And damn, it was so loud.
I lifted Muscular to his feet, but we both stayed well below the billows of smoke. The fire moved toward us, and the carpet at the edge of it was giving off white smoke. God, it had gotten so hot in the room so quickly. I felt like I’d been thrown into an oven.
But predators were still pouring out of the hole in Wally’s chest. They were tumbling away from the flames, swarming in thick piles along the headboard and wall. I could see some of the predators digging at the drywall, trying to escape into the next room.
The only real weapon I had was my ghost knife, and it was just a piece of paper—covered by laminate and mailing tape—but still just paper. I’d been hitting the predators as quickly as I could—like flicking a finger through a candle flame—to keep the fire from damaging it, but I couldn’t hold back anymore. My spell was precious, but stopping these predators was more important.
I threw my ghost knife toward the opening in Wally’s chest. At the same time, I willed it to move as fast as it could, putting my fear and adrenaline behind it. It zipped away from me like a rocket.
I lunged across Muscular’s body toward the curtain.
The ghost knife passed through the bulge in Wally’s stomach. Fire blasted out of his body like water from a fire hose. I tore the curtain from the rod, letting it fall over us. Predators went off like little firebombs. I slapped my hand across Muscular’s mouth and nose as the flames roared around us.
God, the heat! Muscular’s face was inches from mine, and his eyes were bulging with terror. I’m sure I looked the same.
The roar of flames subsided. The curtain scorched my back, so I threw it away, letting it fall on the carpet between the sliding glass door and us. I’d hoped it would smother the flames a little, but actually it added fuel.
At the other end of the room, fire climbed the wall and rolled against the ceiling. The bed was completely aflame, and I couldn’t see anything of Wally except his feet.
I hefted Muscular onto my shoulder. He was heavy, but my adrenaline was flowing. Time seemed sluggish, my chest felt tight, and my skin was steaming as sweat poured out of me. There was no way I could get to the door, but the balcony was only three feet away. I just had to walk through the fire.
Eight thick midnight-blue tendrils suddenly rose up out of the flames where Wally’s body lay. They arced and pressed down against the floor, lifting Wally’s corpse toward the ceiling. He was still on his back, his arms flopping loose, his nasty green sweat suit burning against his skin. A thick sludge bubbled out of the hole in his chest and flowed over his body, extinguishing the flames. He—it—something turned so its face was toward me.
Wally’s eyes were open. “Damn, Ray. That actually hurt.”
Moving like spiders’ legs, the tendrils walked him through the wall as though he were a phantom.
My blood was rushing in my ears, and Muscular was clutching at me, digging his fingers into my shoulder blade. I ran through the flames, staying as low as I could. The heat against the bottom of my shoes and up my legs was intense, but it was just pain. Just pain. I slammed my elbow against the door handle, and thank God it opened. Then I was through the doorway and onto the concrete balcony.
I swung Muscular off my shoulder, setting him on the far side of the iron rail. We both gasped for fresh air, and he suddenly began slapping at me. For a moment I was furious and drew back my fist, but then I realized he was beating out the flames on my clothes.
I stood still, listening to the roaring fire behind me and the sirens in the distance. My legs and feet didn’t hurt anymore, which was a huge surprise.
Muscular stopped swatting the flames out and looked me directly in the eye. “Mi hermano,” he said.
Adrenaline buzzed in my head and made it hard to focus on what he’d said. We gripped each other’s wrists as though we were actors in a sword-fighting movie, then I lowered him to the grass below. I bent over the rail as far as I could, but just as I thought it was still too high, he let go.
He struck the ground with a cry of pain, rolling on the grass and clutching at his burned and bloody legs. Then he struggled upright and began hopping toward the sidewalk.
The wind changed, blowing the choking black smoke toward me. The temptation to follow Muscular down to the grass was strong, but I couldn’t flee the scene yet. My head still buzzed; it was hard to think, but I knew I needed to look for predators. I had no idea what I’d do once I found them, but that had never stopped me before.
I swung my leg over the railing. I felt stiff, but it didn’t register why. The other balcony was only about six feet away, but when I jumped for it, my legs had no strength in them. I barely managed to catch the top of the rail opposite and pull myself up onto the ledge.
Something was wrong with my legs. No, not something. I was burned, and worse than I realized. Maybe I was in shock, too. I staggered into my room. The wall between mine and Wally’s was dark at the top and giving off wisps of smoke. I felt the door; it was cool. I pulled it open and staggered into the hall.
Just a few feet to my left, the doorway to Wally’s room was open. Black smoke flowed out and the flames ran all the way up to the ceiling. The smoke alarm blared an awful noise. Where were the other guests? Long gone, I hoped.
There was a staircase on the other side of the flames, but I knew it led down to the front office. Instead, I turned to the stair at the other end of the hall. The door was propped open. As I stumbled toward it, choking and coughing, I saw that it was blocked by a pair of legs.
I pushed the door open. Stoned lay on his back on the stairs, his head hanging down and his mouth open. His face was bloody, as though he’d puked blood on himself, and there was a ragged hole where his windpipe was supposed to be. His shirt rippled—something moved under there.
Damn. I had screwed up again. At least one of Wally’s predators had escaped, and Stoned had died. I dragged him by the belt into the hall and let the metal door close. Fidel and his other two cousins were nowhere to be seen.
I stood over Stoned’s body, feeling dizzy and weak. I couldn’t breathe deeply without gagging. The sirens were getting closer, but they didn’t sound close enough. Stoned’s pant leg rippled then, and his shirt in two places. Did he have three of those nasty little bastards in him? I reached for my ghost knife, but it wasn’t there and I couldn’t remember where I’d left it.
To hell with it. I pulled him down the hall by the pant cuff. The dragging on the carpet caused his green plaid shirt to slide up, and I saw lumps under his skin moving down his body toward my hand, as though they could smell living flesh where it brushed his. I moved faster.
By the time the nearest predator was at Stoned’s knee, I was close enough to the fire to feel it scorching my back. I let go of his ankle and shuffled around to the other side of him. The bulges under his skin stopped moving toward his foot as though they’d lost the scent.
I didn’t want to give them the chance to find it again. I grabbed Stoned under the armpits and hoisted him up and through the doorway. I had to get so close that it felt like being on fire again, but I managed to drop him well into the flames.
I staggered back against the wall, coughing and choking. I crouched there, staying low where the air was still breathable, and watched to see if any of the little iron creatures came scuttling out of the flames. There was nothing I could do about it if they did, but I had to know.
My back and legs began to hurt in earnest now, and my wooziness grew stronger. I wanted to puke and take a nap but forced myself to wait and watch.
The flames spread, the sirens of fire trucks roared outside, and the smoke grew thick. No creatures came out of the fire toward me, but did that mean they’d been destroyed? I couldn’t think about it. My head was too muzzy.