Subspecies: Bloodpact -- Chapter Seven, Part Two
Subspecies: Bloodpact
Chapter 7/8
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Radu Vladislas may prove the lesser of two evils when Michelle is forced to attempt to undo the devil's deal Rebecca has made in a bid to save her soul.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Charles Band, Ted Nicolaou, and other wonderful people who have provided me with a great deal of entertainment; I'm just playing around.
Wordcount: 10,110
Begin at the beginning.
He lay bonelessly against the fence for an endless, breathless moment, steeling himself for the wrenching, tearing blow he was sure was to come. Yet once he yielded to his lungs' demand for air, his eyelids fluttered open of their own volition, and Mel realized that he was alone.
He didn't credit it, not at first; that thing was probably skulking around somewhere nearby, offering the illusion of safety simply for the joy in snatching it away from him. There was no way to convince it that he was dead, or had fainted, but he attempted to remain as still as possible while his finger crept cautiously into the trigger guard of his pistol. Mel no longer entertained any illusions of being able to survive another encounter with it, but he'd be damned if he made it easy for it.
Yet as the heartbeats ticked by, the long, shuddering breaths, the involuntary twitches of his lids, he came to believe that no attack was forthcoming. His eyes had been closed, but he had not heard a sound: not the rustle of fabric, not the faintest crunch of gravel. He cracked his eyelids, and peered cautiously from side to side before opening them fully. Encouraged, he pushed himself up against the bars and turned his head to look behind him. It might be out there lurking in the low fog, but there was no disturbed mist to mark its passage. Mel couldn't fathom how it had managed it, but it seemed to be gone.
Though he scarcely believed his good fortune--he never for a moment suspected it had merely kept its promise--Mel supposed it made sense: the promise of carnage within was probably much more tempting than the fleeting amusement of tearing him limb from limb. He strained his ears, half-hoping for screams from the building, but could hear nothing but the rustle of leaves and, inspiring a longing so intense it was nearly painful, the distant sounds of traffic.
He sagged back against the fence, the closest he had come to relaxation since they had set foot on the property. Craning his neck painfully, he looked up at the bars once more; the thought of scaling them bare-handed was enough to make him quail. He could do it. He had to do it. Never mind the rotten throb of his wrist, the burning ache of the stitches in his face, the quietly terrifying numbness of his leg; he had to get up, get out, and go get help. A tavern, a phone booth, even a policeman's radio; any kind of contact with the larger world would net him enough assistance to see this unholy place razed to the ground. It would be better that way; no awkward questions asked, no impossible answers to give. Terrorists. Black market organ harvesters. A drug lab. Something. Anything else.
He just had to get over the fence. Over the fence, and out of Becky's life forever; for whatever he had told himself only moments ago, he didn't really believe she'd last more than five minutes once those things started fighting each other, even if Michelle did try to protect her. They didn't strike him as the type to be all too concerned about collateral damage.
And Becky was in there with them.
Mel was fully aware of how stupid he was being, even as he slowly, painfully hauled himself to his feet, pulling himself up the bars for support. As amazing a person as she had proven to be, she was still only one person. It was ridiculous to value her more than the potential devastation this nest of vipers might wreak if allowed to flourish unchecked; he wanted her safe, but he wanted the world safe even more, and the only thing that would guarantee it was fleeing and seeking backup right now.
He told himself all of that firmly as he shuffled awkwardly back the way he had come through the graveyard, moving carefully to avoid another fall. He still repeated it to himself as he lurched across the smooth, clipped lawn, but he finally gave it up when the window he had made his precipitous exit from hove once more into view.
He screened himself behind a shrub, too uncertain of his leg to crouch and make the most of what little protection it offered. The debris from the fall was still in evidence, broken crossbeams jutting awkwardly from the frame, twisted nails gleaming dully with the promise of tetanus amongst the glitter of shattered glass. A light had been turned on somewhere within the building--by the diffuse gleam, he suspected it was further down the adjoining hall that contained the doctor's office--but he could detect no shadows of movement. More ominously, he could hear nothing whatsoever from within. Not so much as the sound of feet on the tiled floors, never mind the sounds of conflict he had expected. Too busy to clean up after such an obvious breach of security--not to mention their failure to come after him--but no evidence of what might actually be going on. He could not imagine what might be going on in there.
