Page 53 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
“I aim to please,” she said as she shut the door, echoing his earlier response to Olivia. Her heart pounded at his unintentional head injury, but she stuffed it away. There was no time for her emotions.
Hurrying back to the driver’s side, she saw the handgun, which had slipped from Ryan’s lap to the seat. Throwing a look at the battle-hardened Ranger, now slumped against the side door, she sat on the weapon and slammed her door shut.
As she put the car in gear, Ryan said, “Aerie Actual, this is Demon Slayer.”
“Demon Slayer, this is Aerie Actual.” Dianne was surprised to hear a male voice on the other end. Who could have taken Olivia’s place? “Slow going, huh, Ranger?”
Ryan sighed and shifted painfully in his seat. Dianne saw the strain around his eyes and tight lips before he answered. “You can say that again, Aerie Actual. We may not make it to Shkodër before sunset. Sitrep vis-à-vis the flare damage?”
“We’ve had scattered reports from assets via the harmonic network. It doesn’t look good for most of Europe, though there are some signs that it reaches beyond the continent. We’re still scouring the neighborhood for older model vehicles to conscript. And Miró has been assessing the damage to the AW139’s starter-generators and electronic components.”
“So no Quick Reaction Force extraction?”
“No, not for the present. Your vitals are holding steady, Demon Slayer. You’ll have to push on to the safehouse but be warned. We haven’t heard from the housekeeper in two hours, not since she went out to help a stranded teammate.”
“Copy that,” said Ryan.
“Stay off comms unless absolutely necessary to conserve harmonic energy in your system. Looks like you need it.”
“Wilco.”
“Aerie Actual out.”
Silence descended between them, Dianne to her vigilance and Ryan to his injury.
An hour and a half later, they arrived in Podgorica. It was early evening. All of the vehicles they’d passed along the highway had been abandoned, and no more ambushes awaited them. The absolute stillness and silence were eerie, even if the mountain route was never well traveled. When Dianne twisted the power knob for the radio, nothing but static filled the car interior.
What would it look like in a city? Especially at night, without any power.
Ryan read her mind. “We must be prepared for what we’re likely going to encounter.”
He seemed better after the brief interlude, less pale, though she could smell the warmth of his sweat. It was clean and masculine and layered with a bitter-green herbal scent that she'd started to identify as uniquely Ryan.
“We have to get gas,” she said. “We’re running on fumes, but I didn’t see a gas station before now.” She looked around at the widely spaced buildings along their route, many of them single-story cinderblock of indeterminate purpose. “Doesn’t look so promising here, either.”
“Not a problem as long as we can find some tubing. Know how to siphon gas?” asked Ryan.
“What?” asked Dianne, startled. She looked at him.
He closed his eyes. “Well, we’re not going to get gas from a station, not without power. We’ll have to steal it from another vehicle.” He sounded tired.
Dianne’s heart squeezed. “No. I don’t know how to siphon gas. I think I saw someone doing it in the movies once.”
Ryan sat upright with a grunt. “Never mind. I know how.” He gestured with his chin toward a low white commercial building set back from the road coming up on their right. “Should have what we need in there.”
Dianne didn’t question why they’d find what they needed at a veterinary hospital. She knew enough to know that it would have medical tubing that they could repurpose. She parked next to a dirty van, whose gas gauge showed half a tank through a side window. It didn’t matter, though, how much they got in one attempt. Once they had the tubing, they had an endless supply from all of the deserted cars they came across.
When they got from their sedan, Ryan managed it without Dianne’s ordering him around like a drill sergeant, but his unsteady gait belied his regained strength. Seeing this, Dianne tucked the gun in the back of her waistband and waited for Ryan, who never asked for the weapon.
Not a good sign.
Ten minutes later, they’d returned from scrounging through the unlit facility, and Ryan bent next to the van as the sunlight faded. Dianne, a sensation of evil creeping over the back of her neck and arms, scanned the empty lot.
After a moment, she slipped the gun into her hands, its warm polymer weight comforting against her palms. Nevertheless, she kept her finger from the trigger, terrified that she might shoot Ryan or herself.
Ryan had the tube in his mouth and had just begun sucking the toxic liquid when a couple dozen people emerged from several stands of trees on either side of the lot. Most carried items, but in the gloaming, Dianne couldn’t be sure what those were except when the setting sun glinted on metal. Weapons of some sort, in all probability.
Swallowing hard, she stepped forward to block access to Ryan, raised her hands and said in a loud, confident voice, “Stay back or I’ll shoot.”
