Before the Fall (4 page)

 

Chapter Five

8:16 p.m.

3 hours and 44 minutes before the fall . . .

T
he minute they touched down in Daytona, a dozen armed men rushed the plane and hurried Shanna and Zach off the runway. The country was officially in red-alert mode, and all aircrafts were to be either grounded or shot out of the sky. The government was treating the situation like a terrorist attack, and in a sense, they weren't wrong. But all the red alerts in the world weren't going to protect against an enemy they didn't know how to fight.

If Zach knew anything about the Order, they were quickly pulling shit together to keep the humans as safe as possible. That meant bringing officials in on the truth and trying to temper the reactions of the world as they discovered demons and gods weren't just creatures of myth. They were real.

As one of the security guards rushed them toward the exit, Zach adjusted his hold on the guitar case and weapon bag, and grabbed Shanna's hand, unwilling to risk losing her in the crowd outside the gate.

“All of Florida being evacuated or just the south?” he asked the guard.

The overweight man grunted and fumbled with the gate locks. “All of Florida is being urged north. Don't know what's happening, dude, but Florida don't get earthquakes. This is fucked up.”

He had no idea.

“But if earthquakes are happening everywhere, where is everyone supposed to go?” Shanna asked, turning her hand so her fingers linked in Zach's.

“Don't know. Sent my family to Carolina an hour ago. Doesn't look like much is happening there yet.”

As the guard shoved them through the gate and locked them out, he walked away grumbling, “Just so fucked up . . .”

They started toward the terminal. A golf cart sat abandoned just around the corner, keys inside and just begging to be used. He dragged Shanna toward it. “Let's go.”

They hopped in and he maneuvered around the throng of people demanding flights they'd never be granted. A crowd had spilled from inside the airport into the drop-off and pickup lanes outside where Zach drove now. He wound around the thickest part of the mob toward the parking garage, not at all surprised to find it packed. Getting a car out of there would take forever.

He chose a shuttle van instead. The driver stood across the lanes, smoking a cigarette—it was his own damned fault. Together, Zach and Shanna rushed to the vehicle, got inside and took off. The driver chased them down the road, waving his hat and shouting before finally being left in the dust.

“I'm a cop and I just participated in grand theft auto,” Shanna said, fastening her seat belt.

“I think that's the least of your problems.”

“No shit.”

Zach smiled. At least she wasn't quivering in fear anymore.

“How's your chest?” she asked.

“Fine.” It was burning, but it was his arm that was really aching. The fight at the Murphys' had required muscles and skills he hadn't used in ten years. The Lychen wound he'd sustained then had forced him to retire from the Order, the infection so bad he'd nearly lost his arm. Any overuse of it carried pain that brought him to his knees, and he had a bad feeling that before he reached St. Augustine, he was going to have plenty of cause to
over
use every bit of himself. Including his injured fighting arm.

“I need a damned drink,” he muttered, massaging his forearm and fighting the overwhelming urge to scratch the burning itch that ran up the wound's seam.

“You gonna tell me what's in the case?” Shanna asked, ignoring his complaint.

“Guitar.”

“No, it's not. I carried it off the plane. It's way too heavy to be a guitar.”

He shrugged in response. “Open it. See for yourself.”

“Fine,” she muttered, unfastening her seat belt. “I will.”

She climbed over the seat, into the back where they'd thrown their things, and he heard the distinct sound of the case snapping open.

“It's a sword.”

“Yep.”

“It . . . looks really old. God, Zach, it's a tetanus shot waiting to happen.”

“Rusty, huh?”

“Little bit.”

He smiled, imagining her reaction to the big broadsword that had ten years of neglect etched all over it. Wouldn't look like much, but that was just another testament to the cliché about not judging a book by its cover.

“Ow!”

“Touch it?”

“It burned me!”

“Yep.”

“Why the hell did it burn me?”

“Because no one can use it but me, that's why.”

“Zach, no one uses swords anymore. How is this going to help you? It's slow and—”

“Pass it up here.”

“I'm not touching it again!”

“Slide the case up here. Let me show you.”

“Maybe you should pull over first.”

“No time,” he said, reaching behind his seat for the top of the case and clawing at it until he could drag it into the passenger seat. “Open the case for me.”

Truthfully, he was excited to show Shanna this part of himself—something he'd never shown another soul outside of the Order. Something that was bound to impress her, because it never failed to impress
him
.

She flicked open the latches and he glanced down at the sad, pathetic weapon. Without Zach, the once glorious sword had tarnished. The intricate design placed on the blade by Hephaestus was hidden beneath ten years of neglect. The tool that had protected him, allowed him to protect the gods, was now nothing more than a fragile hunk of steel and silver.

“Ready? Keep your eyes on it.”