Only one way to find out.
Mel crept forward as stealthily as he could, silently cursing the leg that was already stiffening towards immobility. At least it doesn't hurt. He edged toward the window at an oblique angle, the gun raised, and watched carefully as more of the interior crept into view. The body of the thing he'd shot earlier was gone, though dark, tacky smears of blood marked the spot where it had fallen. He wasn't certain if that was good news or bad news. Under normal circumstances he'd assume that the residents had simply dealt with their casualty; in this case, it was entirely possible that it had simply gotten up and walked away.
But Becky was close, practically within arm's reach. He could get her out, hop right back out the window, and make a break for it; it would be a lot easier with her help, given his debilitated state. They were both going to be in a world of hurt if she wasn't in the room at the end of the hall, as he surmised, but he refused to let himself think of that as he carefully checked the hall for signs of inhabitation, doubly unwilling to be caught out as he had been earlier. As satisfied as he could be that it was clear, he hitched himself over the windowsill and into the belly of the beast.
He knew that something was terribly wrong as soon as his feet hit the floor. The door that he was certain had contained Becky was buckled, as if it had been kicked by something with incomprehensible strength. Panic momentarily overriding his caution, he hurried over, trying to figure out what had happened--had one of them tried to get in? Had Becky found a way to keep them out? Had the door simply swung back on its hinges after they had torn it open and dragged her out? But no--he could see the dull steel of the shank, still securing the door to the thick concrete of the wall, though the door had been yanked a shocking distance away from its frame. His knee finally gave out as he staggered over; he collapsed against the wall with a thud. "Becky?" he whispered; his heart sank at the lack of response. "Rebecca?" He couldn't be too late. "Becky?" Couldn't.
"Mel?" He nearly crowed with relief at the familiar response, and bared his teeth at the frightened disbelief in her tone. "Mel? Oh, Mel!" He heard a brief scrabbling, and grinned delightedly when her eye appeared in the gap. "Be careful! They're out there, a-and--"
"I know, Becky, I know. Just stay calm." He examined the battered remains of the lock, and quickly determined that whatever had damaged it had rendered it unpickable, even had he possessed more than rudimentary skills. He could think of only one quick way to get it open, but it would mean risking everything on one slim chance. "Becky, I need you to go to the other side of the room."
"But--"
"Do it, okay? Go to the other side of the room, and crouch down in the corner. Put your arms up over your head. I'm gonna get you out of here." He stumbled to his feet, and swayed for a terrifying moment before he found his balance. He checked the slide, then hopped backwards to check his angle. The silver slugs in the clip were soft, and probably no match for the heavy steel of the lock; it would be an even greater irony if he had come so far only to kill one or the other of them with the ricochet. "Are you back there?" he asked, his voice hard with strain. He heard a muffled response that he took as assent; firming his stance, he took aim, and fired three times.
The sound of gunfire was deafening in the narrow hallway; if he had somehow managed to escape detection thus far, their pursuers would be on them in mere moments. Mel had a bad moment when he saw that the shank was still in place, but a rough shove that was almost a collapse sent the door flying open, and he nearly fell into Rebecca's arms.
She flung her arms around him, burying her hands in his hair and pressing her cheek against his. "Oh my God, Mel, I thought you were--oh God, Mel, it's--he's here, Mel, Radu's inside--"
"I know," he whispered. "We've got to get out of here right now. There's a window--"
"Michelle went with him--I don't--she--"
His heart ached for her, but there was no time for her to prevaricate, no matter how bitter the choice was. "Becky, I'm sorry, but we'll have to try and come back for her. Nicolescu tricked us, and they're all going to start fighting each other any minute now; we can't be here when that happens. Now come on!" He flung an arm around her shoulder, shifting the gun to his free hand. "You've gotta help me, Becky."
