“There are rules against turning the unwilling,” Madoc interrupted as he straightened up and limped forward. He spat onto the ground, a splatter of black lost on the charred concrete, and bared his fangs at the man. “But a corpse has no rights. You might Rise, you might not. We’ll still have our way with you.”
The Hunter spluttered out a curse and waved the rifle in a wild arc. He stumbled back toward the car, his ruined foot barely able to touch the ground. His eyes, white rimmed in the letterbox view of his balaclava, cut down the road as a black Eclipse screeched up.
“We’re done here anyhow,” he said. “Fuck you, Dead Man.”
He lurched backward toward the open door of the car. Took spat a curse through clenched teeth and took the shot. The bullet hit the Hunter in the ribs and threw him sideways off his precarious balance. He grabbed the door, arm hooked through the open window, and the car peeled away with him half-in and half-out. The bloody ruin of his foot bounced and dragged along the tarmac as the loose door battered and jarred the dangled man. He managed to pull himself in as they reached the end of the road, and the door slammed shut as the driver swung sharply around the corner.
Took swore in frustration. “They’ll find him dead tomorrow,” he predicted sourly. “Idiot.”
“If he were smart, he’d have gotten into a different line of work,” Madoc said. He dropped to his knees on the cracked pavement and doubled over, his hand pressed to the tender scars that pocked his lean stomach and chest. “I forgot how much this hurts.”
Took shoved the gun into his waistband and limped over to him. He put his hand on Madoc’s shoulder and tried not to lean on him. Worry picked at him with cold fingers.
“Don’t do it again, then,” he said. Despite his best intentions, he slid his hand around to cup the back of Madoc’s neck. He could feel the delicate ridge of Madoc’s spine and the heavy clench of muscle under soft, fire-warm skin. “Do you need someone to call Pally?”
Madoc retched and spat up a sour goo of black bile and shredded tissue. It splattered over his knees and the ground. A stray bullet that had gotten caught somehow, instead of punched straight through his body like the rest, hit the ground with a dull chink. It glittered in the vomit, silver-alloy bright as the ichor clotted and scabbed around it.
“If Icananswer that question,” he said as he straightened up, fists braced on his slimed knees. “You don’t need to ask it.”
Lawrence scrambled out of the Eclipse, gun in hand and VINE-issue body armor half fastened around her torso. The ID sprayed across the front—a stenciled white BTR-27—had been Took’s the last time he looked. It was just the code for human, so the other Biter agents could factor that info into tactical decisions, but it still flicked Took’s ego on the raw. He looked away from her as she paused in the middle of the road, her eyes focused toward the end of the road as she barked orders into a radio.
“Bennett,” Madoc said as he grabbed Took’s wrist. He broke off as he gagged and had to spit again, with a choked curse mixed in the bile. His fingers tightened hard enough to hurt as he cleared his throat of obstruction. “Luke! Stop the tanker before they hook it up.”
The use of his real name caught Took off guard. It had been years since that had felt likehim, but apparently some habits were ingrained deeper than identity. The urgency in Madoc’s order pushed Took into motion. He loped down the street toward the fire truck, hand raised to flag down the tall, soft-faced woman in the chief’s jacket.
“VINE!” At least this time he had some sort of actual authority behind him. “Don’t hook the tanker up.”
The chief pushed the visor of her helmet up and glared at him. She had a soft, round face, but her eyes were hard and impatient. “Water’s off,” she said. One gloved finger jabbed toward the still-flaming house. “Without the tanker, we gotta spit the fire out. So get out of my way and let me do my job.”
There was a reason Madoc was in command. Took could follow a twisted mind down whatever broken path it took, but strategy and tactics weren’t his strength. He’d onlyjustput the pieces together.
“Tanker’s compromised,” he spat out between his fangs. “You want to use it? Tap it first.”
She frowned dubiously at him. “I don’t know your face,” she said. “I know the local VINE boys.”
“You know me?” Madoc asked from behind Took. He braced his elbow on Took’s shoulder and put his weight on it. His body still felt hot, almost alive, and the sour-sweet tang of ichor on his clothes made Took’s throat ache. The flash of surprise on the chief’s face was enough of an answer. “Tap the tanker.”
It took a moment, but she finally grimaced and gave in. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But any extra property damage? That’s on VINE.”
She turned around and broke into a jog as she barked orders at the crew by the tanker. Whatever doubtsshehad about their request, she didn’t appreciate being questioned in turn. She cut short the frustrated queries from the other firefighters and scrambled up the welded-on ladder to crack the seal on the tanker herself.
The liquid that she dipped out in the palm of her hand looked like water. From the sudden blankness that settled over the chief’s face, she didn’t agree. She lifted wet fingers to her nose and grimaced at whatever she smelled.
“Back it up!” She scrambled a few steps down the ladder and jumped the rest of her way to the ground. The other firefighters hesitated as she stripped her gloves off. Her hands were latticed with old scars, pink against her dark skin, and she spun her finger in a “get a move on” gesture. “Get it the fuck off this street. Right now!”
“What is it?” Madoc asked as he finally took his weight off Took’s shoulder.
The chief shot him a black, angry look. It probably wasn’t aimed at them, but Took didn’t envy whoever she was angry at. She wiped her hands on her pants and checked her sleeves.
“Contaminated,” she said. “Ethanol. We sprayed that on the fire, we’d have all been dead. Just like whatever shithead did this when I find him.”
She gave her crew a bleak, furious once-over and then stalked away. “Move your asses! Get this goddamn thing out of here. Tap the sewers. Better that shit than this shit.” She smacked her hand against the side of the tanker to underline her point as it started to roll. “Move it!”
As the crew scrambled to get the tanker moved and the neighbors started to spill out onto the street now the gunman was gone, Took sagged and sat down on the curb. His hands were still raw and blistered, but they’d start to heal soon enough.
Lawrence jogged over to join them. The thin leather soles of her brogues were deformed from the heat, and chunks of tar stuck to the sides where the tarmac had gone soft.
“What happened here?” she demanded. “Who was in that car, and why did they want to burn this street?”
