Kelly Mendig - Three Days to Dead

Alex had grabbed the abandoned candlestick and cracked it across Wormer’s jaw. The trigger-happy Hunter squeezed off a round that shattered the room’s only other window before he slumped to the floor. Satisfied, I shoved the tip of the cattle prod into the hollow below Tully’s Adam’s apple. He gurgled and twitched. When I pulled it away, he lay still.

I watched and waited, expecting a miraculous recovery and second attack. It never came.

“Oh my God,” Alex said.

“You okay?”

“I’ll live.” He dropped the candlestick. It cracked against bits of glass. Still sporting a frightening pallor, he studied me with the eyes of a trapped deer. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.”

We helped each other stand and wade through the sea of broken glass. The sole of my cut foot stung and left prints on the carpet. My trail followed us back to the sofa, a safe distance from our disabled attackers. Alex sank into the cushion. His slight tremble turned to full-on shaking.

“Who were they?” he asked, the tremor reaching his voice.

“People I used to work with, others like me, only in the bodies they were born in. I’m so sorry; I don’t know how they followed me. I thought I was careful.”

“And you’re sure that you’re the good guy?”

“I know I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of doing.”

“Murder?”

“Right.”

He hung his head. I pawed through the first aid kit. Found more gauze and a small bottle of peroxide. I sat down on his right side.

“I need to clean you up so we can get out of here,” I said.

“And go where? This is my home. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Look, you can call the police, only I won’t be here when they arrive. And good luck trying to explain how you took out a pair of intruders on your own, not to mention the bloody footprints I’ve left all over the place.”

I dabbed at the drying blood with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball. He hissed and pulled away from my touch. I grabbed his chin and held him still.

“This isn’t going to go away, Alex. As much as I know you want to curl up in bed and wake up last week, with Chalice alive and your life not in shambles, it’s not going to happen. This is reality, pal.”

“So says the reincarnated dog hunter.”

“Dreg.”

“I know.” Heartache tinged his words. He grasped my hand, pulled it away from his chin, and squeezed. His liquid blue eyes held steely determination. Bright spots of color had flared in his cheeks. “I believe you, Evangeline Stone. So what’s our next move?”

“We clean up and change. Tie them up, gather whatever cash you’ve got around, then get back to the east side of the river.”

“Why the east side?”

“Because that’s where Wyatt is.”

His nostrils flared—an odd reaction. “And we need to save Wyatt, correct?”

“Very correct.”

“Do you have a plan for that?”

“Working on it.” I released his hand and continued cleaning his face. “Now hold still so I can get this done.”

The response time for reported gunshots was idiotically slow. We were in Alex’s Jeep, emerging from the underground parking garage and into daylight, before I heard the first siren. He turned north and chose a roundabout way back to the Wharton Street Bridge. It took us deeper into the heart of Parkside East, past high-rise apartment buildings and the first hints of residential houses.

The bullet graze had oozed through the bandage, which barely covered swollen skin. His eye would blacken eventually. During the five minutes it took to fill a backpack with supplies, lash our houseguests to the dining room furniture, and put on a fresh shirt, he’d lost the deer-in-headlights look, and adopted the attitude that must make him a good med student—stern rationality in the face of insurmountable odds.

I just kept an eye out, waiting for hints of a mental breakdown. God knew he was due.

The burns no longer itched, and my skin was as smooth as it had been before the attack. The dozen or so glass cuts on my arms were also healing. I’d shed my borrowed clothes and slipped into fresh jeans and a T-shirt. The change made me feel mostly human again. The only thing I couldn’t help was the bloodstained sneakers. It was that or leather sandals—not great for kicking and running.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked.

“Back downtown, eventually.”

He turned down another residential street, lined with trees that sported dog-proof fences, sidewalks without cracks or weeds, and houses that cost more than an entire block of Mercy’s Lot real estate. I felt intimidated by the wealth. While Chalice and Alex belonged in such a high-class area, I did not. I grew up in the city; I felt out of place in the suburbs.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

“About six years. St. Eustachius has one of the best orthopedic centers in the country, and that’s what I wanted to do.”

“Wanted?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Something tells me I’m not making it to class tonight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not …”

“It’s not what?”

Another right turn angled us south, back toward the river and bridge. He gripped the steering wheel, seeming to debate his reply. “I was going to say it’s not your fault, but in a way, it is. It’s just not your fault on purpose, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

It wasn’t as if I’d chosen Chalice’s body. But everything that I’d done since waking up in it—including taking my shit fest into the middle of Alex’s mundane life—was most definitely my fault. He was missing class. He was being chased by the Triads. Glass and blood and two men tied up with Lycra exercise pants decorated an apartment to which he couldn’t return.

“You’re right, Alex,” I said. “This is my fault. I want to tell you that when it’s over, your life will go back to normal, but I can’t. I can’t promise you anything.”

“Then how about we make a deal? I’ll help you to get Wyatt away from the people holding him and if, by some miracle, we manage to survive it, you two disappear. Just get out of the city and forget this thing about clearing your name.”

The pleading tone of his voice hurt, but it wasn’t a deal I could make. And it had little to do with my tarnished name.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but I can’t agree to that, and it’s not because I don’t want to now. I have two much bigger reasons why I can’t leave town, and foremost is the alliance. You cannot imagine how devastating a united uprising would be to humanity. If the goblins and the vampires go against us, other races will divide, and not everyone will be on our side. It would be like the United States standing alone in a world war against the entire eastern hemisphere. We would lose, and we would become no better than the domesticated animals we keep as pets and food and labor. Exposing this truce before it happens … I have to try. Do you understand?”

“I’m trying to,” he said after a prolonged silence. The Wharton Street Bridge loomed in the distance, gray and stark. “It’s a little difficult to accept the idea of goblins running around the city, much less warmongering with vampires.”

“I know it’s not as exciting as dissecting a cadaver for anatomy class, but bear with me.”

That elicited a tentative smile. “What’s the other reason? You said you had two.”

I considered asking him to pull over, not knowing how he’d react. And the last thing we needed was a fender bender. “Because I’m running on borrowed time. Resurrection is temporarily stable at the best of times, but it’s not permanent. I’m only borrowing Chalice. I had seventy-two hours from the moment I woke up yesterday afternoon at quarter after four. That’s all I get.”