"But--" The tracks of tears streaked her face in the dim light, making of it a mask of grief and terror that only deepened when she finally realized how bad his condition was. "How did they hurt you?"
"It doesn't matter, but you've got to come with me. Please." He hopped forward, pulling her with him as best as he could; with no further protest, she took some of his weight and helped him hobble back out into the hallway. He turned her immediately towards the window, nearly managing to send them both tumbling to the floor; their freedom was so near he could practically taste it, and it made him incautious. He pulled her close, embarrassed at how heavily he had to lean upon her, but immensely grateful that she was there to be leaned upon, as they made the brief half-hopping progress back to the window. He pushed her forward, but she shook her head, placing a hand at the small of his back to steady him.
"You first. I don't think I could pull you out, but if we both--"
"Becky--"
"Come on--if you swing your bad leg over, I can--"
With an irritated growl, he gave up the argument and released her, switching the gun to the tightest grip he could manage with his injured hand as he leaned against the window sill. Bracing his hip, he hoisted his wounded leg up as high as he could manage in an attempt to avoid the glass shards still jutting from the frame. Rebecca grabbed his ankle and lifted, trying to help. She stole a worried glance at his face, checking to see if her efforts pained him; her expression transformed into a grimace of shocked revulsion half a heartbeat before he felt the claws sink into his shoulders.
She screamed, a wrenching, bloodcurdling sound as he spun around in dazed pain, trying to slam whatever it was that grasped him into the wall, inadvertently stumbling between her and the window. The thing only dug its talons in deeper, and he felt cold spittle dot his cheek as it hissed, snapping wildly for his throat.
"Becky! The doors!" he shouted as he struggled with the weight that was bearing him implacably down. He wrenched his bad arm up, knowing that the first shot was likely to send the gun spinning from his weak grip; he only hoped she'd be smart enough to run while she had the chance. Shoving the barrel into something soft and yielding behind him, he jerked the trigger the same instant he felt the claws puncture his throat.
Chapter 7/8
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Radu Vladislas may prove the lesser of two evils when Michelle is forced to attempt to undo the devil's deal Rebecca has made in a bid to save her soul.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Charles Band, Ted Nicolaou, and other wonderful people who have provided me with a great deal of entertainment; I'm just playing around.
Wordcount: 10,110
Begin at the beginning.
He lay bonelessly against the fence for an endless, breathless moment, steeling himself for the wrenching, tearing blow he was sure was to come. Yet once he yielded to his lungs' demand for air, his eyelids fluttered open of their own volition, and Mel realized that he was alone.
He didn't credit it, not at first; that thing was probably skulking around somewhere nearby, offering the illusion of safety simply for the joy in snatching it away from him. There was no way to convince it that he was dead, or had fainted, but he attempted to remain as still as possible while his finger crept cautiously into the trigger guard of his pistol. Mel no longer entertained any illusions of being able to survive another encounter with it, but he'd be damned if he made it easy for it.
Yet as the heartbeats ticked by, the long, shuddering breaths, the involuntary twitches of his lids, he came to believe that no attack was forthcoming. His eyes had been closed, but he had not heard a sound: not the rustle of fabric, not the faintest crunch of gravel. He cracked his eyelids, and peered cautiously from side to side before opening them fully. Encouraged, he pushed himself up against the bars and turned his head to look behind him. It might be out there lurking in the low fog, but there was no disturbed mist to mark its passage. Mel couldn't fathom how it had managed it, but it seemed to be gone.
Though he scarcely believed his good fortune--he never for a moment suspected it had merely kept its promise--Mel supposed it made sense: the promise of carnage within was probably much more tempting than the fleeting amusement of tearing him limb from limb. He strained his ears, half-hoping for screams from the building, but could hear nothing but the rustle of leaves and, inspiring a longing so intense it was nearly painful, the distant sounds of traffic.
