It looked like water, but it must have burned like acid. Oliver let go of Claire and screamed, stumbling backward, tearing the hat from his head and bending over, clawing at his face….
Shane grabbed Claire’s hand, and pulled her with him in a limping run.
Straight into the old hospital building.
With a roar, the cops, the vampires, and their servants came rushing across the open sunlit parking lot. Some of the vampires went down, hammered by the hot sun, but not all of them. Not nearly all of them.
Shane pushed Claire through the doorway and yelled, “Now!’”
A huge, heavy wooden desk dropped down on its side, blocking the doorway with a crash, and then another one dropped on top of it from the balcony above.
Shane, breathing hard, grabbed Claire and pulled her into a hug. “You okay?’” he asked. “No fang marks or anything?’”
“I’m fine,’” she gasped. “Oh, God, Shane!’”
“So this charcoal look, that’s just fashion. You’re okay.’”
She clung to him tightly. “There was a fire.’”
“No kidding. Dad makes one hell of a diversion.’” Shane swallowed and pushed her back. “Did you get Monica out of there? Dad told me—well, he meant to leave her in there.’” She nodded. Shane’s eyes glittered with relief. “I tried to stop this, Claire. He won’t listen to me.’”
“He never did. Didn’t you know that?’”
He shrugged, and looked around. “Funny, I keep thinking he will. Where’s Eve? In the police car?’”
With Michael, she almost said, and realized it probably wasn’t the best moment to announce that Shane’s best friend was now a full-fledged vampire. Shane was just barely warming up to the whole ghost issue. “Yeah. In the police car.’” She took a corner of his shirt and lifted it to wipe at the blood on his face.
“Ouch.’”
“Where’s your dad?’”
“They’ve been moving out,’” he said. “He tried to get me to go. I said I’d damn well go when I had you back. So…I guess now would be a good time.’”
There was a clatter of metal off to the side, and Claire’s world gradually expanded past the miracle of seeing Shane again to take in the room where she stood. It was a big lobby, floored in scarred, ugly green plastic tile. What little furniture remained in the room was mostly bolted down, like the reception desk; the walls were black and furry with thick streaks of mold, and lights hung at odd angles overhead, clearly ready to fall at the slightest jolt. There was a creaky-looking second floor overlooking the lobby, and around it dented filing cabinets blocked the windows.
It smelled like dead things—worse, it felt that way, like terrible things had been done here over the years. Claire was reminded of the Glass House, and the energy stored inside of it…. What kind of energy was stored here? And what had it come from? She shuddered even thinking about it.
“They’re coming!’” someone called from up above, and Shane raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Time to get the hell out, man!’”
“Coming.’” He grabbed Claire’s hand. “Come on. We have a way out.’”
“We do?’”
“Morgue tunnels.’”
“What?’”
“Trust me.’”
“I do, but…morgue tunnels?’”
“Yeah,’” Shane said. “They were sealed off in the mid-fifties, but we opened up one end. It’s not on the maps. Nobody’s watching it.’”
“Then who’s in here with you?’”
“Couple of Dad’s guys,’” Shane said.
“That’s it?’” She was horrified. “You know there are about a hundred angry people outside, right? And they have guns?’”
Behind them, the battering at the doors strengthened. The desks blocking access grated across the floor, one torturous inch at a time. She could see daylight spilling inside.
“We’d better move,’” Shane said. “Come on.’”
Claire let him tow her along, and looked back over her shoulder to see the desks shuddering under the impact of bodies. They slid across the tile with another groan, and one of them cracked in half, drawers spilling out in a noisy clatter.
Shane waved to a big guy in black leather as they passed, and the three of them ran down the second-floor hallway. It was dark, filthy, and scary, but not as scary as the sounds coming from the lobby behind them. Shane had a flashlight, and he switched it on to pick out obstacles in the way—fallen IV stands, an abandoned, dust- covered wheelchair, a gurney tipped over on its side. “Faster,’” she gasped, because she heard a final crash from the lobby.
They were inside.
Claire didn’t think more than half the vampires had made it successfully across the sun-drenched parking lot, but those who’d been strong enough were inside now, and it was nice and dark for them. No contest.
Shane knew where he was going. He turned right at a corner, then left, yanked up a fire exit door, and pushed Claire inside. “Up!’” he said. “Two flights, then go left!’”
There were things on the stairs; Claire couldn’t see them very well, even in the glow of Shane’s flashlight, but they smelled dead, sickly rotten. She tried not to breathe, avoided the sticky puddles of dried—whatever that was, she couldn’t think of it as blood—and kept running up the steps. First landing, then another set of stairs, these clear except for some broken bottles she vaulted over.
She yanked the fire door two flights up, and nearly dislocated her shoulder.
It was blocked.
“Shane!’”
He pushed her out of the way, grabbed the handle, and pulled. “Shit!’” He kicked it furiously, looked blank for a second, then turned to the next flight of stairs. “One more! Go!’”
The fifth-floor door was open, and Claire darted through it into the dark.
Her foot caught on something, and she toppled forward, hit the floor, and rolled. Shane’s flashlight bounced a ball of light toward her, lighting up scarred linoleum tile, stacks of leaning boxes…
…and a skeleton. Claire yelped and scrambled back from it, then realized that it was one of those medical teaching skeletons, scattered out on the floor from where she’d tripped over it.
Shane grabbed her by the arm, hauled her up, and pulled her along. Claire looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the biker guy, the one who’d been following them. Where had he—
She heard a scream.
Oh.
Shane hurried her down the long hall, then turned left and pulled Claire after him. There was another set of fire stairs. He opened the door, and they raced down one flight.
This exit was open. Shane pulled her out into another long, dark hallway and moved fast, counting doorways under his breath.
He stopped in front of number thirteen.
“Inside,’” he said, and kicked it open. Metal gave with a shriek, and the door flew back to slam against tile. Something broke with a clatter like dropped plates.
Claire felt a chill take hold, because she had walked into what looked like a morgue. Stainless steel trays, stainless steel lockers on the wall, some gaping open to reveal sliding trays.
Yes, she was pretty sure it was the morgue. And pretty sure it was going to feature prominently in her nightmares from now on, provided she ever got to sleep again.
“This way,’” Shane said, and pulled open what looked like a laundry chute. “Claire.’”
“Oh, hell, no!’” Because if she hated tight spaces, there couldn’t be anything much worse than this. She had no idea how long it was, but it was small, it was dark, and had he said something about morgue tunnels? Was this a body chute? Maybe there was a corpse still stuck in it! Oh God…
There were noises coming from outside—the mob, coming fast.