Then he pressed his hand to the hilt and Shanna's gasp of awe made him grin from ear to ear. A soft white light glimmered up from the hilt and onto the blade, lighting up the dark interior of the van. Dirt and rust washed away as the spidery tendrils curled their way to the tip, revealing ancient Greek prayers meant to hold the sentinels safe. The mark of Ares shattered the remaining filth on the hilt, and a jolt of electricity shot through Zach's hand as the sword came alive.

“How . . .”

“It knows its brother when it feels it,” he said, still grinning.

“Is that like Excalibur or something?”

Zach laughed. “No. Lance has that one. This one is just . . . mine.”

He ached to test it out, to wield the weapon that had once been as dear to him as his life. If he lifted it, it would be weightless now—and only for him—the heavy metal as light as a mere stick, but deadlier than any gun or dagger he might have used. He dug beneath the sword until he felt leather brush his fingers, then dragged out the broad leather belt he'd stored there. He set it on the console, closed the case, then passed it back to Shanna.

“What's that for?”

“For when we stop again. It's time to keep it close to me.”

Shanna climbed back between the seats and refastened her seatbelt. She watched him stroke the soft, worn leather.

Feeling like an intruder, she cleared her throat. “So, werewolves, Vampyre . . . Mages. What else is there? I mean, if we're going to come across more bogeymen, I want to know what they are.”

“Leeches, which you'd probably call zombies. Ghosts, ghouls, Djinn.”

“What?”

“Genies.”

“Oh.” She wouldn't mind one of those right about now. Three wishes and maybe none of this would be happening. Maybe she'd be snuggled in bed, dreaming sweet dreams instead of living a nightmare.

She watched his profile quietly, unsure about how he'd react to the question perched on her tongue. “And you?”

He held her attention for several long seconds before returning his focus to the road. “What about me?”

“Are you . . .” She licked her lips, “human?”

She closed her eyes, somewhat disturbed at the possibility that she might have had sex with a demon of some kind. She wasn't one of those women who found Dracula sexy. She'd always preferred Jonathan Harker—the sweet, reliable fiancé who'd go to the ends of the earth to save the woman he loved.

“I'm human. Plenty of humans work for the Order of Ancients. Mystics and Seers and sentinels.”

“Which were you?” He'd told her some of this, but she'd thought he'd been full of shit and hadn't really paid attention. Now, however, she was all ears.

“Sentinel. I worked for Ares.”

She tilted her head, studying him. His strong chin, deep-set eyes, and long nose. He
looked
human, but there were still things about him that she couldn't explain. “That weird body temperature thing you've always had. That doesn't seem human, now that I know there are other possibilities for it.”

“Protection from Ares. Mages like to use temperature against their enemies. Fire, ice. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” What else was there to say? It was like she was walking in a novel co-written by R.L. Salvatore and R.L. Stein.

As they merged onto the highway, it was as though someone had erected a wall of cars in their path. Bumper-to-bumper exhaust fumes, created by panicked evacuees.

Horns blared from ahead and beside them. “We're going to have to use back roads. This will take forever.”

The parade of bright red brake lights ahead wasn't so much as inching forward any more. Then, there was the sound of metal on metal, and every muscle in Shanna's body tensed.

“Zach?”

The back wheels of the van bounced violently, as if being lifted from the ground, and Shanna lurched forward, bashing her head into the dash.

“Shit!” Zach yelled. “Get out! Get out of the damned van!”

She threw open her door. Her feet barely touched the pavement before he was beside her, snatching the weapons bag and guitar case from the back seat. He threw open the case, wrapped the sheath around his chest and slid the sword inside so it lay pressed against his spine. He grabbed her hand, pulling her around the neighboring vehicle, but as Shanna started to run, the pavement rumbled, throwing her off balance. She caught herself on the hood of a truck just before her knees could smack the pavement.

As she straightened, she got a clear view of what had set off Zach's panic, then shut her eyes against the fear threatening to knock her over. Concrete splintered and the horrific sound of twisting metal filled the air as cars were flipped out of the way like matchbox toys.

Ahead of them, less than two blocks away, the highway was opening up, and Hell was beginning to breathe.

 

Chapter Six

8:44 p.m.

3 hours and 16 minutes before the fall . . .

S
hanna lifted her shirt over her nose so she could breathe. From every direction, horns blared and cement dust rained down on them. Zach pulled her beyond the shoulder toward the off ramp, never turning to witness the horror of what was behind them.

“Run!” he yelled. “Don't stop, and no matter what you hear, don't look back.”

He didn't give her a chance to argue or to question. He took off at a full sprint, dragging her behind him. The ground rumbled again. Chunks of asphalt gave way and a strange hissing noise muffled the chaotic sounds that had engulfed them.

The hissing grew louder, following them as they raced down the off ramp. A loud roar built until it encompassed everything. It seemed to flow through her body, make her muscles spasm, and cause her blood to swoosh in tune with the chaos.