He sagged back against the fence, the closest he had come to relaxation since they had set foot on the property. Craning his neck painfully, he looked up at the bars once more; the thought of scaling them bare-handed was enough to make him quail. He could do it. He had to do it. Never mind the rotten throb of his wrist, the burning ache of the stitches in his face, the quietly terrifying numbness of his leg; he had to get up, get out, and go get help. A tavern, a phone booth, even a policeman's radio; any kind of contact with the larger world would net him enough assistance to see this unholy place razed to the ground. It would be better that way; no awkward questions asked, no impossible answers to give. Terrorists. Black market organ harvesters. A drug lab. Something. Anything else.
He just had to get over the fence. Over the fence, and out of Becky's life forever; for whatever he had told himself only moments ago, he didn't really believe she'd last more than five minutes once those things started fighting each other, even if Michelle did try to protect her. They didn't strike him as the type to be all too concerned about collateral damage.
And Becky was in there with them.
Mel was fully aware of how stupid he was being, even as he slowly, painfully hauled himself to his feet, pulling himself up the bars for support. As amazing a person as she had proven to be, she was still only one person. It was ridiculous to value her more than the potential devastation this nest of vipers might wreak if allowed to flourish unchecked; he wanted her safe, but he wanted the world safe even more, and the only thing that would guarantee it was fleeing and seeking backup right now.
He told himself all of that firmly as he shuffled awkwardly back the way he had come through the graveyard, moving carefully to avoid another fall. He still repeated it to himself as he lurched across the smooth, clipped lawn, but he finally gave it up when the window he had made his precipitous exit from hove once more into view.
He screened himself behind a shrub, too uncertain of his leg to crouch and make the most of what little protection it offered. The debris from the fall was still in evidence, broken crossbeams jutting awkwardly from the frame, twisted nails gleaming dully with the promise of tetanus amongst the glitter of shattered glass. A light had been turned on somewhere within the building--by the diffuse gleam, he suspected it was further down the adjoining hall that contained the doctor's office--but he could detect no shadows of movement. More ominously, he could hear nothing whatsoever from within. Not so much as the sound of feet on the tiled floors, never mind the sounds of conflict he had expected. Too busy to clean up after such an obvious breach of security--not to mention their failure to come after him--but no evidence of what might actually be going on. He could not imagine what might be going on in there.
Only one way to find out.
Mel crept forward as stealthily as he could, silently cursing the leg that was already stiffening towards immobility. At least it doesn't hurt. He edged toward the window at an oblique angle, the gun raised, and watched carefully as more of the interior crept into view. The body of the thing he'd shot earlier was gone, though dark, tacky smears of blood marked the spot where it had fallen. He wasn't certain if that was good news or bad news. Under normal circumstances he'd assume that the residents had simply dealt with their casualty; in this case, it was entirely possible that it had simply gotten up and walked away.
But Becky was close, practically within arm's reach. He could get her out, hop right back out the window, and make a break for it; it would be a lot easier with her help, given his debilitated state. They were both going to be in a world of hurt if she wasn't in the room at the end of the hall, as he surmised, but he refused to let himself think of that as he carefully checked the hall for signs of inhabitation, doubly unwilling to be caught out as he had been earlier. As satisfied as he could be that it was clear, he hitched himself over the windowsill and into the belly of the beast.
He knew that something was terribly wrong as soon as his feet hit the floor. The door that he was certain had contained Becky was buckled, as if it had been kicked by something with incomprehensible strength. Panic momentarily overriding his caution, he hurried over, trying to figure out what had happened--had one of them tried to get in? Had Becky found a way to keep them out? Had the door simply swung back on its hinges after they had torn it open and dragged her out? But no--he could see the dull steel of the shank, still securing the door to the thick concrete of the wall, though the door had been yanked a shocking distance away from its frame. His knee finally gave out as he staggered over; he collapsed against the wall with a thud. "Becky?" he whispered; his heart sank at the lack of response. "Rebecca?" He couldn't be too late. "Becky?" Couldn't.
