Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE SIDECAR WAS STILL Sully’s least favorite way to travel.
Speeding along with no control over his fate would never be something he enjoyed.
He was too busy trying to hold down the bread he’d had for breakfast to think much about what was waiting for them, or what the others faced.
But he couldn’t shake the strange way Elliot felt last night and this morning.
Or how Elliot looked at him when they separated, like he was committing Sully to memory.
Like it was the last time he might see him.
Did Elliot know something he hadn’t shared?
He knew Elliot’s objective was probably the most difficult to accomplish .
Did he suspect it was one way? Would he tell Sully if he did?
Or would he keep it to himself so Sully wouldn’t fight him on it?
His stomach twisted and rolled, compounding the nausea he was battling as bare trees and dead grass flew by in his peripheral vision.
As they approached Toullanes, Sully shifted some of his attention to an illusion muffling the sound of the motorcycle and hiding them from view.
They left the motorcycle in a secluded alley, unsurprised to find the edges of the town quiet.
Forced work probably kept most of the villagers in the factory during the day.
Pressing forward on foot, Sully remained at high alert, searching the cobblestone streets in front of them for danger.
They were deserted. No sounds within the cream stone buildings.
No footsteps echoing. An odd sensation swept Sully, a growing apprehension.
Even accounting for forced labor, something was horribly wrong with this town.
Sully stopped Hoffman with a palm on his arm, a chill creeping up his spine, prickling at the base of his skull. “Hold on.”
“What?”
Sully shot him an exasperated look. Hoffman raised an irate brow.
Ignoring him, Sully focused on what caught his attention.
The village was small, but it ought to feel bigger.
It ought to feel chaotic with villagers and German soldiers maintaining order.
There should be despair, wariness, probably bright bursts of happiness on occasion, even the oppressed found joy where they could.
Every drop of it was absent. What is this?
There was a singular sensation emanating from their intended destination. The hairs on Sully’s arms rose as it washed over him. A gnawing violent emptiness cramped his stomach.
“We’re too late,” he murmured. The truth splashed him in icy waves.
Other than Hoffman’s confused trepidation, the only thing Sully felt was overwhelming hunger, brutal in its knife-edged need.
Closing his eyes, Sully focused his magic, searching for anything beneath it.
Anyone still alive. Fuck. “They’re already dead. ”
Hoffman gaped at Sully. “All of them? You’re sure?”
Sully looked away and waved his hand in the direction of the factory they were headed for. “Every last one. They’re in there. It’s…” He glanced sharply at Hoffman who cursed, the same realization flashing across his features. “Hell. It’s a trap.”
“They meant for us to walk in there and be torn to shreds. They knew we were coming.” Hoffman tugged on the arm of Sully’s olive coat, yanking him back toward the motorcycle. “You maintained the illusion?”
“Yeah,” Sully huffed, thighs and calves propelling him as fast as he could go without turning an ankle on the cobblestones.
“They probably got someone watching nearby, making sure whoever shows up dies, but they’re not close enough for me to sense which means there’s not a lot of them, or they’d be amplified. I wouldn’t be able to miss it.”
“Good, hopefully that means we can get out of here. We’ve got to get to Charbonneau and Remonet.” Hoffman paused long enough to fill his lungs with air. “They have no idea what they’re walking into. It’ll be a slaughter.”
“How many of those papers d’you think Remonet cooked up? And do they work if the magic’s already in a body?”
“Not enough, and I have no damned idea. For their sake I hope so.”
The two of them broke into a faster run, skidding around corners blindly and unobstructed until they reached the motorcycle.
Sully clambered into the sidecar, barely settled in the seat before Hoffman kick started it and twisted the throttle.
There were ten miles between Tullanes and Béyonnes, but the road connecting them was winding and poorly kept.
Hoffman pushed the Twin’s engine to the limits, jolting them dangerously.
Sully didn’t care; his thoughts were flickering wildly between whether they would arrive in time to make any difference and the fact Elliot had undoubtedly walked into a trap too.
Please let him be all right. Please don’t let him be hurt. Don’t let him be gone.
They needed to survive this because they were the only shot Elliot and Bellona had at a rescue.
If there’s anything left to rescue.
His heartbeat faltered, chest seizing.
No, no, no. Elliot’s fine. The two of them are resourceful. Hell, they’ll probably be at the rendezvous point when we get there. He’ll be waiting for me with that private little smile.
He tried to make himself believe it, but his gut twisted unhappily.
He will, damn it.
As they neared Béyonnes, he shut off his worries in favor of action. Old brickwork and white stone buildings sprawled below the hill they crested, cobbled streets cutting through them. It was postcard material if Sully couldn’t feel the horrors lurking within.
He readied the two rifles tucked beside him, popped open two pockets on his cartridge belt and double-checked his coat pockets for the papers Remonet had given him. Right where they ought to be, not that he expected they would be much help. Sully had to be prepared anyway.
“How do we do this?” he shouted to Hoffman over the blat blat blat of the exhaust and the rushing wind.
“Will your illusions work on them?”
Now that was funny. “Fucking doubtful, they’re dead. The only thought they’ve got is hunger. They’ll see right through it.”
“Wonderful.” That was dry and caustic, and it made Sully crack a smile. “We’re going to drive straight for Charbonneau and Remonet. Can you pinpoint them?”
Widening his senses, Sully searched the town, sifting through the hunger and writhing violence. There, on the northeast side, was hopelessness edged with fear and the determination to fight anyway.
“Yeah, I got them,” he yelled. “Northeast. I can give better directions the closer we get. Bet that’s where we’ll find the infected too, so watch out.”
