Page 33 of Nightmare Rising

This was not what I envisaged when I decided I had powers. The good guys were supposed to have freaking practiced somebeforethe tentacles showed up.

Gun twirling, I was good at. There was that.

Light and dark flickered across the windows and into the cab, making a sinister terrain. The shadows on the roof curved raggedly over the bump of the central light. I told myself I didn’t believe Val, but that didn’t stop me from reaching out to adjust the rear-view mirror. Pretending to check my face, I angled the mirror toward the back seats.

Nothing, just an undefined murkiness.

Val is a liar.

Dammit, I knew that I shouldn’t have fallen for the mindfuck. No way he could see things I couldn’t. No way.

Except warning bells were ringing in the shredded memories of the almighty C. For the first time, I wished I had all of the Cucitrice’s mind.

I dropped my hand from the mirror.

Each feeble, passing second, Harry’s smile appeared ever more plastered on. “You don’t need to look at yourself. You’re pretty enough to eat, Zara.”

If that wasn’t a loaded sentence, nothing was.

The truck slowed some more. The trees leaned in as if to watch. His face seemed redder in the waning light, his lips fatter, his eyes just the teensiest bit demonic.

All the signs said, in ripping-red neon,this whole situation is fucked, and you will be dead soon.

I went for one last try. I cleared my throat, twice. “How’s about we turn around and get back on the highway?”

Rhetorical, totally. I hoped but knew that my hope was doomed.

He switched off the engine, and we coasted. The tires crunched on the road. Time ticked past to the tapping of leaves on the vehicle’s metal—the road had closed in until the pickup barely fitted. I’d missed that change of scenery. My concentration had been on the phone and Harry, and that ominously un-tentacled back seat.

Not good.

I lunged for the Ruger, had it out and almost pointing at Harry in two-point-nothing seconds.

Too late. Something wrapped around my throat and yanked, tight, dragging me into the headrest and holding me there.

I fired off a bunch of shots. Most went wide, due to Harry’s grip on my wrist. The windscreen buckled, splintered, and grew holes.

“That won’t do you much good, anyway. I figured you had no idea about anything. You shine with the marks of the Cucitrice, but you’re dumb as a church bell, buried six feet under.” Harry smiled. There was blood on his teeth and in his spit, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Chest shot? I’d hit him, but it had done nothing?

The hole, slightly to the right of center on his shirt, smoked and bled but little more than a bad paper-cut. Okay, averybad paper-cut. How did you kill him?

Whatthe fuck was he?

“This here is what you should’ve used.” Harry crawled over my lap.

“Now you tell me?” I spluttered drool as the loops on my neck slithered.

Leaning on my thigh, he rummaged in the pack below, while his unseen accomplice wove more rings of nothingness about my throat. I could barely swallow, barely breathe, and was too busy wrenching at the cold, spongy coils to do more than claw at Harry, once.

He straightened and held up the knife, then waggled it. “This. You stupid whore.”

Outside the truck, someone crunched their boots on dry leaves. I automatically flicked my gaze sideways, forgetting to pretend Val wasn’t there.

Harry studied me. “Don’t think what’s coming will help you. It’s not your kind. It’s with us.”

It?Couldn’t be. No.

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