But Yale did have a plan after all. Crashing the Pontiac into the concrete barrier that kept the steep hill to our left from falling down onto the roadway probably wasn’t part of it, but it did stop the car. He jumped out of the vehicle and onto the barrier like a cross-country runner and began slogging up the hill.
I pulled up right behind him, Cole and his truck full of SWAT men hard on my tail. But as soon as my feet hit the pavement I knew we were outnumbered. Outgunned. Out of our minds to even think of climbing that mound. Underneath this road, that grass, a million fiends writhed in their unending tortuous dance. Like the women at a Little Italy festival, they bounced round and round an enormous vat, their hooves pounding relentlessly on the souls of their victims, turning them into Satan’s wine.
“I would make a terrible merlot,” I muttered.
“What did you say?” asked Vayl as he dismounted with a heartfelt groan. I didn’t reply. Something was stuck in my throat. If I was a guy, I’d have sworn they were my testicles.
I looked up as I set the kickstand. On top of that slope stood an abandoned church. Its steeple still stood intact, though part of the roof had caved and all the windows had been boarded up. Though I swung my leg over the bike, it moved slowly, because it was hardwired to that part of my brain that insisted we’d found hell’s front porch and we needed to RUN!
“Vayl,” I gasped. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “It seems as if the road is filled with flesh-eating beetles, although my eyes insist we are fine.”
Behind us the guys were having even more trouble. Cole had made it out of the truck and was struggling toward us as if the asphalt was sucking at his shoes. The SWAT men, bereft of any form of protective powers, shared the narrow-eyed, tight-lipped look of soldiers who would turn and run but for their love of and loyalty to one another.
Jericho had brought what looked like the cream of the crop. A wiry, gray-headed gentleman carrying a Remington SPS Varmint sniper rifle nodded and introduced himself as Sergeant Betts. Corporal Fentimore had apparently not been satisfied with his original collection of muscles and decided to build himself a complete extra set on top of them. He and his barrel-chested, broad-shouldered buddy, who said shortly, “Call me Rand,” were both armed with SIG-551s. These men were cut from the same cloth as my brother, and my father in his prime. Just looking at them, you felt you couldn’t shake them with a mortar. And yet they danced from foot to foot like sprinters at the start line.
Which was when I realized the place was spelled. I hadn’t grasped it right away because the magic was so big. It had stunned my Sensitivity the same way your brain goes into overload when you first walk into an art museum. Until you step back and convince it to take one thing at a time, you never see a single picture.
I dumped my helmet and helped Vayl off with his. Cole had joined us by then. “There’s some kind of expellation spell on this hill,” I told them all. “What you’re feeling isn’t real.” And just knowing that, all of us would be able to function a helluva lot better.
“What about them?” asked Jericho, nodding toward the hill.
I looked over my shoulder. A line of dark shapes was pouring out of the desecrated church.Shit! “Those are a different story.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
Half of Hell Hill stood between us and Desmond Yale. He’d made good time, but too, he’d already been running a while and the wear and tear on his earthly body had taken its toll. His knees kept buckling, forcing him to the ground every few steps. His tongue hung out like a hound dog’s, and blood seeped from the weakened parts of his shield. That was the good news.
Evidently he’d found himself a little cult of well-armed humans to guard his exit. Well, I’d known he was a canny old demon. I should’ve figured he had an escape plan.
His acolytes had taken cover behind an abandoned minibus that hadOUR LORD’S MISSION OF CORPUS CHRISTI painted on its side, and were firing down on us while Yale moved toward them. They didn’t seem to be able to shoot worth a damn, but then they had an enormous advantage in terrain. All they really needed to do was keep up a steady barrage while Yale struggled the rest of the way up the hill and he’d be completely out of our hands.
As soon as Yale’s gang had opened up on us, we’d taken cover behind the four-foot-high concrete barrier at the base of the hill to figure out our next move. Also to keep from getting our heads blown off. Even idiots get lucky once in a while.
“Jericho, you got anything available in the form of air support?” I asked.
“On its way,” he told me, pocketing his phone, “but probably not in time for us to catch the old guy.”
“Dammit!” I pressed my back to the barrier and traded glares with Vayl. I wasn’t sure which of us was more pissed. To come this close and lose. Neither of us cared to do that. We had to get up that hill, and fast!
“The armor makes me nearly bulletproof,” he reminded me. “But it slows me too much. I am afraid one of those nitwit gunmen would put a bullet through my brain before I could reach him.” He motioned to the part of his head Chien-Lung’s breath had cleared of ice. Though a gunshot wound wouldn’t kill him, it would knock Vayl out of the game, and we couldn’t afford that at this point.
Come on, Jaz, look around you. What are your tools? What can speed you up that hill without dying before you have a chance to take out the monster?
“Jericho, you guys got a ramp in the back of that truck?”
He nodded. “We need some way to get the ATV out to the sticks.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Vayl, how’s your dexterity?” He flexed his hands. He could only close them halfway, but that should be more than enough.
Funny how just knowing somebody’s got even the first part of a plan will galvanize everybody else on a team. While Fentimore and Rand used their SIGs to keep the reaver gang from totally controlling the field, the rest of us assembled the ramp. We had to do some adjusting, but when we were done it sat firmly against the concrete barrier. If the highway department were so inclined they could drive their tractors right up the thing, mow the hill, and then motor back down without a hitch. I had a slightly different plan.
“So,” said Jericho as I climbed into an old suit of body armor someone had thrown behind the driver’s seat of his truck, “you’re going to turn Evel Knievel on us?”
From our current vantage point, crouched by the 4×4’s front tire, we gazed first at the ramp, then at his precious cycle. “It’s going to be a steep little jump,” I told him. “But we’ll give ourselves plenty of room to build up speed. And we’ve got to get wheels on that hill. Nothing else is going to catch our reaver. Unless you can think of a better, faster way?”
As Jericho pondered the possibilities, my armor began to press down on me. Hard. So of course that was the moment my motherboard decided to do a short internal scan, throw up its hands, and screech, “Dear Lawd, a VAMPIRE has taken mah blood!” and initiate a general shutdown. I took a seat on the nearest flat surface—the truck’s running board.
“You all right?” asked Jericho. Cole, squatting by the back tire as he helped Vayl on with his helmet, gave me a worried look.
“I’m fine,” I said, pulling on my own helmet before my pallor could betray me. This was the immediate price I paid for increased Sensitivity. I had a feeling there would be long-term implications as well, but now was no time to obsess.
Problem was, once that cushioned Kevlar dome encased my head, not even the pinging of badly aimed bullets could distract me from the bone-chilling realization that, this time, I just might have bitten off one that would choke me blue.