Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

Idris stumbled up from the valve. “Kara! We have a problem.”

Seriously? How much more could go wrong?

“Kara!”

Not Idris. I turned to see Bryce clambering over a pile of rubble, face set in utter determination. Dirty, sweaty, and with a long scrape down one arm, to me he looked like an angel sent from above.

He jumped down and moved straight to us, shoulders set with purpose as he took in the sight of a no-longer-pregnant Jill sobbing on my shoulder. Without a word he gently took her from me and lifted her in his arms. Jill buried her head against his neck, let out a shuddering sigh and went quiet. His eyes met mine. “I got this.”

I gave him a look of pure gratitude. I could trust him to protect her and give her the care she needed. I jogged over to Idris. “What is it?” I asked him.

Worry creased his brow. He raked a hand over his hair. “The other ten charges—the ones that didn’t go off—are still a threat.”

My stomach dropped a few miles. “Explain?” I managed.

“The, um, bean’s strands deactivated all of the charges but the one that blew. The one I fucked up,” he said, words hurried. “It’s like she clipped the wires on a bomb for ten of them, but the bombs themselves are still intact.” Stark dread filled his eyes. “Kara, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. More charges mean more intensity, not just a wider area. If they all go off, there’ll be nothing left but dust.”

A surreal calm settled over me. “First off, you didn’t fuck up. It was pure shit luck that a tremor hit at the wrong time. Second off, you’re going to dismantle those remaining ten to where they can’t possibly blow, right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, firm and sure. “But it’s going to take some time.” He surveyed the area, paled at the amount of destruction. I saw it in his eyes as he envisioned it reduced to dust. “We need to evacuate, a couple of miles radius at least, and—”

“Idris.” I stopped him, spoke quietly but firmly. “All rescue operations would have to stop. There is no perfect answer here. Either way we risk lives.”

He drew a breath and blew it out. “Got it.” He met my eyes steadily. He didn’t need a Kara-brand pep talk this time at least.

“Yes, you do,” I said. “Do I need to watch for zhurn again?”

He grimaced. “Anything that could reactivate the charges.”

I caught his arm as he turned away. “Zack and Szerain kidnapped the bean—Ashava. Carl is Xharbek. He teleported in, pissed, looking for Szerain and Ashava.”

Idris took it in then settled into his super serious summoner demeanor. “We’ll deal with it. Later.” With that, he ran back to the valve, dropped to his knees, and he and Pellini began their waggly hand dance.

First order of business, Get Dangerous. I dashed to Pellini’s truck. Bryce sat in the back with all the windows rolled down, his left arm draped protectively over Jill who sat curled up against him, her eyes closed. His free hand held the Sig P227 on his lap. I didn’t see his Glock but I was certain it was within easy reach. A long, hard-plastic box lay open on the floorboard. Pellini’s arsenal.

“She had the baby,” I said, “and—”

“She told me everything,” he said quietly then resumed scanning for potential danger, as vigilant and ready for action as a robot sentry. My throat tightened with gratitude for his presence. He’d have a better tactical position outside the truck, but tactics were only one consideration for him at the moment. He sat with Jill because it was what she needed. He intended to protect her—in every way—and I had absolute faith in his ability to balance it all.

I reloaded my empty magazines and grabbed all the extras Pellini had—grimly pleased to find a half dozen high capacity Glock 9mm magazines loaded and ready to go. I tucked three into each side pocket of my pants, then took Pellini’s Glock 19 and clipped the holster into place at the small of my back. Probably didn’t need anything more.

“Take the shotgun,” Bryce murmured, scanning. “And zipties.”

I didn’t argue. He outstripped me in Being Dangerous by about a zillion percent which meant I followed his advice. The shotgun had a strap that held a dozen shells. I slung it across my back and divided another half dozen shells between my two side pockets. I grabbed a bundle of zipties and shoved them into a front pocket. They made an uncomfortable bulge, but it felt good to have them. No two ways about it—Pellini was forever on my zombie apocalypse team.

Armed and ready, I closed the door gently then raced back to the valve. With a gun in each hand, I proceeded to stalk around Idris and Pellini and watch for any and all not-normal twitches of movement.

Easier said than done. Nothing was normal. Rubble choked the street in front of the PD, with some chunks as large as Pellini’s truck. First responders mobilized with careful haste. Police and air ambulance helicopters thumped overhead. The first generator fired up with a throaty roar. Cops and emergency personnel shouted orders, and their radios crackled, turned up high to be heard over background noise. Civilian survivors pitched in to help, and a woman with a crew cut and a megaphone organized the volunteers into task groups with brutal efficiency. A bald man in maintenance coveralls and with shoulders as wide as my bed carried supplies beside a woman in a pencil skirt and Louboutin heels.

All of this mayhem, for no reason other than to further the Mraztur’s irresponsible scheme to create a permanent gateway. It didn’t bode well for what they’d do on Earth if they succeeded.

Sweat plastered my shirt to my torso, and I licked dry lips, ignored the wary or accusing stares from people who surely wondered why we made no move to help with rescue operations. Every scream of pain and sob for help sliced through me, but I clung to the fact that thousands more would die if Katashi found a way to reactivate the charges.

A shadow passed over the lot. I dropped to one knee and brought both guns up, and only ingrained trigger discipline kept me from shooting at a helicopter.

Yet providence was on my side, for a change. The helicopter veered off, allowing me to see a kehza as it streaked down in a dive. Adrenaline surged. I leaped up and set my feet in a strong stance, breathed deeply and waited for the kehza to get closer. No wild and panicked shooting this time. It’s not going to get past me. That’s all there is to it. I held both guns close together, sighted down the one in my right hand then squeezed the triggers as fast as possible while maintaining control.