Laurell Hamilton - Affliction

Dev and I moved our gear out so I could get to where Edward kept his incendiaries. There was a reason he drove his SUV if the crime scene was close enough, or sometimes if it wasn’t. He had several compartments in his truck where the really bad things were hidden. If someone broke in and stole stuff, they wouldn’t get anything more dangerous than guns. Even if they stole the whole truck they’d likely never find the hidden shit unless they dismantled the truck piece by piece like at a chop shop, but even Edward couldn’t plan for all eventualities. Besides, some of the hidden stuff was illegal. I hadn’t known he had the European grenades. I’d read about them, seen videos of the effect, even photos of the victims. Some people in parts of Europe were using the grenades in my hands as a reason to give vampires and shapeshifters human rights, because the effects were too terrible to do to anyone, almost. No one cared about zombies, strangely. Not all dead are created equal.

Under other circumstances I might have hesitated to use something illegal while I was wearing my badge, but today … the European grenades gave us a real chance. I grabbed all that were in the compartment, shoving them into pockets on my tactical pants and handing some to Dev to carry, too. The grenades would burn long enough to actually destroy the zombies, if we could cut them up first so that they didn’t catch us, or the hospital, on fire. It was looking at Edward’s extending magazines that gave me the idea. I grabbed his, and mine, and an extra cross-draw bag because Dev and I couldn’t carry all of them in the pockets, or even the MOLLE straps on the vests. Usually it was overkill to travel with this many magazines for the ARs, but tonight it might just get the job done.

We shoved everything back in the truck. Dev shut the back. I hit the key lock and without asking each other we ran back to the hospital. The world blurred past as I tried to keep up with Dev. He was a foot taller and a lot of that was leg, oh, and the whole weretiger thing, too, but I wasn’t far behind as we whooshed through the doors.

The nurse who had smiled at Dev looked even paler, eyes huge in her face. ‘You’re not human, are you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Human’s overrated,’ Dev said with another sex-on-wheels smile as we went for the elevators.

My phone rang in my earpiece, ‘Bad to the Bone,’ which had been Edward’s ring tone since Nathaniel put it on as a joke back when I didn’t know how to change it. I hit the button and said, ‘Yeah.’

‘Bring all the extra mags you can,’ he said, and I could hear shooting in the background magnified oddly over the headset.

‘Already have them,’ I said, as we stepped into the elevator.

‘You had the same idea,’ he said.

‘We have enough ammo to cut them into pieces and then …’

‘Use the Euros to burn them in place,’ he finished for me.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ he said, and then he laughed that deep, masculine sound that most men reserve for sex or moments more private with the lovers in their lives.

‘I love the way you think, too,’ I said.

He gave that date/sex laugh. I guess there was more than one reason that Donna thought I was his lover. Someone yelled, and a man screamed. Edward said, ‘Gotta go,’ in a voice so serious it was as if the laugh never existed.

I whispered, ‘Edward,’ to empty air.

‘He all right?’ Dev asked.

‘I don’t know. It sounds like the zombies are on top of them.’

Dev holstered his handgun and unhooked his AR from the back of his vest where the MOLLE straps kept it.

‘A head or heart shot won’t do anything but irritate a zombie. We’re going to use the ammo to cut off the arms, legs, anything that makes them mobile, and then decapitate, or explode the entire head. When that’s done we burn ’em.’

‘You and Ted didn’t discuss details; how do you know that’s why he wanted the extra magazines?’

The elevator was slowing. I snugged my AR to my shoulder and said, ‘I just know.’ The doors opened, and a zombie fell into the elevator.

Dev yelled like a guy. I tried to tell him don’t do it , it was already armless, but he was already pulling the trigger. He shot the zombie in the head while it was trying to bite his foot. The reverberation of the shot was actually painful in the metal box of the elevator, as if someone had stuck something sharp and hard through my ears.

His hearing was better than mine, and he wasn’t expecting it. He hunched over, free hand to one ear, face grimacing with pain. I didn’t bother trying to say anything; I let him have his moment of disorientation while I stepped over the armless zombie as it tried to push itself to its knees, leaving most of its brains on the floor of the elevator.

I put my shoulder against the open doors to hold them, AR snugged to shoulder, and tried to use my eyes to see what was happening in the hallway while my hearing recovered. I’d learned to push through the disorientation of that kind of noise in small spaces; it let me stand there and see the hallway while Dev was still struggling for his brain to process anything but the pain and shock.

I gave myself a second of eye-sweep to see Nicky’s blond hair and Edward’s white cowboy hat, upright and firing in the direction of zombies, and then I was able to take in the scene. They’d taken their stand in front of the elevator doors, but the line had crumbled to the right of the doors, because the young guard, Miller, was sitting against the wall bleeding, with the other guard holding pressure on a neck wound that gushed crimson over his hands. Jenkins had moved up to take their place in the half-circle of guns, but he had a handgun and the zombies didn’t give a shit. Two of them launched themselves at him and the weak part of the circle. Damn smart for zombies.

Gonzales was there firing point-blank into their faces. He had a .45 and at that range it blew one head to pieces, so that it was just left with hands reaching blindly, but he was dry-firing into the face of the second, and it turned to him with a hungry, evil expression. I fired into its head from less than two feet away with the frangible round, and the head exploded in a fountain of blood and brains. There was bone in there, but it was always the soft, wet parts that made for the spectacular visuals.

Gonzales glanced at me with wide eyes, his naturally dark skin paled almost gray. The look was enough; he’d known he was almost out of ammo when he stepped up to shield Jenkins and the two guards. Dev was beside me; he still seemed shaken and didn’t have the AR to his shoulder yet. I didn’t have time to babysit him, but in that moment I realized he’d never seen combat. He’d seen action – shootings, violence, hand-to-hand, and hand-to-claw – but he’d never been in this kind of chaos. I counted him out for the fight and started shooting the zombies that were trying to pour through the gap in the defenses. I tried to take their lower faces out first, because once they couldn’t bite, they were half-disarmed. I blew off most of a zombie’s shoulder and arm as it reached for me with its remaining arm. The ruin of its face meant it couldn’t bite me, but it could still strangle me or tear out my throat if I let it get a good grip.

Al was on the other side of me firing his own .45 into the reaching hands and gaping mouths of the zombies. The slide on his gun slid back and stayed there, showing he was out of ammo.

Gonzales moved back up beside me with the bull pup shotgun in his hands. Dev had recovered enough to start handing out the extra weapons and ammo; good.

Al fell back; I hoped to get more ammo, or another gun, and I kept shooting anything that moved outside our small circle. Nicky was beside me now; he shot the face off one zombie, then let his AR swing on its tactical strap so his hands were free, grabbed the zombie at the shoulder and upper arm, and pulled. I had a moment to watch his muscles strain, the veins on his arms raising with the force of what he was trying to do, and then he pulled the zombie’s arm out of its shoulder socket. It was fresh zombie, so basically he’d just pulled a man’s arm off with his bare hands. It wasn’t just a matter of being fucking strong, but he’d known where to grab to disarticulate the shoulder joint. Maybe later I’d ask him how the hell he knew that.