Bloodless

68

Cursing, Coldmoon followed Pendergast up the outside pitch of the steeple, grasping one rung after another. He wasn’t normally afraid of heights, but the ladder was badly corroded and he could feel it shifting and groaning under their combined weight. Everything looked so tiny below: the people like ants, their screams faraway... except here, at eye level, the monster itself was enormous, terrifying: flapping and gliding, its bug eyes rotating, that horrible mouth tube sucking in and out. As it passed by, it left in its wake a foul reek of burnt rubber, its talons dripping with gore and tattered clothing.

As it glided northward toward their hotel, Coldmoon, clinging desperately to the railing, could hear the stuttering sound of an automatic weapon, tiny bursts of flame stitching themselves along the underbelly of the beast. This was followed by a muffled roar, the brute screaming in pain as it was struck by a more powerful blast.

They kept climbing until they were just below the top, above the treetops with a clear line of fire in all directions. Looking northward, Coldmoon could see the beast attacking a building, beating its huge wings against it, circling up and dashing itself once more against the structure, screaming all the while. Bricks, broken pieces of wood, and glass flew into the air before falling back into a widening cloud of dust. It swerved off and, with a hideous screech, resumed its circling rampage.

“Jesus,” Coldmoon muttered, more to himself than to Pendergast. It looked like that thing had just taken out the upper floor of their hotel.

The beast began circling toward them again.

“Get ready!” Pendergast cried, wrapping an arm around a rung of the ladder while he pulled out his 1911. Coldmoon did the same, bracing himself, Browning in one hand. There was a sharp snapping sound as one of the attachments to the steeple ladder broke off with a green puff of oxidation. This was followed by another snap. The ladder began to sway.

He couldn’t think of that now. He had to focus on the creature.

It was closing in on the church. Up close it seemed more alien than ever, almost like a projection, with a semitransparent shimmer moving in waves across its dark leathery hide, looking almost like the exoskeleton of an insect.

Coldmoon took a bead as he tried to control his breathing, his pounding heart. As the monster glided past, not fifteen feet from them, he fired one round after another, evenly and carefully, aiming at the creature’s center of mass. He could hear, directly above him, Pendergast’s measured firing as the agent emptied his mag.

The beast was hit. It twisted in midair, emitting a dreadful screech at the upper frequency of audibility, like talons on a blackboard — and came back around, flying straight at them.

“Down!” Pendergast cried.

Coldmoon needed no encouragement. He holstered his Browning and half climbed, half slid down the rungs, the creature closing in. With a judder of metal, the rotten ladder snapped free from a row of fastenings and swung out into space. Coldmoon lost his footing, grabbing desperately at a rung with only his hands as he dangled in limbo, swaying a hundred feet above the ground, bodies and cars below like so many tiny toys... but then it swung back, picking up momentum, and Coldmoon managed to get his feet back on the bottom rung as the ladder slammed against the steep roof. He jumped desperately for the narrow balcony below and fell heavily onto it. It swung wildly away once again with Pendergast still clinging to it. Grasping the parapet, Coldmoon reached out and pulled the senior agent onto the walkway. The two dove into the carillon nest just as the ladder peeled away entirely — and the creature struck the steeple.

There was a shuddering crash and the entire structure jarred sideways with a mighty cracking of wooden beams and a cascade of slate shingles as the top began to shear off.

Coldmoon dove through the open trapdoor, tumbled partway down the spiral staircase before recovering his footing, then continued down at top speed, Pendergast behind him. The staircase crackled like fireworks as its wood frame shattered, showering them with splinters. They reached the bottom just as the entire tower tore away, plummeting into the crowded street with a thunderous roar, sending up a great plume of dust.

Coldmoon and Pendergast emerged into the nave just as the creature came back to hit the church broadside. It thrashed against the windows, beating out the stained glass and showering everyone inside. The crowd surged toward the doors, panicking to get out amid the rain of glass and falling beams. Pendergast grabbed an old woman and led her out the back door, Coldmoon following with a child, emerging into a small churchyard in the back, while the creature abandoned the church and flew off, resuming its circling of destruction.

In the churchyard, they paused to recover their breath — and their wits.

“We need heavier weapons,” Pendergast said as he ejected an empty mag and slapped in a fresh one. “These do minimal damage.”

Coldmoon checked his Browning. “Listen to me. That heavy weaponry won’t arrive in time. We know how this is going to end; we saw the future — Savannah in ruins, this church burned to the ground.” He looked into Pendergast’s eyes and saw real despair.

Pendergast reached out and grasped his shoulder. “There is one thing.”

“What?” Coldmoon cried.

“Maybe the future can be changed.”

Coldmoon stared at his partner. There was a new look in his eyes.

“How?”

“Don’t follow me,” Pendergast said. And then he was gone without another word.

Coldmoon turned. The creature was coming around once again, bloody talons extended, ripping into the crowd of fleeing people.

He had four rounds left. He braced himself, holding the Browning with both hands, and aimed as the monster swept toward him.