“I can’t be part of this.” Morgan’s voice was uncomfortable with the emotion it held.
“You take my orders.” The Prime held the nun like a shield.
“I take orders to ensure the safety of Westprime’s citizens.” He kept the gun on the Prime.
The Texan took a deep breath, relaxed his arms to let the blood pool in his hands. He watched the Operative’s chest. There was a fairly clear shot under his right arm. Might not get the heart, but he could knock a hole in his breastbone.
He drew.
Morgan swung his gun toward Driver. That just opened up his chest to gunfire. He had the sense to drop, but three of Driver’s. 9 mm slugs ripped his shoulder and neck.
The Operative’s gun opened up, firing across the bar. A bullet grazed Driver’s calf. Something thumped a few times and Bloody grunted.
Driver rolled. Morgan’s machine gun swung back to the Prime. The Texan fired at his hand-so did Tiny. The gun and hand flew away in a spray of blood and chopped flesh. Turner fired at Tiny. The salesman took a burst in the stomach, jerked to the side still firing. Stoneworthy took a damaging spray to shoulder and throat. One of Tiny’s shots took an eye out of the Operative on the Prime’s right. The man dropped weeping blood.
Driver drew another. 9 mm. He put two bullets into Turner’s temple.
The glassed doors to the patio burst open, and four Operatives ran in with assault rifles. They wore full body armor, visors and the whole bit-but they were off their pace a little. Weren’t prepared for the hidden guns!
Bloody stood in the middle of the room with his. 45. One shot cracked the lead Operative’s helmet, sent him unconscious to the floor. The next man hit the ground firing. A brutal spray of lead took Bloody in the chest and threw him against the bar.
Driver tossed one gun aside, fired at the new threat, and reached into his coat. The radio detonator looked like a pocket watch. He thumbed the primer, felt the harsh stab of a bullet in his thigh, and then pressed the button. A staggering blast lit the room with white flame. A fireball rolled over him.
84 – Run for Cover
“The Creature sees Conan with Mr. Jay,” the Creature told Liz and the Quinlan boys. “And others with him, many hundred.” The magician had opened his eyes. Good.
“Are they okay?” a Quinlan boy asked.
“You will take the others,” the Creature said, struggling to control her emotions. She felt the little fighter’s pain like it was her own and clenched her fists to keep from crying out. “There will be room.”
“Listen,” Whistles’ said, she’d removed her moustache so a grimy forever girl’s face peered out from under her derby. “I’ve closed the bar, and it’s packed with as many of us as we can fit. The buses are outside and ready. We’re loading food and weapons. But people are getting curious.”
More forever children entered the basement and Whistles cursed again, exasperated. “Creature, we got to do something soon.”
“The Creature sees Mr. Jay approaching,” the Creature whispered and smiled, but the pleasure caught in her throat. “Conan is injured,” she said, “and they are followed.”
“Fuck!” barked Whistles, grabbing the plastic whistle at her throat and chewing. It snapped and broke in her mouth. She spat it out and started slapping her pockets. “Anybody got a cigar?”
The Creature turned to the secret door. Already she had sensed their approach. The Creature felt great pain in little Conan; it overpowered her senses momentarily but she rallied on the fact he was alive.
And then Mr. Jay crawled through the opening with the little fighter cradled in his arms. The magician’s hair was singed, and his features begrimed with blood and soot. His eyes were dark and desperate.
The Quinlan boys were there, reaching out for Conan. Whistles ran forward too, and helped them set the boy aside on some blankets.
The Creature had opened her perceptions to Conan. There was pain. His ankle was crushed. There was a deep gash along his spine. He’d lost a lot of blood and his breathing was coming in short gasps.
“Get this thing off him,” Whistles growled and grabbed for the boy’s curious weapon-a many bladed glove. But Conan’s hand pulled away and a low grumble came from inside the boy’s helmet.
“Leave it,” Mr. Jay turned suddenly. Little Dawn had appeared on the stairs. She ran down to embrace him.
The Creature knelt by Conan and was just about to call for the Nightcare medics when something struck her mind like a meteorite.
Great evil had been sent after them-darkness in many shapes and bodies lusting, slavering hungry for the kill. Not close, but coming fast.
“Creature,” Mr. Jay said, and turned to Whistles. “You have buses?”
“Yes.” Whistles looked up from Conan.
“The Creature sees you must leave now,” she said, touching Mr. Jay’s shoulder and then to Whistles. “Load the buses and go! You must hurry!!”
Muttering curses, Whistles patted Conan’s shoulder and then hurried upstairs grumbling something about buses.
“What is it?” Mr. Jay asked and touched the Creature’s arm.
“You were followed,” she said smiling. “As we -as I foresaw.”
“We’ve got time.” Mr. Jay was listening to something far away, he gestured with his walking stick. “And I can hold them.”
“It is not your time, it is mine,” the Creature said and then walked across the basement. She climbed on top of a large whiskey barrel, crossed her legs and arranged herself facing the secret door.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Jay moved along the line of forever children. In their nightshirts, they were a strange sight. Nightcare fighters hurried them through the secret door and up the stairs. Overhead, she heard Whistles shouting orders.
“I will hold what was sent,” she said and looked into Mr. Jay’s eyes. “You are needed still.”
“So are you,” he insisted. “You can’t stay, you’ll be doomed.”
“I was doomed long ago,” the Creature whispered, reaching out, to caress the magician’s cheek, “when the first fearful humans needed gods.” She smiled. “As were you.” Then she gestured to the terrified forever children as they passed. “You must give them a chance.”
Mr. Jay hesitated, his eyes heavy with dread. “I am sorry.”
“We are creatures of habit.” The Creature grinned. “He who delivered us to this has the greater sin!”
And the magician laid a hand upon her shoulder and then with words unspoken left to help the forever kids prepare to run.
The Creature shut her eyes. She spent the first normal minutes shifting inward, composing her thoughts and drifting-back to times she’d never reclaim and forward to a life as a woman she would never live. Then she moved into the other time of her special perceptions. And while the unborn faces of children cried and waved and she wept and waved, she found it in herself to smile. It was an honor to lead the Nightcare. The children had shown time again how adaptive humans were. They still might survive what was to come. She drifted. Saw her mother’s face, and her father’s. She sensed activity at hand, movement, little souls arrested, clamoring for age, for lives to come: getting ready, packing things, moving things, giggling and loading the quickly filling buses. A pang of pain went through her as she felt others return. They lifted little Conan and took him up to a waiting bus and to others and to hope.
And at last she felt Mr. Jay’s hands upon her cheeks and his lips press to hers. A warm stirring in her soul sent a blush into her face and then laughter to her heart. So that would be it? The man I kiss. Well, enough, she thought, remembering who it was that kissed her. He said he loved her and was gone.
The Creature composed herself, straightened her back, listening to the far off sounds of the buses receding. There was a long way to go, and already the noises of war were shaking the barrel under her.
But they were in good hands. He had remembered.
A sound by the secret door told her it was time. She opened her eyes, saw that Mr. Jay had shut and locked
