Certain Dark Things(54)

“Sure.”

She grabbed her jacket, put the leash on Cualli, and out they went. It was raining, and Atl paused next to the building’s entrance to open her umbrella.

Cualli growled. A few split seconds was all the warning Atl had, but it was enough. She saw them from the corner of her eye. She held her breath, pretended to fiddle with the dog’s leash and the umbrella, as she counted nine of them. They wore no uniforms. Not cops, not sanitation. They were human. Rodrigo and Nick seemed to be nowhere in sight. Were these their goons? Or someone else’s? It didn’t matter. They were waiting for her.

Atl released her grip on the leash, dropped the umbrella, and let her breath out.

She shoved Domingo behind a car and pulled out the gun, shooting two of them dead before they had a chance to blink. The others raised their weapons and shot back at her, but the loud bangs of pistols firing did not thunder along the street. Instead, there was a low, whooshing sound. Something silvery flew past her. Atl jumped behind the car next to Domingo, evading the projectiles.

Silver nitrate darts. Shit. She would have preferred regular bullets. This could get nasty.

“What’s happening?” Domingo babbled.

“Bad guys,” she said. “Sit tight. Cualli!” She saw the dog leap in the direction of one of the men, knocking him down with its weight. There were startled cries and Atl stood again, shooting a couple of them while they were trying to drag the dog off their friend. She missed her third shot, hit a car instead, glass shattering upon the pavement. Darts whooshed by and she sat down again.

“Behind! They’re also behind!” Domingo yelled.

Atl turned and saw three men coming from the other end of the street. They aimed at her. She blew off the head of one of them and ran across the street, ducking and pressing her back against another car. Domingo followed her. He was too slow. The two men who had been aiming at her now ran in his direction, pinning him to the ground and wrapping a plastic tie around his wrists. She heard Domingo scream, but ignored the cry and glanced at the building closest to her. If she was fast enough, she could climb up its side and escape through the roofs.

She looked across the street and noticed two corpses, their necks torn by her dog. That still left six attackers, although two were currently busy with Domingo.

Cualli was barking and Domingo was being dragged away, kicking and screaming. She watched as they tried to place him into the trunk of a black car. Domingo attempted to hold on to something and they punched him, once, twice, thrice, until he fell to his knees.

Damn it.

She stood up, shot one of them, but the other, he was quick. She felt the dart sink into her leg, and it let out a loud hiss. Like an idiot she’d stepped out into the street with a gun and no ammo. Her bullets were now gone and there were still five bastards against her.

Fuck it. She’d do this with her hands.

Atl took a mighty leap, landing on top of the guy who had been punching Domingo and knocked him down, slamming his head against the ground. He cried and flapped his arms, and she broke his neck so he’d stop screaming.

She turned toward Domingo, who lay sprawled on the ground, and pulled him up. “Anything broken?” she asked. “Because we may have to run.”

“No,” he replied.

Another dart. This one hit her on the shoulder and it hurt much worse than the first, causing a stabbing pain that led her to trip and fall. They were coming, the four remaining ones, and she could already feel the effects of the silver nitrate in her body.

She looked down, at the blood dripping down her leg, staining her socks, and there, next to her shoe … keys. Not her keys. Car keys. Keys to the car they were trying to stuff Domingo in. She grabbed them and rushed toward the passenger seat, opening the door and sliding inside.

“Get in!” she yelled.

They shot a third dart. It shattered the front window of the car, bits of glass raining upon her lap. Domingo shuffled onto the backseat and Cualli jumped in behind him.

She tossed her empty, useless gun onto the passenger’s seat and pressed on the accelerator. She sped away, her hands stiff against the wheel. A light turned green, turned red, and she did not care. Amber, red, green, she kept going until she felt a deep, shivering pain and had to stop. She vomited over herself. A sticky, black mess.

She stepped on the brakes, opened the car door, and stepped out, teetering and stumbling, and suddenly there was the barking of the dog and a body next to her.

“Hey,” Domingo said. “You need to drive. I can’t drive.”

“I need to sleep,” she croaked. Her legs buckled, but he was there. He helped her stand, asked her if she could take a step, and surprisingly she could. She dragged herself forward or he dragged her with him, but somehow she walked.





CHAPTER

22

It would have been easier if Domingo had his shopping cart with him. He could have tossed Atl in it and wheeled her away. Instead, he was stuck half-dragging her into the subway station. This was his territory, and he felt a lot safer once they caught a train. Atl slumped onto one of the seats, her head resting on his shoulder.

Most people didn’t even glance at them. Atl’s clothes were dark and the blood didn’t show. Even if it showed, maybe they wouldn’t have cared. He imagined they looked like two dirty street kids with their dog. They probably thought that Atl was drunk or high. Either way, nobody spoke to them.