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Dean’s face softened. He nodded tightly and then paced into the cloud of smoke, seizing a shape I could barely see. Sicily tried to shout and thrash as Dean threw her over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Sherriff!” she protested. “I can—” Cough. “Help—” Cough. “Where’s my mama?” Cough.
Dean ignored her strained protests and began sprinting in the direction of the path out of town, shouting over the general din, and barking orders at the monsters nearest him. After a few seconds Mason joined in, using his voice as a beacon to draw people out of the line of fire. I couldn’t see it, but with my vampire abilities, I could hear the tromp of paws, hooves, or the slide of slithery appendages over the grass and the asphalt beyond. Sicily was still trying to protest, but it was faint. I prayed she hadn’t inhaled enough smoke to permanently damage her lungs. If I’d managed to hurt her, even indirectly by allowing her to stay here, I’d never forgive myself.
Eventually, the only things I could sense were the familiar tread of Ol’ Ned’s boots, the lighter footfalls of Slim Jim’s new form, and the padding of Bud’s paws across the dirt. I gravitated toward them instinctively, leaping over the trailing flames before landing near Ol’ Ned’s feet. I could just make out the barrel of his shotgun swinging my way.
Chapter Thirteen
I threw my hands into the air and choked out, “It’s me, Ned! It’s just me! Please don’t pelt me with buckshot for the second time in a month! Ireallydidn’t appreciate it last time.”
“Miss Twila?” Slim Jim asked.
“I’m here,” I answered, trying and failing to suck in a deep lungful of air. My vision was already beginning to waver because I’d already breathed in too much smoke. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to pass out.
“What the hell is that thing?” Bud growled. Literallygrowled.His beast half came to the fore when he was spooked. It was hard to make out what he was saying when he got like this, but I understood the question this time around. It was the same one I’d had a few minutes before.
“I could be wrong, but I think it’s a hellhound.”
“Why you think that?” Bud asked.
“Because it’s in one of the cryptid books Sicily keeps buying.”
“Sweet molasses! Just what in the literal hell do we do about it?” Ol’ Ned spat. “Our guns are gonna be next to useless against that thing. Prolly just make it mad and turn us into charred monster meat.”
“Well, thisisMissouri,” I joked. “We’re sort of known for having excellent barbeque.”
No one laughed. Hey, everyone’s a critic.
My mind swirled wildly, trying to come up with a semblance of a plan. It came to me after a moment. Dangerous, but probably doable.
“Ol’ Ned and Slim Jim, I need you to find something that holds water. I don’t care if you find real buckets or tin cans, but we need some kind of bucket brigade. Bud and I are going to play chicken with a hellhound.”
“We are?” Bud echoed.
“We are,” I confirmed.
“Why’s that?” Bud asked.
“You’re probably the fastest after me,” I started.
Bud nodded. “True that.”
“And we’ve gotta lead the hound away from Ned and Slim Jim.” I looked at Bud—I mean,reallylooked at him. “I’m trusting you to keep the damn thing off me. Just follow my lead, okay?”
Bud grunted, which I took for a yes. At least, I reallyhopedit was a yes. It could have just as easily meant, ‘you’re a crazy woman, and you’re about to get us all killed.’ Which was a fair assessment, honestly.
I broke into a run with Bud hot on my heels. We just had to make it to the corner, where General Street met Panhandle Road. With a hellhound in the way, though, it felt like running a marathon with the devil himself breathing down our necks.
A street lamp crackled and began to tip sideways, and I had mere seconds to zip beneath it before it impacted the street behind us with earth-shaking force. I yelped as sparks leaped up, stinging my ankles, the backs of my knees, and even eating holes into my pant legs. I batted them out frantically before they could set the fabric ablaze.
Bud let out a defiant howl of challenge, all but daring the hellhound to come after us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the thing turn in our direction, let out a bellow, and charge. I gasped out of sheer, unadulterated panic and I moved forward with lightning speed. Some animalistic part of my brain knew better than to mess with fire. Fire didn’t discriminate. It killed everything from mice to men. Bud let out a soft whimper beside me. He was scared, but he still trusted me to see this through.
I reached my goal seconds later.
The fire hydrant.
Crouching down next to it, I felt the insistent urge to hide behind the stubby metal as the hellhound prowled forward. Buddidtake cover behind me, understanding what I meant to do and not eager to get in the way.
