Winter Halo (Outcast 2)

Fresh energy surged into my legs. I ran on, desperate to reach the crater’s rim. I might not be any safer there, but I could at least fight a whole lot better out in the open.

The ground slipped from under my feet and I went down on one knee. Just for an instant, I caught a glimpse of starlight, and then a thick wave of movement hit my spine and knocked me sideways. Stones dug into my ribs as the air left my lungs in a huge whoosh. Claws appeared out of the ink—they were thick and blue and razor sharp, and would have severed my spine had the wind of their movement not hit me first. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t totally abandoned me.

I fired both weapons in a sweeping arc. I had no idea where the wraiths were, because the darkness had enclosed around those claws and the rippling movement seemed to be coming from several directions now. Something wet splashed across my skin and face—something that stung like acid and smelled like foul egg. I hoped it was blood, but I knew there were Others who could spit poison. With the way things were playing out tonight, it was probably the latter rather than the former.

I scrubbed a sleeve across my face but succeeded only in smearing whatever it was. I cursed softly, then thrust upright and scrambled toward the rim of the crater and that brief glimpse of starlight. If I had to fight, then I at least wanted to see my foe.

The ripples of movement didn’t immediately resume, and for an all-too-brief moment I thought maybe I’d killed them. It was a thought that swiftly died as those damn waves started up again.

There was nothing I could do. Nothing except keep running. Wraiths weren’t stupid; now that they knew I had weapons that could actually hurt them, they’d be a lot more cautious.

But, cautious or not, they were still moving through this muck a whole lot faster than me. I had one chance, and one chance only—I had to get out and put as much distance between them and me as possible.

The heavy darkness began to slide away from my body. I sucked down big gulps of air, trying to ease the burning in my lungs. It didn’t really help. I ran on, my speed increasing as the darkness retreated further, lifting the weight from my shoulders and spine. Then, finally, I was free from its grip and racing over the edge of the crater. I didn’t stop. I didn’t dare. I needed to gain as much distance as I could . . .

Movement, to my right. Instinct had me leaping left. Claws snagged the edge of my coat’s sleeve, ripping it from cuff to shoulder, but not cutting skin. I twisted away, raised the guns, and fired.

At nothing.

The creature was gone. I had no idea whether speed or magic was involved in that disappearance, and no time to contemplate it. I just kept on running. Stones bounced away from my steps, but this time there were no ghosts to dance in time to the sound.

More movement, this time to my left. I fired again. The shots ripped across the night but found no target. The stony hillside appeared empty, even though the foul presence of the wraiths stained the air.

If they were so damn fast—or, indeed, capable of hiding their presence through magic—why weren’t they attacking? Had they been ordered not to? Or were they like cats, preferring to play with their prey before closing in for the kill?

If it was the latter, then they were in for a shock, because this little mouse wasn’t about to go down without taking at least one of them with me.

The crest of the hill loomed above. Tombs and crosses reached for the stars like broken fingers reaching for help. But there was no safety to be found there, and the tombs themselves were just a reminder of my fate if I wasn’t very careful.

Stones

clattered to my right; I swung a gun that way but didn’t fire. There was nothing there. They were playing with me. Fear pounded through my body, but there was little I could do but ignore it. I’d been in far worse situations than this and survived. I could survive this.

With luck.

I hoped.

The graveyard ghosts gathered near the top of the hill as I drew closer, but their energy was uneasy. Wary. I very much doubted they would have helped even if I could have asked them to. There was none of the anger in them that was so evident within the Carleen ghosts, and that probably meant this graveyard—and these ghosts—were prewar. In which case they’d have no experience or knowledge of wraiths, and no idea just how dangerous they could be.

One of the creatures appeared out of the night to my left—or, rather, his arm appeared. I ducked under his blow and fired both guns, but in the blink of an eye, his limb was gone again. The bullets ricocheted off the nearby rocks, sending sparks flying into the night.

How in Rhea could I fight—kill—these creatures if I couldn’t see them?

I guess I had to be grateful that I could at least hear them. Sometimes. More than likely when they actually wanted me to.

More sound, this time to my left—claws scrabbling across stone. If that noise was any indication, it was closing in fast. Perhaps it had decided playtime was over.

I couldn’t escape them—not in this form. Maybe it was time to try another . . .

Even as the thought entered my mind, something cannoned into my side and sent me tumbling. I hit the ground with a grunt but kept on rolling, desperate to avoid the attack I could feel coming.

I crunched into a large rock and stopped. The air practically screamed with the force of the creature’s approach; I raised the guns once more and ripped off several shots. Then I scrambled upright, only to be sent flying again. This time I hit face-first and skinned my nose and chin as I slid several feet back down the hill.

I had no time to recover. No time to even think. The creature’s weight landed in the middle of my back, and for too many seconds I couldn’t even breathe, let alone react. Its claws tore at my flesh, splitting the skin along my shoulder and sending bits of flesh splattering across the nearby rocks. It was still playing with me, because those claws could have—should have—severed my spine.

But the blood gushing down my arm and back was warning enough that if I didn’t move—didn’t get up and get away from this creature—I’d still be as dead as any of those who watched from the safety of their tombstones.

And there was only one way I had any hope of escaping—I had to call forth the vampire within me.