“Damn skippy,” agreed LaMastra.

“Our friends have been dying. My best friend, Brandon, tried to kill me just five minutes ago. I’m probably going to die sometime tonight; and if not tonight, then sometime soon. So, I don’t have a lot to lose.”

Eddie’s eyes kept trying to meet the stare of Mike’s gold-rimmed red-blue eyes, and each time they fell away.

“Look at me,” Mike said.

Eddie looked at the floor.

“I said look at me.”

It took visible effort, but Eddie finally raised his eyes to meet—and hold—Mike’s stare.

“I have every reason to kill you. No one will say ‘boo.’ I have every reason to kill you, but one.”

Eddie licked his lips. “Wh—what’s that?”

“Because I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re not a little boy. You’re not—”

“Human? No, I think I left that kind of thing behind. I’m born from monsters, Eddie, but I’m not a monster. Look me in the eyes.”

Eddie looked for as long as he could.

Mike leaned over, stretched and picked Eddie’s pistol off the floor. He offered it butt first to the big man.

“Hey, kid, what the hell you doing?” LaMastra barked, but Mike shook his head.

“Put the gun down,” he said to the detective. “Please, just put it down. I want Mr. Oswald to see that he’s free to make up his own mind.”

LaMastra looked at Crow, who hesitated and then nodded; LaMastra moved the barrel away and down, but he didn’t like doing it.

“Mr. Oswald,” Mike said, “I’m giving you a chance here to do the right thing. We’re fighting against these monsters. We could use your help.”

Tow-Truck Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed for what seemed like an eternity, and everyone could see the warring emotions as they passed like clouds across his face. His eyes were watery, his lips trembled.

“I…I’m sorry,” he said weakly. Mike smiled at him. “I’m so sorry!”

And he whipped his pistol up toward Mike and fired.

It was Willard Fowler Newton who saved Mike’s life. Why him and not the others was a question none of the survivors could ever adequately explain. It was as if an invisible hand shoved him hard from behind and he lurched into Mike and knocked him out of the way even as Oswald was pulling the trigger.

Then the world exploded as LaMastra, Crow, and Val all fired simultaneously, each from point-blank range, all of them shooting to kill. Oswald’s body was plucked off the ground and torn to red rags.

Then everyone was crowded around Mike, who lay half inside Weinstock’s room.

“Mike!” Crow saw blood on him and started pulling at Mike’s shirt, looking for the wound. But there was nothing.

“I’m okay,” he said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “He missed.”

“Thank God!” Val turned to Newton, who had fallen down and was sitting against the wall. “You saved his life!”

“Finally a hero,” Newton said with a small smile, and then he pitched over on his side as blood poured from his chest.

“Christ,” Crow said, “Newt’s hit.”

“No!” cried Jonatha, trying to push past, but Val pushed her back as she and Crow tore at Newton’s clothes. They found the entry wound high on the right side. It was well away from the heart, but it was bleeding freely. Crow pressed his palm flat on the hole.

“Mike,” Crow yelled, “see if you can get Saul out here. He can tell us what to do.”

When Mike didn’t move, Crow looked at him. “Come on, damn it—he took that bullet for you. Move your ass!”

Val touched Crow’s cheek. “Crow…honey…Saul’s dead.”

Crow closed his eyes—first lightly and then he squeezed them shut, not wanting to look at the world anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, and it wasn’t clear if he was expressing sympathy for Crow’s grief or apologizing for Newton’s injury.

When Crow could talk past the stricture in his throat, he said, “Jonatha, get me something to use as a compress. Towels, anything. Val, keep the pressure on right here. See, just like that.” He guided her hands, then looked up to accept a folded towel from Jonatha. “Vince, see if Eddie there is wearing a belt. I need it.”

With Tow-Truck Eddie’s belt and the towel, Crow made a tight compress over the bullet wound. Newton was in and out of consciousness. “Jonatha, keep your eye on him. If he wakes up, don’t let him move that compress, and don’t let him move. There’s no exit wound, so that bullet’s still there. If he moves it could shift around and do damage.”

He stood and walked into Weinstock’s room. Val followed him and held his hand while Crow looked at his friend’s body, ugly and graceless in death.

“How?” he asked, and she told him.

