Part 47 (1/2)

Pain. Tendons tearing. Bones cracking. He shook his arm once, and my Sig went tumbling away.

I didn't hesitate. I just doubled up, leaning toward him, and rammed the blazing end of the flare into the open flap of his gills.

He screamed, louder than a human being could have, and both hands flew to his throat to clutch at the flare. I got a leg free and kicked him in the chin, hard, driving down with all the power of my leg behind a crus.h.i.+ng heel. I heard something crack, and he screamed, flinching. I freed my other leg and scrambled away from him, clutching awkwardly at my right ankle with my left hand.

Nothing tore the flare out, his pale eyes nearly luminous with rage, and came after me, roaring.

I had never been more frightened in my life. I couldn't get to the d.a.m.n holdout gun before he reached me, so I did the only thing I could. I ran, blind, into the dark, and he came after me like a rabid locomotive.

I knew I didn't have much room left. I knew that I would hit a wall in a few seconds, and that then he'd have me. I could only pray that the shots I'd put in him were more serious than his reaction to them indicated-that he was already bleeding ma.s.sively, and that the extra few seconds would be enough time to let him die.

But somewhere inside, I knew better.

I was playing out of my league, and I had known that from the beginning.

Beautiful light suddenly fluoresced in front of me-the acid growths on the walls. I slammed to a stop in front of the weird clumps of material and saw little tendrils and orifices on the growths tracking and orienting on me.

I turned to face Nothing.

He came in, insanely huge, insanely strong, and roaring in a terrible fury.

But terrible fury alone doesn't win fights. In fact, it can be a deadly weakness. In the second it took him to reach me, I touched the center of calm in myself, earned with endless hours of practice and discipline. I judged the distance and the timing. It felt as if I had forever to work out what I would need to do.

And then I did to Nothing exactly what I'd done to Ray.

As he closed, I ducked under his huge hands, spinning to sweep my right leg across his right foot, just as it was about to hit the floor. Preternaturally strong though he may have been, gravity pulled him just as hard as it had Ray, and his joints operated in exactly the same fas.h.i.+on. His right foot was driven to tangle with his left, and he went smas.h.i.+ng forward into the wall.

Into the growth.

Into the spurting cloud of acidic spray that erupted from it, aiming at me.

I rolled away to one side, frantically, but I needn't have worried. Nothing's vast bulk s.h.i.+elded me from the acid spray. I turned over and backed away awkwardly on my b.u.t.t and my left hand, staring at Nothing in sheer fascination.

He didn't scream. I think he was trying. The acid must have torn his throat apart, first thing. He sort of recoiled, staggering, and fell to his knees. I could see his profile dimly in the distant light of the flare and the glow of the acid fungus. It . . . just dissolved; seeing it was like watching time-lapse photography of a statue being worn away by wind and rain. Fluids pooled around his knees. He took several agonized breaths-and then there were sucking sounds, as the acid ate into his chest wall. And then there were no sounds at all.

He tried to get up, twice. Then he settled down onto his side as if going to sleep.

The acid kept chewing at him, even after he was dead.

The stench hit me, and I retched horribly.

I backed farther away and sat for a second with my knees up against my chest, my good arm wrapped around them, and sobbed. I hurt so much.

I hurt so much.

And my arm throbbed dully.

”Dammit, Dresden,” I said into the silence in a choked voice. ”Dammit. Here I am doing your job. Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

I got to my feet a moment later. I recovered the second flare. I found my gun. I went to do what I could for Will and Marcy, who would both live.

After that, I went around the warehouse and methodically put another half-dozen rounds into the head of each and every fallen turtleneck. And I used a can of paint thinner I found in a corner to set their master on fire, just to be sure.

There's no such thing as overkill.

I STOOD IN the open loading door with Will, facing into a wind that blew from the east, over the lake, cool and sweet. There was nothing between us and the water but forty feet of paved loading area. It was quiet. There had been no reaction to the events in the building.

Behind us, lying in quiet rows on the concrete floors, were the prisoners, each of them freed from their respective cages. Even though his left shoulder had been badly dislocated, Will had done most of the heavy lifting, dragging the cages out of the railroad car so I could open them and, with Marcy's and Georgia's help, drag the prisoners out.

Marcy came up to stand beside us, wearing her sundress once more. Her right shoulder looked hideous. The urchin projectile had struck her, and two tines had sunk in deeply. Acid had gone into the muscle and dribbled down from the other tines to slither over her skin, burning as it went. The tines had been barbed, but the acid had liquefied the skin immediately around the barbs, and I had been forced to pry the projectile out with a knife. Marcy had stopped the bleeding, the same way Will had, but her arm was somewhat misshapen, and the scar tissue was truly impressive in its hideousness.

That didn't seem to overly worry the young woman, whom I would never again be able to compare to a mouse in any fas.h.i.+on. But she looked exhausted.

”She's sleeping,” Marcy reported quietly to Will.

”Good,” Will said. His voice sounded flat, detached. He was hurting a lot. He looked at me, eyes dull, and said, ”Think this will work?”

”Sunrise,” I said quietly, nodding, and glanced back at the rows of motionless prisoners. ”It has a kind of energy, a force of positive renewal in it. It should wipe away the spells holding them.”

”How do you know?” Will asked.

”Dresden,” I said.

Marcy tilted her head suddenly and said, ”Someone's coming.”

I stood by the door, ready to pull it down, as a car, a silver Beemer, came around the corner of the warehouse into the paved loading lot. It stopped maybe thirty feet away, and Ms. Gard got out of it. She looked at me for a moment, then came around to the front of the car and stood there, waiting. The eastern wind blew her long blond hair toward us, like a gently rolling banner.

”Wait here,” I said quietly.

”You sure?” Will asked.

”Yeah.”

He nodded. ”Okay.”

I stepped out, went down a short set of concrete stairs to the level of the lot, and walked over to face Gard.

She looked at me expressionlessly for a moment, and then at the prisoners. She shook her head slowly and said, ”You did it.”

I didn't say anything.

”That's fomor magic,” she said quietly. ”One of their lesser sorcerers and his retainers.”

”Why?” I asked her. ”Why are they doing this?”