The group kept moving, Ryan now in the lead, as they made their way back to the emergency stairwell.
“Missed a few!” J.B. bellowed, and fired off a stream of lead behind him, taking down one of the pursuing chupacabras that had waddled out of the haze the high-ex gren had created.
The stairs reverberated the terrific clatter as the group climbed higher and higher, continuing their way to the top.
And below, more of the fearsome chupacabras gathered, ten or more by the Armorer’s quick count. Apparently there had been more of them elsewhere in the redoubt, or more likely, in the air circulation system. They were joining forces, as if a silent, psychic message had gone out to all of them to garner their strength to take on the threat.
“I’m going to drop another gren in ten seconds,” J.B. warned.
“In the stairwell?” Jorge asked. “You’ll kill us all!”
“Keep moving,” Ryan replied. “J.B. knows what he’s doing.”
The Armorer threw a second gren behind him, counting down loudly as he ran, relying on the decreasing numbers to speed his comrades. He’d set the timer for ten seconds, but as always with old ordnance, trusting the fuses to perform accurately was like plotting the path of a lightning strike. You always heard the thunder after the bolt had fallen.
Ten seconds later, and the stairs underfoot seemed to try to grab their own ankles in an attempt to lift themselves from then- moorings, hurling all those on them into the air. Each member of the group had known to keep at least one hand on the railing, and some had placed both for an extra-secure grip near the end of J.B.’s shouted countdown, but such precautions were still not enough to keep them on their feet once the gren went off in a massive exhalation of fire and concussive force.
“Help!” Soto cried as he pitched over the rail, his legs dangling into the rising cloud of smoke and debris. Managing to grab the bottom rail, he hung on for dear life until Ryan and Dean could reach over to rescue him from plummeting downward.
“Help, somebody!” he screamed again as they tugged. “It’s got me, one of them’s got me!”
Krysty was there, thumbing back the action on her.38-caliber Smith & Wesson blaster and firing three bullets, one-two-three in rapid succession as she pulled the trigger, taking aim not so much at the horror that had attached itself to the squirming Puerto Rican hanging over the banister, but instead taking greater pains not to shoot the man who needed the assistance.
The chupacabras was nearly completely hidden in the smoky haze of the damaged stairwell.
“It’s biting me!” Soto screamed. “Blast it! Blast the fucker!”
Krysty fired another volley of shots, and this time one of the bullets found a home in a vital organ of the creature. The clawed hands went slack as it fell from the helpless and kicking Soto.
At the back of the stairs, J.B. reached into a pocket and took out a third gren, his fingers flying as he set it for yet another ten-second fuse.
“I’m sending down another package,” he yelled as he pulled the ring and opened his hand, releasing the gren on its deadly path.
“J.B. Wait-” Ryan called, a fraction of a second too late.
“What?” the Armorer asked tersely, before continuing the countdown. “Nine-”
“We’ve got company.”
Above them glowed three pairs of eyes.
“Dark night,” the Armorer said, disgusted.
“Going to get darker,” Jorge replied.
Chapter Fifteen
Mildred had awakened in her quarters before dawn, much earlier than she would have liked, but she was a person usually unable to fall back asleep once she was roused from slumber. Without getting up from the bed and keeping busy, she knew she’d end up missing J.B.’s presence at her side and staring at the ceiling even as fatigue continued to rest upon her weary bones.
What had awakened her? The room was surprisingly cool, the stone construction within the fortress not holding any of the previous day’s heat.
Her bladder twinged as if in answer.
“Too much wine,” she said aloud, and then giggled. “Drink too much and you have to prime the pump.”