Black Dawn

orders, and Claire imagined they’d been along the lines of Whatever you do, don’t let those bastards in here, or let anybody else go out. Naomi, though, wasn’t taking no for an answer, and there were few human cops who were willing to stand up to a vampire with an attitude, and a gun.

“Nice,” Shane said under his breath as she led them out into the street. The wreckage of cars and dropped weapons had been mostly cleared from that area—residue of the not-so-successful riot that humans had staged the night before against the vamps; it hadn’t been effective, but it had definitely been enthusiastic. “Any idea of how far we have to go?”

“No,” Naomi said, and furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“Just thinking that it might be better to go in a vehicle than on foot. For safety.”

“You,” Naomi said, “have a flamethrower, which is not of much use in the enclosed space of an automobile. Perhaps you might have considered that in your choice of weapons.”

“Not a car. A pickup,” he said without hesitation. “I get the back. Ladies in the front. Maximum speed, minimum exposure, plus a good firing platform for me and Claire, with the shotgun. Or you. Whichever.”

Naomi cocked her head and looked at him in silence for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well,” she said. “Obtain one, if you please.”

“I always knew hot-wiring skills would come in handy, other than getting me more frequent-flier jail points,” Shane said. “Stay here.” He jogged away, light and lithe even under the weight of the heavy equipment he was carrying, and Claire watched him go with a hungry little stab of anxiety. For all his easy comebacks, Shane was as vulnerable as any of them. Even Naomi, who was also watching her boyfriend with a thoughtful frown grooved between her brows.

“I was told Shane Collins was unreliable,” she said, “but I see little sign of it now. I was also told he loathed my kind and would see us dead if he could. Yet he came with you to rescue us. Odd.”

“People change,” Claire said.

Naomi shrugged, and made it look like some exotic foreign gesture. “Assuredly,” she said. “But mostly I find they change for the worse, not the better. In fact, some who once liked me have changed so much that they tried to burn me as a monster.”

“Well, then you’re even,” Claire shot back, “because Amelie had Shane in a cage and was going to burn him for something he didn’t even do. He’s changed. For the better. And he didn’t have to.”

“Perhaps he has changed for you.”

For some reason the whole idea of that just made Claire … angry. “No. Not for me. He’s a good guy, deep down, and he wants to make things better. Same as me. So just—shut up about it.” She was, she realized, short of sleep, tired, anxious, and scared, and Naomi’s cool analysis of someone she loved made her unreasonably irritated.

Naomi said nothing, just gazed at her with placid, polite interest. There was a lot of frost inside her. She’d been nicer when there hadn’t been lives at stake, Claire thought; now survival was a big and increasing concern for her, and it was testing the limits of her willingness to put up with disrespectful humans.

But she didn’t snarl, glow red eyes, flash fangs, or otherwise try to make a vampiric comeback, so Claire had to be satisfied with that. They waited in silence for a few uncomfortable moments before the growing throb of an engine and a splash of headlights across the pavement signaled the arrival of a massive pickup truck that pulled to a stop neatly ahead of them. It idled slow and deep, and the bed of the thing was approximately the size of a blue whale. The interior of the cab could hold a soccer team. It even had a handy—though empty—gun rack in the back window.

The bumper sticker read: YOU CAN HAVE MY GUNS WHEN YOU PRY THEM FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS. Some joker—possibly the owner of the truck—had added UN before DEAD with a black marker. Claire cast a glance at Naomi, who was focused on the same words. There was an odd, vaguely amused smile on her lips that was not just a little creepy.

Shane leaned out the window of the truck and said, “God, I love rednecks. Who wants to drive this bad boy?”

“Not me,” Claire immediately said, at the same time that Naomi said, “I do not know how.”

Shane jumped down from the cab, paused, and stared at the two of them with a blank expression. “Don’t want to?” he asked Claire, and then swung his attention to Naomi, looking even more stunned. “Can’t? Seriously, there’s something wrong with the two of you.”

“If by wrong you mean sane,” Claire said. “That thing is like a tank, only a tank gets better gas mileage.”

“This is your biggest concern right now? Gas mileage?”

“No, I don’t think I can actually see over the dash! Who drives this thing? Bigfoot?”

“Rad,” Shane said. “You know, Rad, who owns the mechanic shop and sells bikes? That guy. C’mon. I’ll buy you a booster seat.”

Claire gave him a doubtful look, but he pointed to the pale gray sky, at the brightest point. A silent reminder that the day wasn’t getting any younger and their chances of finding Theo were dimming with the afternoon sun.

“Fine,” she said. Shane had to boost her up to the chrome step, and then she climbed into the cab of the truck itself. There were eighteen wheelers that were lower to the ground, she was convinced. Naomi had no such issues; she made her entrance to the passenger side look graceful. Claire slotted her shotgun into the rack behind them, but Naomi kept hold of hers, eyes distant and watchful.

It turned out she could see over the dash, after all, though she had to pull the seat all the way forward to reach the pedals. Shane vaulted up into the open bed of the truck and slapped the side of the truck in a signal to go.

“Well,” Claire muttered, “here goes nothing.”

Literally.

She stalled the truck immediately, then leaned out the window to yell at Shane, “Who drives a standard transmission these days?”

“Manly men,” he called back. “C’mon, Claire, you can do it!”

She could, but she just hated shifting. Too much to think about, especially in their current, extremely complicated situation. No help for it, though; she gritted her teeth, adjusted the seat even closer, and got familiar, again, with the clutch. It was painful and humiliatingly awkward, but she managed. The truck leaped forward with a low, rumbling growl, and she thought, We could probably pull down a building with this thing. Worth noting, anyway.

Leaving the false circle of safety—false, because Claire knew it was just an illusion, sponsored by all those lights—still felt like a Very Bad Idea. She flipped on the headlights, on bright, even though it was still murky afternoon, and after a moment reached out and turned on the truck’s heater as well. The hot, dry blast of air made her shiver in relief. She felt chilled to the bone, and slimy, even though she knew there probably hadn’t been any draug in the raindrops that had soaked through her clothes.

What if there had been? How many of those contaminated raindrops does it take to make a whole draug? They knew next to nothing about these things, and lack of knowledge always bugged her. She glanced over at Naomi—or, actually, at the back of Naomi’s head, because the vampire was turned to hold her shotgun out of the passenger window, watching for any sign of attack.

“Left,” Naomi said in a flat voice. “Then straight ahead.” She didn’t sound like she was much better than she had been, back on the steps … coping, but not happy about it. Claire wondered how long it would take for her antibodies—if vampires had such things—to destroy the invading blood … and what would happen if a lot of foreign vampire blood was introduced, all at once. Her skin prickled, and it wasn’t from the chill. It might kill them. It would certainly go a long way toward knocking them down, fast. She wondered how many humans knew that. It was good information, but it made her shudder to have it in her head. They didn’t like having their vulnerabilities known.

Claire turned left at the dead stoplight, after a brief pause. Kind of stupid, really, because there wasn’t any traffic to worry about. As far as she could tell, they were the only headlights moving in town. The rain had slacked off to a dully falling mist, and she kept the wipers working to clear the windshield. The steady thump-