"Mel?" He nearly crowed with relief at the familiar response, and bared his teeth at the frightened disbelief in her tone. "Mel? Oh, Mel!" He heard a brief scrabbling, and grinned delightedly when her eye appeared in the gap. "Be careful! They're out there, a-and--"
"I know, Becky, I know. Just stay calm." He examined the battered remains of the lock, and quickly determined that whatever had damaged it had rendered it unpickable, even had he possessed more than rudimentary skills. He could think of only one quick way to get it open, but it would mean risking everything on one slim chance. "Becky, I need you to go to the other side of the room."
"But--"
"Do it, okay? Go to the other side of the room, and crouch down in the corner. Put your arms up over your head. I'm gonna get you out of here." He stumbled to his feet, and swayed for a terrifying moment before he found his balance. He checked the slide, then hopped backwards to check his angle. The silver slugs in the clip were soft, and probably no match for the heavy steel of the lock; it would be an even greater irony if he had come so far only to kill one or the other of them with the ricochet. "Are you back there?" he asked, his voice hard with strain. He heard a muffled response that he took as assent; firming his stance, he took aim, and fired three times.
The sound of gunfire was deafening in the narrow hallway; if he had somehow managed to escape detection thus far, their pursuers would be on them in mere moments. Mel had a bad moment when he saw that the shank was still in place, but a rough shove that was almost a collapse sent the door flying open, and he nearly fell into Rebecca's arms.
She flung her arms around him, burying her hands in his hair and pressing her cheek against his. "Oh my God, Mel, I thought you were--oh God, Mel, it's--he's here, Mel, Radu's inside--"
"I know," he whispered. "We've got to get out of here right now. There's a window--"
"Michelle went with him--I don't--she--"
His heart ached for her, but there was no time for her to prevaricate, no matter how bitter the choice was. "Becky, I'm sorry, but we'll have to try and come back for her. Nicolescu tricked us, and they're all going to start fighting each other any minute now; we can't be here when that happens. Now come on!" He flung an arm around her shoulder, shifting the gun to his free hand. "You've gotta help me, Becky."
"But--" The tracks of tears streaked her face in the dim light, making of it a mask of grief and terror that only deepened when she finally realized how bad his condition was. "How did they hurt you?"
"It doesn't matter, but you've got to come with me. Please." He hopped forward, pulling her with him as best as he could; with no further protest, she took some of his weight and helped him hobble back out into the hallway. He turned her immediately towards the window, nearly managing to send them both tumbling to the floor; their freedom was so near he could practically taste it, and it made him incautious. He pulled her close, embarrassed at how heavily he had to lean upon her, but immensely grateful that she was there to be leaned upon, as they made the brief half-hopping progress back to the window. He pushed her forward, but she shook her head, placing a hand at the small of his back to steady him.
"You first. I don't think I could pull you out, but if we both--"
"Becky--"
"Come on--if you swing your bad leg over, I can--"
With an irritated growl, he gave up the argument and released her, switching the gun to the tightest grip he could manage with his injured hand as he leaned against the window sill. Bracing his hip, he hoisted his wounded leg up as high as he could manage in an attempt to avoid the glass shards still jutting from the frame. Rebecca grabbed his ankle and lifted, trying to help. She stole a worried glance at his face, checking to see if her efforts pained him; her expression transformed into a grimace of shocked revulsion half a heartbeat before he felt the claws sink into his shoulders.
She screamed, a wrenching, bloodcurdling sound as he spun around in dazed pain, trying to slam whatever it was that grasped him into the wall, inadvertently stumbling between her and the window. The thing only dug its talons in deeper, and he felt cold spittle dot his cheek as it hissed, snapping wildly for his throat.
"Becky! The doors!" he shouted as he struggled with the weight that was bearing him implacably down. He wrenched his bad arm up, knowing that the first shot was likely to send the gun spinning from his weak grip; he only hoped she'd be smart enough to run while she had the chance. Shoving the barrel into something soft and yielding behind him, he jerked the trigger the same instant he felt the claws puncture his throat.