Black Dawn

wake. “To the garage!”

That left Shane still holding Claire. He didn’t let go. “What happened to your hand?” he asked. “Because if it was him—”

“It wasn’t.” Well, that was debatable, but she wasn’t about to tell Shane; there was enough tension between him and Myrnin already. “It was Amelie. She’s turning into … one of them. The draug.” She stripped off the towel and showed him her hand, and the red pinpricks of bite—or stings—that covered her fingers. He winced. “We don’t have much time to save her.”

“If we can,” he said, and lifted her injured hand to his lips. His kiss felt so good that it washed relief all the way through her. “I know you. You’re going to try like hell to make everything right again.”

“Hell’s what’s coming,” she said. “I’m just trying to avoid it. Come on.”

As soon as the elevator doors opened, they heard the sound of an engine coughing, catching, and taking up a heavy thrumming idle. Shane cocked his head in that direction. “That’s our cue,” he said. “You ready?”

“No.” She laughed a little, and he kissed her, and she just wanted that, more of that and less of the blood and terror. Morganville had always been bad, but this had to get better. It had to.

But first, she strongly suspected, it was going to get worse.

Driving inside an armored truck was boring, Claire found. She’d gotten the shotgun seat, which was useless even though she actually had a shotgun, because the windows were vampire tinted and she couldn’t see a thing. Michael drove in silence, with an occasional muttered “Sorry” when the heavy truck hit a bump. It wasn’t made for bumps. At all. The three in the back were getting bounced around like mad—no, two of them, Eve and Shane. Myrnin had taken the only seat, the one as plush as a throne, with a safety harness. It had obviously been built for Amelie. There were hanging straps for, well, hangers- on, and Shane and Eve were clinging to them, not that it helped much.

“I think I may puke,” Shane called up, which was met by a chorus that he’d better not. He wasn’t serious, at least. Or Claire hoped he wasn’t. “You could fill this thing up with water and detergent and spin clothes in it. Does it even have shocks?”

“Stop complaining,” Myrnin said, sitting perfectly comfortably in his velvet-covered seat. “It is the most protected vehicle you could possibly wish to be inside. It is bulletproof, lightproof, and most important, waterproof, although if you could please not put that to the test by driving it into any deep ponds I would appreciate it.”

Michael looked sideways at Claire and said, “Could you please see if you can get him to shut up before Shane punches him, or I do?”

“Myrnin,” she said wearily, “just shut up.”

“You wound me.”

“Not yet, but keep it up.”

Myrnin didn’t answer that, but his smirk, which Claire glimpsed over her shoulder, was enough to make her want to smack him anyway. He was clearly feeling better.

The bouncing slowed to a crawl, finally, and Michael said, “I can see the treatment plant up ahead. The gates are shut. Do you want me to run it?”

“Yes. The less time we spend on foot, the better,” Myrnin said. “Run the gate by all means, and take us as near as you can to the main entrance. No discussion once we arrive, we simply move, and everyone must know their jobs. Michael, you and Eve will stay behind to lock the vehicle; we don’t want any unpleasantly moist surprises waiting for us when we get back. Once it’s locked, you go in and to the second floor on the north side. There are clearly marked manual valve control panels at the end of the hall; shut them all down and evacuate back to the vehicle immediately. Yours is the shortest distance, so you should get back to the truck the fastest. That is why you will have the keys.”

“What if something happens? Are these the only keys?”

“Yes,” Myrnin said, “so don’t let anything happen, by all means. I should deeply prefer not to have to rescue anyone on this particular outing. Shane, you and Claire will take the manual valve controls on the second floor, on the south side. You have a greater distance to go, so you should do the same as Michael and Eve—shut down the valves and run back for the van.”

“And what about you?” Claire asked.

“I will be in the center of the first floor, main control room at the far east end of the building. I will be there to disable the start-up panels and program the system to reverse the flow of the pipes. That process is going to take the longest.”

Shane raised his hand. “Uh, question?”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t design this plant, did you? It’s not made out of—I don’t know, cow entrails and flywheels or anything?”

Myrnin gave him a cool, blank look and said, “In fact this was built by an engineering firm from Houston, I believe. In the 1950s. There is a sad lack of entrails, cow or otherwise. Are you finished?”

“Suppose so.” Shane shrugged. “Hey, is it okay if I wear the flamethrower this time?”

“Can anybody stop you?” Myrnin asked. “By all means.”

Shane grinned and put the straps on, lifting the contraption onto his back and checking the ignition flame to be sure it turned on. “Good to go.”

“Hold on,” Michael said, and pressed the accelerator. Shane and Eve yelped and clung to their panic straps with both hands. Claire felt that they were hurtling through space blindly, and she fought an urge to yell at him to slow down because she couldn’t see, but he could, and then there was a shudder, the truck thumped hard, and he did hit the brakes to bring them to a skidding stop.

The sudden silence lasted only an instant before Myrnin bellowed, “Move, now!” and lunged with vampiric speed, throwing open the back doors. Shane scrambled out after him and swung Eve down just as Michael stepped out of the driver’s side and Claire got out on the passenger’s side. Michael locked up the doors from the electronic key fob and handed it to Eve.

“You hang on to the keys,” he said. “Insurance.”

She gave him a curious look, but at least it wasn’t angry anymore. Just … conflicted. Then the two of them ran after Myrnin, who had already disappeared inside.

Shane took Claire’s hand in his. The water treatment plant was a sprawling mass of concrete, pipes, and shadows, and nothing was moving.

Overhead, thunder rumbled, and it seemed that the clouds were growing thicker. No rain yet, but it was coming. Could the draug actually push the clouds? Make them go where they wanted? That seemed impossible, but then, the thought of something able to break itself apart into individual drops and reform was impossible in itself.

“Stay with me,” Shane said, and she nodded. The weight of her shotgun was heavy in her right hand, but it didn’t slow her down any as they ran after their friends, into the dark.

The water treatment plant had a horrible smell to it, rotten eggs mixed with vomit, and Claire hadn’t expected that. Her eyes teared up, and she coughed and choked and made a completely useless fanning motion in front of her nose, as if the stench was something she could wave off. Shane seemed wretched, too, but stoic about it. “Burst pipe, probably,” he said. “Raw sewage. Try not to breathe too deep, but keep breathing. You’ll get used to it.”

“The not-breathing-deep part is easy,” she said. “This is really gross.”

“Did I ever tell you I worked trash and dead animal pickup? One of the many glamorous jobs I’ve held in Morganville. Not everybody can be a rock star or a mad scientist vampire assistant. Somebody has to clean up the crap. In my case, literally.”

The lights were on in the plant, but they seemed dim and discolored somehow, and they flickered from time to time. The electrical grid wasn’t too stable, Claire guessed, or else the place was running on emergency power. She felt for the small LED flash that she’d clipped to the belt loop of her jeans—still there. It wasn’t super bright, but it would help. Eve had brought some monster aluminum-cased thing that could double for a baseball bat, of