Стефани Перри - Underworld

Leon saw two on the ground, dragging their sinewy bodies eagerly forward on folded wings.

The noise! It was painful, as shrill and terrible as a thousand screaming infants, and Leon felt the nine-millimeter fire more than he heard it, the heavy metal jumping in his hands. The birds fell silent as the closer of the two took the shot in its curving throat. A ragged hole blew open just above its narrow chest, flaps of gray-brown skin blossoming out like some dark flower. Thin blood gushed from the wound, but the second was already climbing over its spasming

body, single-minded in its attack. Leon took aim and—

"Hey hey oh shit— "

Cole's hysterical cry distracted him, the shot jerking right, missing. John opened up on the second Dae, the clatter of automatic fire tearing into the animal. Leon spun and saw Cole stumbling backwards, another of the vicious birds lunging toward him.

How'd it get past us?

Leon aimed, the Dae no more than five feet away from Cole, and even as he pulled the trigger another of the creatures was swooping down from directly overhead. At such close range the nine-millimeter round punctured the bird's chest and blew a fist-sized hole out its low back, the Dae dead before it crumpled to the ground. The newcomer gave one mighty flap, the tips of its huge wings brushing the floor, and flew back up and away.

"Henry, get behind me!" Leon shouted, glancing up—and seeing yet another Dae coming down from a series of perches directly above, tucking its wings in and diving straight for him.

He needed help. "John ... !"

The diving bird spread its leathery wings only a few feet from the floor and touched down, surprisingly graceful in its landing. It turned toward Leon and lurched forward. Behind him, he heard the spatter of bullets—and heard it stop, heard John cursing, heard the M-16s aluminum alloy body clatter to the ground.

The Dae in front of Leon opened its long beak and squawked, a burst of angry,hungrysound, sidling forward on its bent wings as fast as Leon could back away. The creature was weaving back and forth and Leon didn't have enough ammo to waste, he had to get a clear shot—

—and itjumped,a strange, sudden hop that put it only a foot away. With another shrill screech, it bobbed its head forward, its open beak closing on his ankle. Even through the thick boot leather, he could feel the pegs of its teeth, feel the power in its jaws—

—and before he could fire, John was there, he was

stamping down on the Dac's snaking neck and pointing his handgun—

—andbam,the round snapped its spine, a vertebral knob on its sleek back exploding, shards of pale bone and runny blood spraying outward. It let go of his ankle, and though its neck continued to twist its body was still, bleeding and still.

How many, how many left—

"Comeon,"John called, scooping up the rifle and turning to run. "Get to the door, we have to get to the door!"

They ran. Through the clearing, Cole right behind, the beat of wings behind them, another shrill voice crying into the air. Back into the trees, the lifeless

woods, stumbling over branches and veering around the gnarled plastic trunks.

The wall, there's the wall!

And there was the door, a double-wide metal hatch, a deadbolt set low at the right side—

—and Leon heard the terrible screech in hisear, inches away, and felt the gust of air across the back of his neck—

—and he let his legs give, collapsing to the ground, and felt sudden pain as something snatched a chunk of hair and ripped it from his scalp, from the back of his head.

"Look out!" Leon screamed, looking up to see the massive bird swooping in on John, almost to the door, Cole beside him.

John turned, not a flinch, not a backward stumble.

He raised the handgun and pulled the trigger, a dead shot, and the Dae dropped as if made of lead, its tiny brain suddenly liquid, blowing up and out.

Cole was fumbling with the door, John still aiming over Leon's head, and Leon heard another one screaming as if in a fury, somewhere behind—

—and the door was open—Leon ran, John covering him as he stumbled after Cole, out of the cool, dark woods and into a blinding heat. John was right behind him, slamming the hatch closed—

—and they were in Phase Two.

Rebecca was running, out of breath and exhausted and unable to stop, to rest. David and Claire were running with her, holding her up, but she still felt that each step was an effort of pure will; her muscles didn't want to cooperate, and she was disoriented, her

equilibrium a mess, her ears ringing. She was hurt, and she didn't know how bad—only that she'd been shot, that she'd hit her head at some point, and that they couldn't stop until they were well away from the compound.

It was dark, too dark to see where the ground was, and cold; each breath was an iced dagger in her throat and lungs. Her thoughts were muddled, but she knew that she'd suffered some brain dysfunction, she wasn't sure what exactly; as she staggered along, the possibilities haunted her. The bullet was easier; she knew by the hot and throbbing pain where it had gone. It hurt terribly, but she didn't think she had a fracture and it wasn't gushing; she was much more concerned about the loss of coherency.

Shot through left gluteal, lodged in ischium, lucky lucky lucky. . . shock or concussion? Concussion or shock?

She needed to stop, take a temporal pulse, check her ears for blood ... or for CSF, which was something she didn't even want to think about. Even in her confused state, she knew that bleeding cerebrospinal fluid was about the worst outcome for a blow to the head.

After what seemed like a very long time, and more twists and changes in direction than she could count, David slowed, telling Claire to slow down, and that they were going to sit Rebecca on the ground.

"On my side," Rebecca panted, "bullet's on the left."

Carefully, David and Claire lowered her down to the cold flat earth, gasping, catching their breath, and Rebecca thought she'd never been more glad to lie

down. She caught just a glimpse of the black sky as David rolled her over: the stars were amazing, clear and ice against the deep black sea ...

"Flashlight," she said, realizing again how strange her thoughts had become. "Gotta check."

"Are we far enough?" Claire asked, and it took Rebecca a moment to understand that she was talking to David.

Oh, crap this is not good. . .

"Should be. And we'll see them coming." David said shortly, and he turned on his flashlight, the beam hitting the ground a few inches in front of Rebecca's face.

"Rebecca, what can we do?" He asked, and she heard the worry in his voice and loved him for it.

They were like family, had been ever since the cove, he was a good friend and a good man . . .

"Rebecca?" This time, he sounded afraid.

"Yeah, sorry," she said, wondering how to explain what she was feeling, what was happening. She decided it would be best to just start talking and let them figure it out.

"Look at my ear," she said. "Look for blood or clear fluid, I think I've had a concussion. I can't seem to gather my thoughts. Other ear, too. I was shot and I think the bullet lodged in my ischium. Pelvis. Lucky, lucky. Shouldn't be bleeding much, I can disinfect it, wrap it if you'll hand me my pack. There's gauze and that's good, though, the bullet could've snapped my spine or gone low, chewed through my femoral artery. Lot of blood, that's bad, and me the only medic being hurt—"

As she spoke, David shone the light across her face,

then gently lifted and checked the other side before resting her head in his lap. His legs were warm, the muscles twitching from exertion.

"A little blood in your left ear," he said. "Claire, take off Rebecca's pack, if you would. Rebecca, you don't have to speak anymore, we'll fix you right up; try to rest, if you can."