“I’m sure we’re going to be the last line of defense. If Devon or anyone else thinks we’re front lines material, we’re all screwed.”
That prompted a hollow laugh out of Sara. We shared weak grins and followed the trickle of remaining hunters through the door and into the private domain of the obscenely rich and most likely famous.
The homes in the community had bigger lots than most of the others I’d seen so far in my time in California, even counting Sara’s sister’s place in Malibu. Many were large, imposing structures, but none of them matched Clyde’s for casual intimidation. A few had lights burning, cars in the drives, and the sounds of the occasional radio or TV drifting through windows, but I didn’t see any people moving around except for White Hats skulking through the bushes like the bad guys in a cheesy action flick.
The enormity of what we were doing didn’t sink in until I saw the moving vans. A half dozen of the big haulers, the kind you used to move an entire household, were lined up on the street in front of a house around the corner from Clyde’s mansion.
Maybe it was the way the wind was blowing, but the stink of them didn’t hit me until we skirted around the side of a house down the hill from Clyde’s. Gideon must have been hauling zombies from all over the county in those things, maybe raising them by the dozens from other cemeteries and using Forest Lawn in Hollywood Hills as a distraction or cover of some sort. One of the trucks was the telltale U-Haul with the Golden Gate Bridge decal on the side the lady we’d interviewed at the Laundromat had told us about.
There was nothing in the trucks now; the cabs and cargo doors stood open, the loading ramps still down. Small gobbets of unidentified people-bits, a few bugs, and that unmistakable stench were all that remained.
It was a wonder none of the neighbors had noticed or complained. This was not the kind of neighborhood where you could haul in zombies by the truckload and have them go unnoticed. Someone, somewhere, had to have noticed the smell. Even a couple blocks away, even though I was covered in long-dried dead people juice, the concentrated stink of decomposing bodies left to rot in a hot truck all day (or maybe days) was making my eyes water.
Some of the other White Hats were muttering about it, one of them retching in the bushes nearby. On a hunch, I tugged Sara’s arm to get her to stop, and I edged closer to one of the windows of the house we were using for cover. Peering inside, I spotted what I was looking for. When Sara tapped my shoulder, I answered her puzzled look by pointing to the prone body on the kitchen floor, only the designer jeans-clad legs and part of the torso visible from our angle.
Gideon must have done something to put the people in the neighborhood—or the ones closest to Clyde’s home, anyway—to sleep while he did his dirty work. Since he had so casually sent Sara and me into unconsciousness outside of Thrane’s hideout, it didn’t surprise me. Though I was glad none of the White Hats had shown up early enough to be caught in the spell, I wasn’t too concerned about the neighbors. He hadn’t added them into his army of undead. They’d be fine, if a bit groggy, once the spell wore off.
The question was, where was Gideon now? And Fabian, for that matter.
“Madre de Dios. . . . That monster will pay.” Jesus’s voice startled me, though he spoke in a low growl. He must have crept behind Sara and me when we were looking in the window.
“They’re sleeping,” Sara explained, “not dead. They’ll be fine.”
“You know what did this?”
We both nodded. “A mage. A bad one who doesn’t follow the rules.”
Frown lines appeared between his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. We followed him as he moved from shadow to shadow, bringing us ever closer to Clyde’s property.
It was so quiet—no dogs were barking, no early evening birds rustling in the trees, no bugs chirping, no nothing—that I couldn’t help but worry. There was no sign of security, no vampires wandering around watching for intruders, and no sign of movement in the windows of Clyde’s house. The other shoe was overdue to drop.
We kept going, though, moving with more stealth than I would have thought a bunch of dudes carrying tons of weapons and acting like Navy SEAL rejects would have been capable of managing. Nobody made any effort to stop us or investigate, which didn’t make me feel any better, no matter how good these guys were at this. Vampires had senses far superior to those of humans, so even if Gideon didn’t have some magical radar that would tell him Sara was here, someone from Clyde’s household should have detected us by now.
This had to be a trap of some kind, but I didn’t know where Devon was, and it was too late to tell him we needed to back out and rethink this plan.
Then the first gunshot rang out, and it was too late to do more than regret ever coming to this godforsaken town.
Chapter 27
Gunfire sounded from all sides. Jesus plowed ahead, so Sara and I continued to follow him. The zombies came from around the trees and bushes in Clyde’s front yard, having hidden until we got close enough for them to do the dead man’s version of a rush on the nearest White Hats. More approached from behind us, too, somehow having snuck around to cut us off from our escape route.
Cursing under my breath, I flicked the safety off the rifle, hefting it to my shoulder, and took aim at one of the zombies moving our way. It was farther back than the ones Sara and Jesus were concentrating on, with little between us other than a couple of low, ornamental bushes.
The thing was withered and shrunken, yellowed teeth bared in rictus as it shuffled in our direction, grasping hands held out before it. Blowing out a breath, I focused down the sights, aiming carefully for one of the raisin-like eyeballs.
At first, I didn’t think I had hit the thing. It took another step forward. And another. Then toppled forward, the back of its head laid open like some grisly flower. Man, this gun packed a punch. I’d have to see about getting one from Jack for my very own anti-zombie kit when I got home.
Wait. Jack wasn’t leading the White Hats anymore. Maybe Royce could hook me up. Either way, I loved this rifle.
Taking careful aim, I popped off another few rounds. More zombies fell under my bullets, and now that the initial surprise was wearing off, the White Hats were doing a good job laying a suppressive fire, rapidly regaining the ground they had lost. A couple of times, I heard curses and shouts of pain, but I didn’t see anyone getting dragged down by cold, dead hands.
It was probably just a couple of minutes, but it felt like a lot longer before the last one fell, jaws still moving as it tried to latch onto one of the nearest hunters before the rest of the body caught on that its brain had just been turned to mush by the .22 bullet that rattled around in its skull like a crazed bumblebee in search of escape from its smoking hive.
Still, no vampires. And no Gideon.
Despite the adrenaline rush from the battle, I was getting more and more worried that this was a setup. We had to get the hell out of here, and we had to do it soon. Something bad was waiting for us in that house. I just knew it. Devon wasn’t anywhere in sight for me to tell, and Jesus had separated from us during the battle. There were other White Hats nearby, but I didn’t know any of them by name, and I wasn’t sure they would listen to me if I tried to tell them this must be some kind of trap.
It was too late, anyway. Half a dozen White Hats were already sprinting for the front door. One of them kicked it in even as a couple others were stage whispering at them to wait. After all the gunfire, I wasn’t sure waiting mattered or that the few with half a dozen brain cells between them were heard by the idiots rushing in. Any element of surprise we might have had was long lost, and whatever was waiting for us inside was going to force us to fight on its terms.