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“He’s got a grenade!” I frantical y motioned for Wade to stop. He quickly took in the situation and changed course.
Grenades and explosions, though not a guaranteed death, could do a great deal of damage.
Some, if powerful enough, could put an end to a vampire. This was a smal space, enclosed, and the explosion would be devastating. Not to mention that it might bring down the entire tunnel system around here.
“You don’t want to do that.” Wade’s voice was even. He steadily moved toward the vampire, one smal step at a time. “Put the grenade down and we can talk. If you are the new savior, then maybe we can help you.”
Charles slowly shook his head. “You want to stop me—the spirits told me. They told me you’re the spawn of the devil, that you’re not anointed by the blood of the Lamb.”
I stared at him. He’d lost it and there was no coming back. The only thing we could hope for was to get the grenade away from him intact, because no matter what, we couldn’t let him escape again. A vampire with a martyr complex on the loose: Not Good. A vampire with a martyr complex on the loose with a live grenade: Very Bad. With a glance at Wade, I slowly began to move in.
Playing along wasn’t working. It was time to be straight.
“Charles, listen to me. You aren’t a savior. You aren’t the sword of God. You’re a vampire—you were a priest and a vampire kil ed you and turned you. She should not have done that. She was wrong and I’m so sorry. But now, you’re kil ing innocent women to get back at her. Can’t you see how twisted your logic is—” I stopped. Wade was frantical y shaking his head at me.
“You’re wrong. I’l prove you are. I am immortal! ” And Charles pul ed the pin.
“Run!” Wade dashed toward the cavern and I fol owed suit. We managed to clear our way through the short passage into the one leading back into the cavern when the explosion rocked the area. Smoke bil owed from behind us as the Earth shook and the sound of rocks crashing to the ground echoed around us. Living surround sound. I covered my head and suddenly Wade was leaning over me, trying to protect me from the fal ing debris.
The passage we were in reverberated with heavy rock fal as dust fil ed the air. Grateful neither of us needed to breathe, I waited until only a trickle of pebbles echoed through the passage.
As Wade slowly crawled off me, another slide of rocks echoed from somewhere up ahead. I gingerly pushed myself to my feet and felt for my flashlight, which I’d hooked to my belt loop.
I flipped it on to find a cloud of dust flickering in the thin yel ow beam. Squinting, I tried to see through the settling debris. Damn. Our way back into the cavern was blocked by thousands of pounds of debris. The tunnel had broken down near the entrance, and even as I pressed against the rocks, I knew it was futile. We might manage to clear our way out—after al , we could go a long time without blood and we didn’t need air—but it would take an awful y long time to get out from this direction.
Wade examined the tunnel on the other side.
“How is it?” I asked, coughing as the dust fil ed my mouth. “We’re fucked over here.”
“I think we can manage to squeeze through there.” He flickered his light up to show a crawl space between the roof and the top of the rocks. It looked narrow but possible. We were strong enough to move some of the rocks to give ourselves more space, but we’d have to be careful not to start another rock slide.
“Shit, this is so beyond fucked. Here, let me crawl up there. I’m lighter and wil have less of a chance of setting off another avalanche.”
Holding my penlight between my teeth, I slowly inched my way up the precarious mountain of loose rubble. The rocks were mixed with bricks on this side—the side leading back into Charles’s lair—and a layer of dried, powdered mortar seemed to cover everything.
Twice, my footing slipped and a cascade of debris rained down toward Wade. He didn’t flinch, merely held his flashlight steady to give me extra light to see by. I managed to reach the top after about ten minutes of cautious maneuvering. I would have used my ability to hover, but I would have stil had to scramble over rock and ruin to reach the crawl space.
Gingerly, I probed the space, testing how steady it was. Another trickle of rubble and then one large boulder went rebounding down, crashing to the floor below, taking a stream of debris with it.
Wade lightly jumped back, out of its way.
“Sorry, I barely touched it. Better it went now than later when we’re trying to crawl through here.” I flashed my light into the narrow gap and was pleased to see that the rock slide was only about five feet wide. “I think we can do it. I’m going through, then you join me when I cal from the other side.”
“Okay. But be careful.” Wade kept his light aimed in my direction.
I flattened out onto my back and began to wiggle through the gap. The stones were sharp and rough, abrading my hands as I clawed my way through. I went in, face toward the ceiling, to avoid poking an eye out or any such nasty business. Extending my arms above my head, I used my fingers to claw a hold into the ceiling and pul ed myself along with my hands as I pushed with my feet. The going was rough and rocks jabbed me in the back, but final y my head broke through and I birthed myself out of the channel, only to find that no floor was in sight—just an endless pile of rocks extending to fil the tunnel halfway to the ceiling.
I cautiously inched my way onto the swath of rubble. I had just passed the fork and was back in the five-foot section of tunnel right before Charles’s lair. It must have been better reinforced than the section leading back into the cavern, since the rubble didn’t reach the ceiling here. I could see the top third of the entrance leading into his chamber—which was relatively clear. That was some strong brickwork in there. Of course it had survived several earthquakes, so what was a hand grenade?
“We’re fielding more rubble over here, but we can make it back into his chamber. Come on.”
“On my way,” Wade shouted back.
Cautiously, while Wade made his way through the cleft in the rocks, I inched my way toward the chamber where Charles had exploded the grenade. I reached the arch leading into his lair and slid through the opening. The room was stil il uminated by the demon lamps—three of them had survived, but a fourth had been crushed under the weight of rocks fal ing down from one side of the wal .
I hurried over to where Charles had been standing, and there was nothing to see. If he’d been kil ed, he would have turned to dust. But suppose . . . suppose he’d survived?
No, my mind answered. That wasn’t possible. He’d been holding the grenade . . . or had he?