She glanced back, trying to see what they were running from, but night hung too thickly around her to let her see clearly.

“Don't stop!” Zach screamed, his hand tightening on her arm.

In front of them, the roar exploded outward sending huge chunks of concrete and dirt into the sky. The ground opened. They hit the road hard, rolling toward the grassy shoulder. She'd barely stopped tumbling before she was yanked to her feet and shoved forward.

“Run!”

She was too terrified not to obey. She kept her head down as slabs of roadway rained down on them, tried to focus on the sound of Zach's breathing beside her and not on the panicked screams all around them.

Debris pelted her body, but she refused to stop running, stumbling though she was over roots and holes hidden in the grass by both dust and blackness. She barely saw the huge metal rail that speared the grass two feet away. With a squeal she veered, but didn't make it three feet before Zach tackled her. Her palms and knees scraped against gravel, and it was only quick instinct that kept her head from smacking stone.

For a second, she couldn't breathe. Zach shifted and she pulled in large gulps of air. She buried her face in his neck as the raining debris pummeled his back. She tried to block as much of him with her arms as she could, but he was too broad for her to do much good.

Before she could make her tongue work in her parched mouth, he yanked her to her feet and pulled his sword from its sheath, ushering her toward a small clump of trees about thirty yards away.

They huddled behind small palms, their gazes locked on the roadway. Bodies began crawling from the opening, eerily lit up by the red glow of brake lights from the vehicles that hadn't been thrown. The smell of decay had Shanna gagging, but she couldn't pull her gaze away from the sight of the creatures spilling out of the ground. Creatures—some bearing human-like features, some animalistic and blackened with soot—lifted their dirty faces to the night sky, sniffing the air. They scattered like roaches, closing in on the people still standing on the edge of the road in shock.

“I thought you said we had until midnight!”

“Keep your voice down,” Zach hissed. “And your head. You don't want to see what's about to happen.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper, but panic wouldn't allow her to box her questions in a cage. “It's not time. We still had time!”

“Hell's already opening,” he said. “But it won't be completely open until midnight.”

“So there will be more? Than this?” Adrenaline and fear heated her blood, making her skin tingle. To hide the anxiety and terror threatening to choke her, she pulled her cop persona around her like a cloak. “We have to help them.”

“It's too late, Shanna. One sword in an army of Dark Breed isn't going to make a difference.”

She didn't know what the beasts were doing to the people they descended upon, but the screams of agony tearing through the streets were enough to keep Shanna frozen. Part of her was grateful she couldn't see clearly. She hated herself for her fear, wanted to move, to pull some to safety. But her feet wouldn't obey.

“They're being . . . being . . .”

“Eaten.”

The word was so final and yet so matter-of-fact, all Shanna could do was bury her face in the grass and weep.

Zach wanted to give her time to adjust, to try and get a grip on what was happening, but it wouldn't be long before their secluded brush started filling with people looking to hide. A crowd would draw unwanted attention. Attention that could get Shanna killed.

“We gotta go.” He helped her to her feet, but before they could move, a dark figure rushed by, and the stench that wafted off it wasn't human. Zach grabbed Shanna's hand and dragged her back into the shadows behind a tree. He pulled the shotgun from the weapons bag, loaded it, and pressed it into her hands. “Stay here. If anything comes near you, shoot.”

He gripped her shoulders, shaking her slightly to snap her out of her stupor and make her remember she was cop. “Do you understand me?”

When she nodded, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, pulled his sword from its sheath, and raced after the Dark Breed. The Leech descended on a woman and pinned her to the ground. It lowered its filthy head toward her face as the woman screamed and thrashed unsuccessfully to get away. Zach kicked out, sending the mud-encrusted creature rolling into the road.

He yanked the woman to her feet. “Run!” he ordered, never taking his eyes off the demon.

The sword pulsed in his hand, as if sensing the danger and welcoming it. He tightened his grip on the hilt and slowly backed up. Leeches rarely fought alone. He didn't want to find this one's friends. Lucky for him, though, Leeches were incapable of rational thought. Driven solely by hunger, it raced at Zach, ignoring the sword that he raised and lowered, directly into the bastard's gut. He slipped the weapon out, then sliced it across the Leech's neck, the head rolling beneath the bush behind it.

The sword cleansed itself as he raced back to Shanna. She was lying flat on her belly beside the tree, using the shotgun to slow Dark Breeds chasing a group of people a few yards away.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, and as they made their way to the safer back roads, he finished off the injured Dark Breeds.

“You all right?” he asked, scanning the streets as they went.

“Yeah. I think I'm fine.”

And judging by the stubborn lift of her chin, she looked determined to stay that way. It was a good sign. It meant she was shaking off disbelief and returning to the fighter he'd once fallen in love with. The fighter he still cared for more than he was willing to admit.