“He’s in. Living room, down the hall, kitchen to the left, bathroom for guests to the right.” Andi swayed a little when George prevented him from running against a lamppost by yanking him sideways. Being in two places at the same time, with different senses and in various bodies was a nightmare. “He’s got lots of weapons, handguns, a rifle, I think a sniper rifle, but that’s dismantled, knives, takeout food, he’s dressed, wears combat boots, who does that inside the house, bed’s not made, more weapons, oil, gunpowder….” He trailed off, tried to get back to where George was leading him with one hand on his lower arm.
“Second exits?”
“A fire escape, window is closed, can be easily broken.”
“Okay. Do you think you can manage going through the building to his apartment’s main door? The idea of you on a fire escape while your attention is so distracted doesn’t appeal to me one bit.”
Andi hated to admit it, but George was right. The mere idea of getting on a fire escape ladder and climbing to the second floor where Holway’s apartment was while his senses were trying to decide which ground he should be using to put his feet on spelled disaster. “I can manage. Usual sign?”
George nodded. “Two rings.”
They parted ways in front of the building, George walking to the back while Andi took the front entrance. He did his best to concentrate on the stairs, clinging to the handrail, which provided some kind of anchor while he still kept most of his attention on the apartment where Holway was cleaning his weapons while listening to the same radio station he and George had on the Escalade’s radio. The closer he got, the more information was barraging into him, some of it helpful, some completely useless—
Healthy blood, rich, sweat, oil, appalling, a wound, open, not deep, just a cut, not enough to lay eggs in, the blob was too vital, dirt in the bathroom, mold under the trim in the living room, a leak in the kitchen, not big, too small to be recognized yet, spores of mildew settling under the sink, the pipes in the house were rusty, old, good places to hide, to hatch, stomping, a dead rat in the wall, the corpse dried out, no food, just fur and bones, too dry, water dripping down, forming new paths—
Andi reached the second floor, followed the stream of images coming from his small informants. Holway was focused on cleaning his weapons, which unfortunately meant he was surrounded by means to fight them off. They had to be extremely careful—his phone vibrated twice in his back pocket, the signal that George was in position. Andi took it out, pressed the speed dial and let it ring three times before shutting it off, then calling again, letting it ring two times.Careful, armed. He was so glad they had this system to communicate silently. His cell vibrated once. George had gotten the message. Andi got out his weapon and took the safety off before he stepped to the front door of Holway’s apartment and knocked.
“Mr. Holway? Charleston PD. Please open the door.”
The blob jumped up, adrenaline spiking, heartbeat getting faster, not hastily, alert, two weapons, click, click, silently walking toward the door, too silent to be heard but Andi knew anyway, he was already inside the apartment, he knew where Holway was at all times, the blob raised his hand, gun aimed at the door, two shots, a silencer on the weapon, truly a pro, not drawing attention, Andi could feel the bullets whizzing past, he stepped forward—
“How impolite of you, Mr. Holway. I assure you, all I want to do is talk to you about a contract you fulfilled about a week ago.”
The blob shot again, aiming for his voice, and that was enough, another blob was inside the apartment, coming up behind the blob at the door, holding out his weapon,
“Hands up, Mr. Holway, Charleston PD!”
The first blob turning around too fast, his foot coming up, a bang, thumping, two bodies colliding,
Andi shot the lock of the door, kicking it in just in time to see George and Holway, who was easily as tall as George and with at least ten pounds more muscle mass, rolling on the ground, each of them trying to get the upper hand, with Andi unable to get a shot in. Finally Holway got on top, his right fist coming down on George’s head. Andi fired his weapon, getting Holway in the shoulder, the ringing of the shot terribly loud in the narrow hallway of the apartment, Holway getting up, firing as well while he made a beeline for the living room and the fire escape. Andi dove to the side to avoid being shot, slammed against the wall, and lost his balance for a moment. George was getting back on his feet when more shots had him ducking again,
The blob in the living room going for the broken window, leaving the same way the other blob had come in, drops of blood everywhere, such a delicious trail, hunger, hunger—
“He’s on the fire escape!” George was up now, following Holway while Andi decided to take the stairs and try to block Holway’s path.
The blood going down so fast, more drops, food, perhaps larger prey, so much metal, the blood jumping down, running not for the street but in the other direction, the second blob following, hitting the ground hard, the blood reaching a metal cage, going inside, the roof is open, the scents still wafting around, a roar, gravel spitting,
“He had a fucking car back there!” George was coming onto the street, looking furious. His lip was split and his cheek swelling.
Andi started running toward the Escalade. “Come on. He’s in a convertible, and he’s bleeding and reeking of gunpowder. I can easily follow him.”
George broke into a sprint, already getting the keys out. They were inside the car and hightailing it down Suntree Alley. Andi had the presence of mind to put their blue flashlight onto the car’s roof while George was pressing the accelerator down to the floor of the car.
The blood was going fast, so delicious but hard to catch, south—
“Turn left at the next possibility.”
The car veered to the right when George took the turn into Sutter Alley with more speed than was wise. Andi clung to the armrest in the door, concentrating on the blood and gunpowder that had all the arthropods it passed in uproar. George was on the police radio reporting their status and the need for help.
“This is Detective Donovan. I’m following a suspect in West Ashley. A black convertible, driver armed and wounded. We’re currently on Sutter Alley going south.”
Andi heard the garbled “Help is on the way” through the police radio over a chorus of—
Blood, hunger, stinks, more blood, prey, blood, blood, hunger—
The mental images guided him. “Turn right, then the next left.”
George did as Andi told him, weaving through the thankfully light traffic on William E. Murray Boulevard, racing even faster when they caught sight of the black convertible not half a mile before them. The car was veering left and right, the driver—
