Page 55 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
When Miles started to head to a seat on the other side of the table, Miró stopped him. “It is your command, Baxter.”
Miles halted, his gaze meeting first Miró’s and then the other threeElioudwarriors. Stasia gave him a particularly warm smile. Beta narrowed her eyes and dipped her chin.
When he came to András, the big man leaned forward over the conference table and held Miles’s gaze with his hard blue one. “When do Beta and I get to annihilate somedaemons?”
Miles nodded and moved toward the chair at one end, the seat that Mihàil normally occupied. Then he turned to the curved OLED monitor hanging on the wall behind him—one of several in the large room—where Greta had sent the livestream of the incoming sitreps from their forces and assets in the region. A summary pane presented Greta’s analysis of the regional situation following the geomagnetic flare as well as a map highlighting critical incidents within five hundred kilometers. He checked to confirm that his first order wasn’t contradicted by any other status before swiveling and pinning theElioudwarrior with an equally hard stare.
“Well, Giant, funny you should ask. You and Draka head out as soon as Blackbird can task an operational vehicle. We have two assets, one critically wounded, who need evacuation before that black cloud you see off the Montenegrin coast erupts into a tsunami ofdaemons.”
Ryan heard Dianne shouting a warning as he knelt next to the van, one end of a medical-grade rubber hose in his mouth and the other in the van’s gas tank. Startled, he inhaled a mouthful of gasoline, causing him to sputter and choke on the poisonous liquid without actually swallowing any.
An instant later, the sound of a Glock 19 firing cleared his momentary confusion. He pulled the tube away and spat the gas onto the pavement under the van before swiveling to see what happened behind him. The movement clawed at his wounded side, sending a wet gush of fresh blood through his sopping T-shirt and a wave of dizziness through him.
Rapid footsteps sounded, followed by another shot, then another. Grunts and the meaty slap of bullet hitting flesh punctuated the unseen action. Ryan gritted his teeth and shook his head vigorously to clear it. When he opened his eyes, he took in two crumpled bodies ten meters away. A third person held her folded arm against her stomach as she bent over one of the fallen figures. In the dim shadows under the trees at the edge of the lot, he caught movement from human-sized silhouettes, like wolves wary of a campfire.
Three bullets, three hits.
“Olivia never said you can shoot,” he said, pressing a palm against the van’s side to keep from passing out.
“That’s because I’ve never shot a gun before,” said Dianne, glancing back at him while keeping the gun raised in both hands, which remained steady. She’d adopted a wide stance and looked like a trained shooter despite her answer.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, pulling the slide back and checking the clip. “Though maybe don’t shoot near an open gas tank. Sparks, flammable liquids, and all that.”
“Oh, yikes! Sorry!”
“Try not to shoot anyone while I finish up here.”
“Then hurry. Something tells me I don’t have enough bullets for everyone.”
“That’s when you use the combat knife,” he deadpanned, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. “After that, your teeth, maybe some elbows and a headbutt or two.”
Despite his attempt at levity, adrenaline hit Ryan’s system at the thought that Dianne might be rushed, and he wouldn’t be able to protect her. Nevertheless, he ignored his racing heart to return to siphoning gas.
Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast, he reminded himself as he sucked the liquid gas until it rose high enough that he could transfer the end of the hose to the Opel’s open tank and then let gravity take over.
The entire time the people in the shadows increased in number, and their muttering grew.
Ryan finished filling their gas tank, spilling extra gasoline under the van as he pulled the tubing from its side. Almost at the same time, the growing crowd spread out along the far edge of the parking lot.
“Let’s go,” he said. As they slammed their doors shut, he looked at Dianne. “You got the hotwiring? I’ll take the gun.”
Dianne handed him the pistol using a thumb and a finger to hold the grip. “Please.”
“I don’t know why you’re so skittish. You handled yourself like a pro.” Ryan pulled the slide back and checked the chamber as she bent down to twist the ignition and power wires together again. Half a clip. It would do if they got out of here pronto. “I wouldn’t have done better.”
“Beginner’s luck,” she said, grabbing the loose wires hanging below the steering column.
“Better hurry,” he said, scanning the crowd. His spidey senses as Olivia called them had started to tingle.
Something metallic clattered, and angry voices rose in sporadic shouts. Shoes scuffed the pavement as an uneasy ripple of movement shifted the onlookers.
“Crap!” said Dianne, dropping the wires as a brief spark jumped between them.
Ryan looked back at her. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” he said, injecting a calm he didn’t feel into his voice.
He surveyed the van through the driver’s side window, a thought occurring to him as he focused on the crowd, which had by now divided into two clear groups. Was it chaos? Or something more organized?
Dianne heaved a sigh and grabbed the two wires again, twisting the exposed ends together before tapping the end of the starter wire to the bundle. The engine coughed, the Opel shook, and then the car died.