Hoffman slowed slightly as they entered the village streets, enough to navigate the sharp corners.
Doing his best to take them in the direction they needed to go when they didn’t have a map.
Dilapidated houses flashed by in a blur and Sully readied his rifle, bracing it on his shoulder. His gut lurched. “Left, turn left!”
Hoffman leaned into the turn, missing a lamp post by a hair. Sully’s heart jumped into his throat. “Get ready to shoot! We’ll draw them off. Make a few passes if we must.”
The wheels screeched and the sidecar tilted dangerously. They should have a better plan than this. The building he could feel Charbonneau and Remonet taking refuge in came into view.
Fucking shite.
There had to be eighty or more gray and dirty people surrounding the house, clawing at doors, smashing through windows. They wouldn’t be able to hold out long. Even if he fired perfect shots every time and one bullet did the trick, it would take too long. They’d be overrun.
No time to revise their plan now, Sully fired, the shot spattering the brains of a gaunt man climbing in one of the windows. He yanked the bolt back, ejecting the empty shell, and slammed it forward again, firing at the gray woman who took his place, then three more as fast as he could.
Suddenly, they had the crowd’s attention. Every dead-eyed face paused to turn toward the motorcycle, bearing down on them. Oh hell.
“Don’t stop whatever you do,” Sully hollered, swapping one rifle for the other.
He braced it, lined it up and shot again as the stunned corpses began staggering in their direction, building up speed.
Right as they would’ve impacted, Hoffman slowed enough to make a swift turn onto a narrow alley they hardly fit through, the metal on the sidecar scraping against brick.
Shite, shite, shite. Oh fuck.
Sully struggled around to check behind them. Some of the crowd were pursuing. Not enough. Reloading both rifles was a quick and practiced thing as they burst out onto a road parallel to the one they needed to return to.
“Coming around,” Hoffman shouted, a devilish grin lighting up his usually somber features. “Let’s really get their attention this time.”
“How?” Sully demanded, sure he would hate the idea.
Hoffman’s smile grew. Reckless courage and a wild excitement throbbing in the air. “I’m going to stop.”
Sully straightened, bracing his rifle again. “You’re going to do what?”
Hoffman didn’t answer. He focused intensely, pulling them to a complete halt at a crossroads a few streets down from the roiling mass of corpses. Sully sighted a shot and fired. Beside him Hoffman must’ve retrieved his pistol, because retorts sounded between the ones Sully made.
This might work. This could work. We just need—
“Hey!” Hoffman yelled, waving his arms over his head in a wide gesture. “We’re right here. Come and get us!”
“Shite,” Sully muttered, switching weapons as the corpses began staggering toward them. A quick glance back showed the ones who’d pursued them gaining.
There were still far too many. A roar of outraged, mad hunger bounced off the walls as they started running, ringing in his ears, spiking his pulse. Sully shoved the bolt forward and fired at the front runner, hitting him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance.
He jerked the bolt back, pushed it forward, sighted a woman in a bedraggled dress who was leading the pack now. He fired. “Hoffman! They’re getting awful fucking close.” Three more shots before he had to reload.
This isn’t going to work. This is a terrible fucking plan.
“Get the ones pounding on the door. It’s almost clear,” Hoffman ordered.
Sully followed his line of sight to three by the door. Three corpses, three bullets. He heard Hoffman returning his pistol to its holster. Sully aimed his rifle, and picked them off one by one. His fingers and shoulder aching as the last shot rang out.
Sully focused a burst of illusion: a flare to warn Charbonneau and Remonet the coast was clear as it was likely to get.
Hoffman twisted the throttle on the left handlebar.
They bounced forward, corpses in close pursuit.
Sully wrenched around in his seat to watch behind them as his fingers fumbled more ammunition, catching it at the last second and loading the weapon without looking.
He could hear shots being fired as Charbonneau and Remonet made their escape.
Felt the pulsing beat of their hope rising as they ran in the opposite direction.
“Slow down a bit! We’ve got to keep them on our trail! ”
Sully divided his attention between picking off infected corpses and monitoring Charbonneau and Remonet’s wellbeing. It was impossible to tell if his shots were having any effect. The hunger pursuing them didn’t dampen. At best, he was only slowing the bastards.
Once he felt a rush of relief and triumph, he knew Charbonneau and Remonet had gotten to their motorcycle. “Head out, they’re clear!”
He sent up a signal to let them know they ought to head for the rendezvous point.
Hoffman picked up speed. They rounded a corner and drove straight into a group of corpses who’d cut them off, perhaps not quite as brainless as Sully pegged them for.
He fired and missed as Hoffman veered left, another left, then a right.
“D’you actually know where you’re going? ”
Hoffman’s grin bordered on manic. “The general direction!”
Sully swore, focusing more intensely on where Charbonneau and Remonet were headed. He shouted swift instructions to Hoffman and when they sped out of the village, he really opened up and took off. They rapidly lost their pursuers.
Hoffman was still buzzing as Sully sagged back against his seat, muscles weak with relief. We made it. We saved them. Shite that was close.
Finally, they caught up to Charbonneau and Remonet who let out a whoop of relief and saluted them gratefully.
There was no choice but to leave the infected corpses behind and pray they didn’t wreak havoc for the time being.
They had nowhere close to enough ammunition to kill them all.
Sully was already running dangerously low on bullets.
It didn’t rankle any less. Those poor people deserved to be put out of their misery.
He hoped they weren’t aware of what they’d become. Hoped they truly were mindless.
Now that he was out of immediate danger, Sully’s thoughts turned to Elliot. And the terror he’d been pushing down finally rose to crush in on him.
Be all right. Just…hell, Elliot. Be alive. I need you.