Less than a hundred yards away, upwind, a pair of unblinking golden eyes watched.
Waited.
Chapter Nine
Ryan was stretched out on the softest feather mattress, beneath a rich coverlet of silken brocade, relaxing into that delicious state that lay partway between a warm languor and the waiting delights of deep, satisfying sleep.
A fire blazed in the hearth, the scented logs filling the bedchamber with their perfume.
He could hear music, very faintly, brushing at the furthest edge of his consciousness. Perhaps it was coming from an adjacent room.
It was a flute, picking out and repeating a delicate, ghostly, haunting theme.
A tiny part of Ryan’s mind was aware that someone was close to him.
“Krysty?” he breathed silently.
A hand was at his collar, touching him on the side of his throat, moving away the curling black hair. He felt gentle pressure on the carotid artery.
“Krysty?”
It was like a lightning bolt, exploding from a clear summer sky.
Ryan felt as if he’d been trapped far, far beneath the waters of some gigantic lake, deep within a sucking gruel that gripped his entire body.
The pleasant sound of the flute was suddenly discordant, a grating, morbid noise that seemed to strip the layers from his bones and pick at the sensitive marrow.
He blinked open his eye.
It took all of his fighting instincts, honed to a razored edge over the years, to work out precisely what was happening, where he was.
The underground mall in Seattle had been as dark as pitch when he’d fallen asleep.
Fallen asleep while on watch!
Now there was a dim light, coming from a number of shielded lanterns, all around him. And someone loomed over him, breath hot on the side of his neck.
Ryan managed to move his head a little, seeing a face close to his. The creature’s face was as white as the winter moon, with eyes that glinted red in the filtered glow of the lamps. Its flattened nose had wide nostrils, and its mouth was half-open in an expression halfway between a smile and a kiss.
And its canine teeth, sharpened to needle points, were almost touching the skin of Ryan’s exposed throat.
He threw arms and legs out wide, yelling as loudly as he could, thrusting the nocturnal apparition away from him, knowing in that single beat of the heart since waking that he and the others were as close to death as they could possibly be.
Then there was no time for any kind of thought.
He was aware of a hissing snarl of frustrated rage from the creature he’d repelled, the foul stink of rotting meat from its breath. There was a confusion of shouting from the other muties that had gathered in the catacombs around them.
Something struck him a painful blow on the left shoulder before he could even get up to his feet, sending him tumbling back against the damp concrete wall. Ryan had been reaching for the butt of the SIG-Sauer, but it was now out of reach.
He didn’t hesitate for a single splinter of frozen time. His right hand dropped to the hilt of the panga, drawing it in a smooth whisper of steel.
Someone grabbed at him, jagged nails catching at the material of his coat, hindering him as he fought to stand. But he used the point of the blade, shortening the stroke. He thrust in the general direction of his closest adversary, feeling the familiar, satisfying jar of the panga slicing through flesh then grinding against bone.
There was a scream of shock and pain, and the grasping hands let go of him. Ryan snatched the breathing space and pulled himself upright, steadying for a brief moment against the wall at his side.
His sight was quickly acclimating to the dimness, aware of a dozen or more of the bloodsucking ghouls, many of them holding lanterns.
Behind him and to his left, J.B. and Trader were both on their feet, having been shielded by Ryan from the first and worst of the onslaught. The older man had his Armalite ready in his hands, while the Armorer had just picked up the murderous Smith amp; Wesson scattergun.