at my face from the murky depthsâold cars, shopping carts, union officialsâbut I stayed calm and tried to holster my gun before flailing my arms and swimming for the surface. Follow the bubbles, hot shot. Always follow the bubbles!
But even as I started heading upward, big things with too many arms dropped into the water alongside me. Fueled by adrenaline, I tried to swim faster, but clawed hands reached out to rip at my clothing and flesh, pulling me down, away from the light, down to the muddy bottom and a slow death by suffocation.
Glowing eyes filled the darkness, and blood began to cloud the water. Red blood. My blood .
Reaching desperately into my jacket, I fumbled for the cigar tube I had carried since the day I became the Guardian. My predecessor had carried it for fifty years without ever using it, as had the man before him. The ancient steel was oily beneath my fingers, but I managed to pop the top and a tiny vial floated upward. Gnarled hands snatched for it, but I was there first and crushed it in my fist.
The contents of Christian Holy Oil, blessed kosher salt, and Moslem Holy Water mixed freely and then dissolved into the Chicago River to spread outward like a healing balm, clearing the dirty water to crystal clarity. Choking and burning, the things slithered away from me, seeking refuge in the Stygian mud below, bottom feeders seeking their natural habitat.
Now free, I moved for the surface, concentrating on the task, not the goal. My lungs were nearly bursting. I was burning for air, tiny bubbles squeezing out from my clenched lips, sips of life leaving me behind. But I had to ignore that. Get past the pain. There was only swimming, nothing else in the world mattered but the movement of my arms and legs. Keep swimming, keep going. Move with a purpose, Freemason!
Erupting from the expanding pool of clean water like a dolphin on steroids, I splashed about, pulling in a ragged lungful of fresh sweet air, almost reeling from the rush of oxygen.
As my head cleared, I swam out of sight beneath a wooden pier, and clawed my back onto the brick-lined shore. I was exhausted, but could not stop. Had to keep moving. Get away from here and find someplace to hide. Steal a car and drive out of town.
Glancing across the river, I saw Them standing in the smashed window frame of the office building. Human shapes with nightmare eyes that watched me hatefully, desperate to follow, but knowing to do so would burn them to the bone, or whatever demons had. Chitin ? Could be. Lord knows, they always bugged me.
A swirling cloud covered the moon for a single heartbeat, and when it returned, they were gone. Instinctively, I went for my gun and found only empty leather. Damn!
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