Blood Pact

quiet was kind of nice. She kept the flashlight beam trained on the creature as it shuffled along and refused to wonder what it was she waited for.

    She thought she understood what motivated Celluci to try and prevent the opening of the box, but she couldn't seem to make it matter. She heard him speak, but the words got tangled and made no sense. When he pulled his gun, the only thing she felt was mild surprise.

    Muscles spasmed with the first shot, her brain slamming back and forth between her ears. The crack of the second shot jerked her out of her retreat and shook her awake.

    She saw the creature's arm come up and Celluci fly back. She started moving before he hit the floor. Keeping the beam pointed along her path until she got near enough to finish blind, she raised the heavy flashlight like a club and slammed it down. Contact had a strangely muffled feel.

    Although she'd come so close that the slightly sweet stink of decomposing flesh wrapped around her, she couldn't actually see the creature she faced. And thank God for small mercies. It had been terrifying enough from a distance. Unfortunately, neither could she see the return blow.

    With only one arm for balance, she went down hard, more concerned with hanging onto her only means of sight than with breaking her fall. She struck, rolled, and crushed her injured wrist against the floor.

    Celluci heard her gasp of pain as he launched himself back at the creature. What are you doing? screamed the still rational part of his brain. But even while recognizing that the question had merit, the night had gone on too long for him to listen to it.

    With a dull squelch, his shoulder drove into the creature's ribs, forcing it back toward the door. They went down together, grappled, rolled. He lost track of time, lost track of place, lost track of self until he found himself staring up at the hall ceiling as his spine smashed into the tile. He grunted as the heavy muscles of his back absorbed most, but not all, of the blow. He tried to kick free.
    Was lifted. Thrown against a wall of shelves. Slid down them. Saw a door closing. And was suddenly alone in darkness.

    Number nine had put the last intruder in the box. She had been pleased with that. So he found a box for this intruder as well.

    Pressing down with both hands, he bent the round metal thing until it would no longer turn.

    Now the intruder would stay in the box.

    It was undoubtedly a storage closet, not that it mattered. Celluci flung himself against the door. It didn't budge. And when, screaming Italian profanity, he finally found the knob, it didn't turn.

    Vicki levered herself up onto her knees, head spinning. She assumed the sounds of impact she heard were Celluci and the creature, but at the moment she was physically incapable of going to his aid. Curled around her injured arm, she dry retched, fighting the waves of dizziness that threatened to knock her flat again.

    Damn it, Vicki, get it together! Mike needs you! So you've lost a little blood, big fucking deal. It isn't the first time. Get UP!

    Panting through locked teeth, she groped for the flashlight and suddenly realized she wasn't alone.

    Her vision consisted of only a very narrow path along the floor, illuminated by the flashlight and bound by the disease that had destroyed her sight. Into that path shuffled a pair of feet wearing new track shoes with velcro tabs. Beyond horror, Vicki froze, unable to move, unable to think, unable to look away as the feet shuffled toward her. When they stopped, she could also see sweatpants covering the legs from knees to ankles. The creature by the box had been wearing sweatpants, but she could still hear the sounds of fighting. . . .

    Finally, she got her fingers closed around the rubber grip and, clutching it like a talisman, she slowly forced herself to straighten.

    Her mother looked down at her, much as her mother had looked down at her a thousand times before. Except this time, her mother was dead.

    She felt reason slipping away and scrambled desperately for its edges. This was her mother. Her mother loved her. Dead or not, her mother would never harm her.

    Then the dead lips parted and a dead mouth formed her name.

    Too much.

    Henry heard the scream, turned, and ran toward it. Still half blind, his sense of smell useless in corridors saturated with abomination, he raced back along the path of Vicki's terror and came up facing a dead end.

    Howling with rage, he doubled back, senses straining