Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(84)

“Right,” I say, looking over at Matt and Nick, my hurly belly gurgling. “On three?”

They nod.

I gulp. “One.” Oh, jeez, I can’t believe we’re really going to do this. “Two.” There’s no going back now. “Three!”

I slip the blood capsule into my mouth and lead the charge through the double doors.

Nick, Matt, and me burst into the Amethyst Room, screeching like anally probed lab chimps, waving our furry arms in the air, and rushing straight toward the first set of tables.

“You’re all going to die!” Nick screams, exactly like he’s not supposed to. “We’ve come to drink your blood!”

People shriek in terror. Suit-and dress-clad bodies fly from their seats and stumble over each other, trying to get away from our rabid monkey menace.

“Nein! Nein! Stoppen!” I hear Ulf holler behind us. “H?r auf, verdammt!”

The pushing and shouting at the front of the reception causes a chain reaction as table after table of partygoers leap up and bolt toward the exit doors.

It’s immediate and complete mayhem at the Elk Hills Country Club.

Which is exactly how we planned it.

Well, almost.

Evelyn — in her leather chain jacket — hops up on one of the tables, wielding a chair. “Oh, my God! It’s humanzees!” she barks. “Vampire-zombie human chimpanzees! Don’t let them take over the world!”

Nick springs onto the now-empty riser and howls into the abandoned microphone. “You cannot stop us! We are humanzees! Hear us roar!” His deep guttural growl echoes in the high-ceilinged reception room, evoking a new ripple of cries from the fleeing flock.

Oh, crap, they’re totally ruining this scene! I have to save it somehow. Give Coop something to splice in that matches our original vision for the film.

Without thinking, I charge a group of younger guys in suits who scream and clutch at each other like little girls and launch myself at the smallest of them — a large-headed, wispy-haired dude with no chin and bug eyes. I grab him in a tight bear hug, bite down on my blood capsule — which tastes almost like real blood, warm and metallic and nauseating — and pretend to sink my teeth into his neck.

“Help!” he squeals. “It’s biting me! I’m bleeding! Get it off! Get it off!”

It’s the perfect line of dialogue, actually. Way better than Nick’s and Evelyn’s, for sure.

Suddenly I’m slammed in the lower back with something. My kidneys scream in pain. I fall to floor, releasing the howling guy, letting him run off with the rest of the crowd.

I hoist myself up and turn over to see Evelyn standing above me, brandishing her chair.

“Take that, you filthy humanzee!” she shouts, then tosses the chair away and runs off.

I stumble to my feet, my paw pressed into the bruise on my back. I turn around, and there’s Ulf — all two hundred muscly pounds of him — barreling straight toward me.

Oh, shit.

Every atom of me wants to bolt, but I am frozen to this spot, feeling the trickle of fake blood dribbling down my throat, watching Ulf charge me like the Rhino in a Spider-Man comic.

And then it’s too late.

Ulf’s powerful hands are on me. Clenching my shoulders. Shaking me violently.

Jostling my already queasy stomach.

“Just hold your handbag right there, mister!” Spittle flies from his thin lips. “You are in some very hot potatoes! The authorities have been summoned and you are —”

YAAAAAAARRRRRK!

A ferocious scarlet stew of half-digested sausage, chili, Cheez Whiz, and tropical punch Kool-Aid spews straight from my monkey-mouth right into Ulf’s face and streams down the front of his expensive suit, covering his torso like a vomit vest.

Part of me is mortified by the sudden uncontrollable blast of sick that is shooting out of me, while another part of me is completely fascinated by the sheer amount of hurl I am producing. I just hope that Coop and Val are getting this all on tape.

When the discharge is finally over, my stomach feels a million times better.

The same can’t be said of Ulf, who staggers backward, coughing, sputtering, and wiping the thick scarlet chum from his eyes.

And while it’s not usually polite to barf and bail, I take this opportunity to hightail it.

If I’d been thinking at all, I would have beelined it straight for the doors leading to the hallway. But instead I’m leaping over capsized tables and chairs, following the mob toward the exits at the back of the Amethyst Room.

And here’s Cauliflower Nose wading through the mob scene, trying to get his hands on one of us. He lunges for me and I barely dodge his grasp as I hop over another upturned chair.

By the time I’m halfway to the exits, I’m huffing and puffing, my vomitty mask smelling like a terrible casserole of spoiled milk and rancid Fancy Feast cat food.

But I don’t let that stop me. I just breathe through my mouth and charge on.

Finally there’s a clearing and I jam it toward the exit. I can hardly believe it when I’m outside, sucking in the sweet scent of fresh air. There are people everywhere — some laughing, some crying, some just shaking their heads.

But I don’t stick around to take in the scene. I pound it down the concrete path toward Uncle Doug’s van in the parking lot.

Helen and me are the first ones to make it to the getaway vehicle, but for some reason the engine isn’t running.