The little boy came scooting into the room and to the bar. He said something to the bartender, who then rang the bell and brought a double-barreled shotgun out from under the counter. “It looks like the stinks are on to us,” the bartender announced grimly. “Follow the signs to the emergency exit and good luck! We’ll set up somewhere else if we can.”
With a great deal of shouting people sprang to their feet, swung packs up onto their backs, and grabbed their weapons. Then, like a herd of spooked cattle, they stampeded towards a door with the words “Emergency Exit” scrawled on it. Only one person could pass through the doorway at a time, so there was an immediate backup.
Rowdy jumped off the chair and barked. Capelli’s movements were casual as he stood and slipped his arms into the parka. “No, boy. Not yet.”
Locke was on his feet, his pack was on his back, and he held a .30-30 Winchester in the crook of his arm. He gestured towards the crowd. “Shouldn’t we get in line?”
“Keep your eye on the bartender and his son,” Capelli replied, as he hoisted the pack frame onto his back. “We’ll follow them.”
Locke looked and saw that rather than head for the emergency exit with the others, the bartender and the boy were headed towards the main entrance. And, judging from the pack on the bartender’s back, he was carrying that evening’s receipts. Locke swore softly. “Well, I’ll be damned. They’re using their customers as decoys!”
“Roger that,” Capelli agreed matter-of-factly. “Come on. There must be a third way out of here.”
The bartender and his son had already passed through the door and entered the stairwell by the time Capelli arrived. But where the locals turned right, they turned left. Then they climbed the stairs to the level above, and to what had been a dead space until a bomb fell on the building. The explosion had left a crevice wide enough for father and son to slip through. Rowdy led the way and Capelli was quick to follow. Muted gunfire could be heard by then, which meant that at least some of the saloon’s customers were doing battle with the stinks, who had been topside waiting for them.
Capelli heard Locke swear and turned to discover that the other man was too big to fit through the narrow opening. “Give me the rifle, shed the pack, and slip through sideways. Hurry!”
As Locke handed the Winchester through the crevice, the dog growled a warning and Capelli heard the gabble of stink speech coming from the stairs above. Then Locke passed his pack through the opening, quickly followed by Locke himself, who then reclaimed his rifle.
Capelli had been hoping to avoid combat, but it was too late. He motioned for Locke to squeeze past him, leveled the Rossmore at the passageway, and waited for a Hybrid to appear. One of the slope-headed monsters arrived seconds later. It was backlit by a single lantern that dangled out in the hall. The Chimera snarled loudly, and was raising a Bullseye, when a full load of double-ought-buck blew half of its head away. Blood and gore painted the concrete wall behind it.
But as the first stink collapsed, another appeared to take its place. And so it went until the Rossmore’s tubular magazine was empty and it was necessary to reload. That was a dangerous moment, and one in which Capelli would have been forced to pull his pistol had he been alone, but Locke was tugging at his pack.
So Capelli stepped into a gap, let the big man take his place, and was pleased to see the calm manner in which Locke fired the Winchester. Brass casings arced through the air and tinkled off concrete as Locke worked the lever. The battle came to an end as two more Hybrids went down.
Capelli was satisfied with the weapons he already had, and couldn’t carry more, but it was tempting to strip the Hybrids of ammo. Even if he couldn’t use it, someone else could, and ammo was the equivalent of money. But there was no way to know how many Chimera were in the area, or when more of them would decide to come charging down the stairs, so he let the opportunity pass.
“Come on,” Capelli said, as he pumped a round into the chamber of his newly reloaded shotgun. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Rowdy—take the point.”
The dog, standing stiff-legged next to Capelli, barked. Then, having turned within his own length, he was gone.
“That’s quite a dog,” Locke said admiringly.
“He’ll do,” Capelli replied. “Don’t forget to reload.”
Locke had forgotten. He smiled sheepishly as he slipped a couple of shells into the rifle’s receiver and picked up his pack as if it were a suitcase.
Activating the light attached to his shotgun, Capelli followed the pale blob through a zigzagging passageway until he came upon a wooden ladder. It slanted up through a dark hole, and the angle was such that Rowdy could climb it. The dog was already halfway up the crudely built structure by the time Capelli arrived.
Wood creaked as Capelli stepped aboard, and it gave slightly as he made his way upwards. Cool night air greeted him as the light from the shotgun splashed the underside of a slab of concrete. From there he had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl through a short tunnel to the spot where the bartender, his son, and Rowdy had escaped into the darkness beyond. The light was a potential liability, so Capelli paused to turn it off, and took the opportunity to listen. The air was chilly, hinting at things to come.
Capelli heard something rattle behind him. It was Locke, and Capelli wished that the big man could move more quietly. He took note of the fact that the sound of gunfire could no longer be heard. It seemed that one side or the other had won. Capelli would have put his money on the stinks.
Shotgun at the ready, he eased his way out onto what had been a ramp and froze. A little bit of light shone from the street beyond. When Locke appeared, Capelli held a finger to his lips and began to slide along the sloping wall. He found a corner at the bottom, just inside the big doorway, a good place to hide while he looked outside.
It was a horrible scene.
A bonfire blazed in the middle of the street. But the Chimera liked cold air, so it wasn’t for the heat. They were cooking with it. Half a dozen human bodies had been dragged into the circle of flickering firelight, where they were being systematically butchered and eaten. The axes made a thunking sound as they rose and fell. Was the blond waitress among the victims? Capelli hoped not. “Follow me. And be quiet,” he whispered to Locke. “Or they’ll have us for dinner too.”
Locke looked ill. But he managed a nod and followed Capelli out onto the sidewalk. The ruins of the parking garage were at the very edge of the firelight’s reach. Moving stealthily, the men were able to slip from shadow to shadow, steadily putting distance between the stinks and themselves.
The Chimera were ghastly silhouettes by then, gathered around the leaping flames, gnawing on human flesh. Capelli had seen a lot of horrible things during his days as a Sentinel but nothing worse than the scene in the middle of Rose Avenue.
It was a clear night, and the stars were out, leaving just enough light to navigate by as they sought to put the stinks behind them. Moving carefully, Capelli led Locke east about a quarter of a mile until the taller buildings began to thin out. Then he was faced with the usual conundrum. Should they find a place to hole up because it was dangerous to travel at night? Or should they keep going because it was dangerous to travel during the day?
That’s a tough one, the voice in Capelli’s head said unsympathetically. If you make the wrong decision you could wind up like me—which is to say dead!