Crow inhaled and exhaled very deeply, as if trying to abrade his lungs. He bent over Weinstock and kissed his friend on the forehead. “I’m so sorry, man.” Then he turned and pulled Val close and they just stood there, not kissing, just holding on to keep from drowning.

From the doorway, Mike said, “Crow…something’s happening.”

Crow had to tighten his mouth to respond to that, biting back everything he wanted to say, to yell.

“What is it, Mike?” Val asked.

“It’s that feeling I’ve been getting. What Mr. Newton calls my spider-sense? It’s, um, changing.” When Crow and Val were both looking at him, he said, “The vampires—I think they’re going.”

Crow frowned. “Going? Going where?”

“Going to him.”

Chapter 45

1

Vic wandered through the shadows of the hospital corridors looking for a living doctor or nurse, and came up empty. Most of the corpses had been revived and were gone now; the rest were the ones too badly torn up by the Dead Heads to be worth bringing back. Armless, legless, headless junk.

He heard a quiet footfall behind him and whirled, bringing his gun up. High as he was on morphine, his gun hand was still steady as a rock. Three figures came out of the darkened office, their smiling mouths rouged with blood.

“Oh,” Vic said, lowering the gun. “It’s you clowns.”

Dixie McVey gave him a toothy grin. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Vic gave them a narrow-eyed appraisal. McVey was the only one of the three he knew; the others looked like tourists who had been impressed into service. “Why would that be?”

“Ruger said that you was hurt, that you burned yourself playing with matches or something. His words, Vic. He said for us to make sure you was looked after.”

“Nice to hear he’s concerned about my health. Sends three Fangers to babysit me.”

McVey shrugged. “Hey, man, I’m just following orders. Ruger says jump and I’m in the air.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Hey, Vic, I’m on the clock here. Ruger tells me to find you and bring you out, then that’s what I’m going to do. If I’m out of line here, then tell me.”

“Bring me ‘out’?” He looked at the other two vampires, both of whom were giving him the stare. He almost laughed in their pasty faces.

“To the Hollow, man. The Ritual’s probably already started. I can feel the Man calling.” A dreamy look floated around in his eyes. “I got a car outside.”

“Okay,” said Vic brightly. “Let’s go for a nice ride in the country.” He gestured with his burned hand. “Lead on, McVey.”

“Cool, man.” McVey turned and began leading the way and the other two vampires, neither of whom had uttered a single word, fell in behind Vic. They went about ten paces and then Vic stopped.

Vic said, “Oh, wait a minute.” MacVey turned to face him. “You know what I forgot?”

“What’s that, man?”

“Just this,” Vic said and jammed the pistol against McVey’s face and pulled the trigger. The garlic-filled dumdum punched a neat round hole beside the officer’s nose and then blew the whole back of his skull off. McVey’s amazed face went blank with death as he toppled backward; Vic turned and stepped back, covering the other two.

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” he shouted. “Is that it? What did Karl arrange for me? A car accident? Or maybe I was gonna fall down a flight of steps and break my neck. I know it wasn’t going to be a fang job because the Man would know about that. So what was it gonna be?”

The vampires shifted and looked scared. One of them looked ready to bolt, the other just stared at the barrel, trying to work out why the gun had been able to kill one of their kind when that was supposed to be impossible.

“Car accident,” one said, and the other nodded.

Vic snorted. “So, what’s the deal here? You boys working for Ruger now? Is that it? You guys don’t give a shit that I’m the Foreman and that I’m tight with the Man?”

“We just did what we were told. Ruger told us that the Man was through with you.”

“And you believed that?” Vic asked with more incredulity than he felt.

“What do we care?” asked the other vampire. “We don’t know you—we just do what we’re told.”

Vic shifted the gun to point at that vampire’s face. “Tell me, son, how much do you want to live? I mean even as a piece of shit like you are, how much do you want to go on living?”

The vampires exchanged a glance. “A lot.”

“Good,” said Vic, and he lowered the gun. “Then from now on you do what I say. You got that?”

After a long hesitation, they nodded.

“Then come on. I think there’s still some time for fun and games around here.” And he thought, I want the Man to see how I’m still part of this. Ruger’s not the only one who racked up a body count for the cause.