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With any luck it would be enough to distract the men, because the firelight would eliminate any possibility of shadowing.
Although - ideally - I'd like to take this guard out without being seen.
I turned around and padded down to the end of the rusting tank. With my back pressed against the still-warm metal, I peered around the corner. The guard hadn't moved.
I wrapped the shadows around me and dashed across the short distance between us. As I neared him, he spun around, his nostrils flaring as he scanned the night. He could obviously scent me, but he couldn't see me. I gave him no time to react, simply hit him hard and fast - chopping him across the throat then kneeing him in the balls - and he went down like a ton of bricks. I let him slump to the ground, trusting the sand to dampen the sound of his fall, but I caught his beer can before it could clatter against the metal.
After looking around to ensure that no one had seen anything, I grabbed his arms and dragged him into a sitting position, propping him against one of the machine's struts. I put his beer beside him then stepped back. If the others glanced this way, they might think he was just sitting down. Which was good. But I needed to ensure he couldn't actually get back up.
I bit my bottom lip and scanned the rusting hulk, seeing nothing useful in the way of rope or wire. So I spun and walked back to the tank. Again, there wasn't anything I could use, but several yards away from the tank sat the semirotten wooden remains of an old shed of some kind, and inside, the snaking remains of the building's wiring. I ripped several yards free then retraced my steps back to the guard.
I tore off his shirt, used that to gag him, then trussed him up.
One down, four to go.
I shifted shape and took to the sky again, flying back to the guard on the other side of the encampment. He was still squatting next to the tank, but he was within view of the campfire, so if I took him out his fellows were likely to notice he was missing.
I circled around for several minutes, wondering what the hell I was going to do - whether I should just take him out and bring the odds down to a more manageable level, or whether I should continue to pick them off one by one. After all, they were all drinking, and they'd surely have to wander off for a pee sooner or later.
I swooped around for yet another pass and spotted their cars. They were parked halfway between the whaling station and the dusty road, off the track leading to the station but not hidden.
I flew toward them. There was no guard here, but the one watching Evin would have been able to see them if he stood up.
It was a mistake - and one that just might work in my favor.
I landed behind a blue pickup and shifted shape, keeping as low as I could as I regained human form. If I could incapacitate two of the cars, distract the guard, then get Evin out in the third vehicle, I might not have to fight the other men at all.
It was a lot of "ifs" but I really had nothing to lose by trying - nothing except all the bruises I'd get if I did have to fight them.
I checked which of the cars had keys in the ignition, and discovered both the blue pickup and the white Toyota did. The pickup had a bigger engine, but the Toyota looked newer and was a four-wheel drive. In the end, I decided on speed over versatility and reached through the open window, grabbing the keys and slipping them into my pocket. The other set of keys I tossed as far away as I could.
Then I reached down and withdrew a knife from one of my socks and crept across to the Toyota. One of the trucks had an air compressor on board, so merely letting out the air wasn't going to work. The tires were thick and new, and it quickly became evident that no matter how strong I was, a little steak knife just didn't have the strength to do little more than scratch the rubber. It might damage an ordinary car tire, but not to these.
I crept over to the next truck. Luck was with me this time - the back tire was almost bald. I picked out what looked to be the thinnest spot and punched the knife into the middle. After twisting it around to ensure a largish hole, I pulled the knife out. Air began to hiss, sounding overly loud in the hushed darkness. I crept around to the other side of the car and peered around. The guard hadn't moved. In fact, he wasn't even looking in this direction.
I took out the second rear tire, then wrapped the shadows around me and rose. I still needed to immobilize the other car. If the steak knife wasn't strong enough, maybe there was something in the back of the pickups. After all, men the world over seemed to carry all sorts of tools in their cars.
It turned out these men were no different - there was an unlocked tool kit in the back of the pickup, and inside I found a solid-looking screwdriver. It mightn't have a point, but when you were a dhampire, you didn't need one.
I paused and smiled at the thought. One more piece of the puzzle that was me.
Whatever had been done to my mind, it obviously wasn't holding. I wondered if that were deliberate, or whether it was just luck.
Although fate didn't often throw luck my way.
I shoved the screwdriver into both the back tires, listened for the hiss of escaping air, then placed the screwdriver back into its box.
And noticed the flashlight sitting nearby.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I grabbed it and retreated, running into the darkness and looping right back around the encampment until I reached the hills on the far side.
Once there, I turned on the flashlight and climbed to the top of the hill, pointing the light straight at the campfire, so that the waiting men couldn't fail to see it.
"Well, well, look at that." Denny's harsh voice carried easily over the sand. He rose from the log on which he'd been sitting, and, even from where I was standing, I could see the triumphant twist of his lips. "Our quarry has arrived, boys."
They laughed - a harsh, drunken sound. They were stupid to drink so much, but I guess they didn't know what they were dealing with.
