“Simon,” Derek called.
“I’m here.”
“What are you waiting on? That building’s going to come down. Get out of there.”
“I can’t,” Simon said, stepping through the narrow doorway of the closet. It was so tight that he had to force his shoulders through. Wood splintered as he went through. Thankfully the opening in the floor was slightly larger.
Unfortunately, the rickety staircase wasn’t built to support a Templar in full armor.
“Simon,” Derek called again.
“There are people in here. A little girl. Her mother. Maybe more.” There was no way Simon was going to leave them. He couldn’t. He knew his father wouldn’t have left them, and he wasn’t about to.
Thirty-Two
I n the outer room, the third story started falling down in pieces.
As he shoved his head through the doorway in the flood, and the fire that had dripped in from outside, Simon spotted a middle-aged woman and a boy who was younger than the girl. The woman was inert while the little boy held on to her.
Thankfully the room had a low ceiling. Simon stepped on the staircase and it shattered beneath his weight.
“Simon,” Derek said.
Simon approached the woman and the boy, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. The woman lay under a blanket, but her chest rose and fell. Smoke gathered in the room and she coughed.
“I can’t leave them. I’m not going to leave them.” When his father had read him stories about King Arthur and his knights, when they’d discussed the responsibilities of being a Templar, Thomas Cross had always emphasized the salvation of the weak and helpless. The Templar existed, in his mind, to save humanity as much as to battle the demons. Simon knew he couldn’t leave them.
“You’re going to get killed.”
Simon picked up the boy, who started screaming and fighting to be free. Gently as he could, Simon put the boy out of the cellar and into the closet.
“Get him out of here,” Simon told the girl.
Wide-eyed, the little girl stared at him, tears on her cheeks. “My mother—” A fit of coughing stole her voice.
“I’ll get her,” Simon said. “I promise. Go.”
The little girl pulled back from the opening.
Simon grabbed the edges of the opening and ripped it open larger. Returning to the woman, he gathered her easily in his arms and carried her to the opening. He cradled her in his arms and leaped out of the hole.
The jarring woke the woman. She looked up at him with pain-filled eyes. “My children.”
“They’re out,” Simon told her. “We’re all getting out.” He smashed his shoulder into the closet and tore the frame and part of the wall out, then stepped through the cloud of plaster dust and smoke.
The little girl had the boy by the hand. They stood at the open door. A large shape lurched toward them out of the night.
Simon shifted the woman to his shoulder and drew the Spike Bolter. He took aim just as he saw the Gremlin surging from the shadows. Simon ran forward, firing over the heads of the children. The palladium needles ripped into the Gremlin’s head and shoulders.
The little girl screamed and yanked the boy to the side. Simon was surprised she didn’t freeze up. He kept firing, staying squared up with the demon and delivering a snap-kick to its face.
The demon flew backward and landed on the ground. Simon kept firing till he was certain the Gremlin was dead. He turned back to the house.
Flames flickered through the windows, greedily consuming the house. The children stood inside the door, backlit by the fire spreading quickly toward the opening, feeding on the oxygen.
“Come on!” Simon yelled.
The little girl yanked the boy into motion and they ran out onto the snow-covered sidewalk. It had evidently started snowing more heavily while they’d been inside because the inches had started to pile up.
The Templar had taken up a position on one side of the street. Their weapons blazed in the night, bright greens and whites mixed with ruby and sapphire.
Simon took up a position on the other side of the street. The woman lay unconscious over his shoulder. The two children stood at his legs. For the first time he realized how far it was back to the Sloane Street tube station.
Lights suddenly flared to life in a nearby alley. A van sped out onto the street, skidding across the new-fallen snow and aiming straight at Simon. It fishtailed for a moment and struck an overturned compact car, setting the vehicle spinning like a turtle.
Vision enhanced by the HUD, Simon saw the frightened man behind the wheel. He looked like he was in his sixties, bundled up tight against the inclement weather. The man locked his brakes and attempted to bring the van to a stop.
Knowing the vehicle wasn’t going to be able to halt on the snow, Simon locked his boots down and leaned forward with a hand out. He hoped he didn’t destroy the vehicle.
The front of the van collapsed several inches with a sharp crunch. The spikes on Simon’s boots raked foot-long tears across the pavement. But the van stopped.
The man leaned across the passenger seat and threw the door open. “Get her inside!”
Simon pulled the cargo door open and placed the woman inside. He helped the two children inside as well.
“Where am I supposed to take them?” the man asked.
The question caught Simon off-guard. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. “Sloane Street tube station.”
Weapons fire blasted wrecked cars and buses. Mortar fell from damaged buildings.
The man nodded. “Hurry. When these
