Ghost Town

And then she heard West cough, an explosively loud sound. “Sorry,” West said, but then she coughed again, and again, and when Claire looked back she saw that the tall vampire woman was hunched over, hands on her thighs.

She was retching up blood.

It was in that moment that Claire realized that something was very, very wrong. It seemed obvious now, but she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t understood before. Her brain didn’t seem to be working quite right. Her vision swam in and out of focus, and now Oliver was coughing, too, deep, tearing sounds that left him gasping and wiping his mouth. Claire caught the red glimmer of blood.

Frank was now coughing, too.

Claire suddenly felt it hit her, too, the ripping pain in her lungs, the overwhelming convulsion. She gasped, instinctively pulled in a breath, and coughed. And kept coughing.

Gas. It was gas. For some reason, the vampires were more susceptible to it; maybe it was attacking them through the skin, or it just took less to make them sick. Michael was gagging now, and Eve and Shane were starting to choke, too.

Claire staggered from the force of her coughing, and almost fell. Oliver lunged and caught her, then lost his grip as he coughed again; she wavered, perilously close to the edge of a big, dark abyss that was—she now realized—spewing out some kind of toxin. She tried to hold her breath, but couldn’t do it for long. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air. She heard herself making gasping noises, like a fish out of water. Her head hurt, badly, and she just needed air. . . .

Claire felt hot and sick and scared and dying, but it came to her with sudden, brutal clarity that she had to get them out of there. She was the only one who could do it, the only one who knew the path. They weren’t far from the exit to the cavern; she couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there. It was right behind that outcropping of quartz—a quick left turn would put them on solid rock, and then they’d be out.

She had to get them there.

She reached back and grabbed Oliver’s hand. It was wet; she didn’t know if that was blood, and she didn’t look. “Hold hands!” she shouted, and plunged ahead, not bothering to test the rock anymore. If it broke, it didn’t really matter. Being careful was going to get them all killed.

She didn’t know if everyone was linked together, but she couldn’t wait. She only knew the feel of the stone beneath her feet, the hot, burning pressure in her lungs, the throb of pain in her head. The unreal glow of the flashlight reflecting back white from quartz and gray from stone and disappearing into the black . . .

She couldn’t feel her feet now, but she couldn’t stop. Claire lurched forward, dragging on Oliver’s hand to pull him with her, and jumped across a two-foot-wide black chasm, landing badly and nearly sprawling. She felt the cool, blowing pressure of the gas rippling her clothes as she passed over the pit. Oliver’s hand almost ripped free from hers, but she pulled, and he made it. As soon as he was across he turned and yanked Shane over, who pulled Michael, who pulled Eve, who pulled Frank.

West.

Where was West?

Claire spotted her, standing a dozen feet behind them, staggering. Blood was a black mask on her face, and as Claire watched, West dropped the bow she’d been carrying, and fell to her knees.

She pitched forward, into the darkness.

Frank lunged, trying to get to her, but Oliver held him back. With his other hand, Oliver shoved Claire in the opposite direction. She hated him right then, hated him badly enough to push him in, too, but she knew what he was doing.

He was saving their lives.

She plunged on. They were on the path now, and even though she was coughing helplessly, even though it felt like strength was bleeding out of her with every step, she knew where she was going. She felt a wave of coolness against her face, and suddenly her coughing lessened. She dragged in a choking breath, and then another one, and tasted beautiful, delicious, sweet air.

She’d passed the quartz outcropping, and was in the narrow tu

Claire made it there, staggering but still upright, and the others joined her. Oliver had dropped her hand as soon as he could, but Shane took it, and that was good. She squeezed tightly, and he gave her a thumbs-up as he coughed again and wiped blood from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, too. Everyone seemed to be okay, even Michael.

Claire kept breathing in deep, cleansing gasps, and focused on the portal. This part would be tricky if Myrnin had remembered to lock it, but she didn’t think he would have. This hadn’t been used in so long, according to him, that he’d actually forgotten it existed—at least he had, until Ada had trapped them both in the cavern.

If he’d forgotten all that, he’d have forgotten this secret portal, too.

She hoped.

The frequencies tuned in her head, and she saw a wash of shimmer across the black, then a glow, then pinpoints of light. An eerie wash of color, somewhere between gray and blue. It finally resolved into shadows, and overhead lights, and the weird, sprawling, organic shape of the computer that lay under Myrnin’s lab.

“Quietly,” Oliver said, and squeezed her shoulder in warning. She nodded. “Let us go first.”

She stood back, holding the portal open, as Oliver stepped through, and then Frank. Shane, Eve, and Michael all looked at her, and she nodded.

“You guys go on,” Shane said. “I’ll go with her.”

Michael took Eve’s hand in his and stepped through the portal.

“You don’t have to do this,” Shane said. “You could just let us handle it.”

“Us? Who’s us?”

He jerked his chin at the vampires and Eve. “You know. The rest of us. This is going to be dangerous.”

“Not going to happen,” Claire said. “I might be able to get him to stop.”

“Who, crazy dude? Maybe. Or he might pull your head off,” Shane said. “I kind of worry.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?”

“A little bit.”

“That’s . . . nice.”

He studied her, and returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Kind of is, actually. So. I’m going, then.”

“Me, too.”

Shane held out his hand, and she took it, and they went in together.

On the other side of the portal, there was no sign of Myrnin at all. The machine hummed and clanked and hissed, steam whispering from valves at all angles. He’s here, Claire thought. Somewhere. Oliver and Frank were moving silently through the shadows, hunting for him. Eve, Michael, and Shane were sensibly staying put where they were.

The switch on the wall was the master control for the power. Claire pulled free of Shane’s grip, and they had a mime-style argument, him shaking his head, her holding her finger to her lips, him mouthing words she was pretty sure would have gotten him expelled if he’d actually been fifteen. Or at least put in detention. She made a definite “stay here” motion, and moved toward the power switch.

When she was still about two feet away, she felt the prickling warning around the metal. Myrnin had wired it, somehow, and there was live current ru

She studied the problem for a few seconds, then turned and went back to her friends. She grabbed Eve by the arm, bent close, and whispered, “I need your boots.”

“What? ” Eve tried to keep her voice soft, but it came out a little too startled. “My what?”

“Boots,” Claire hissed. “Now. Hurry.”

Eve gave her a wide-eyed, doubtful look, shook her head in a way that indicated she thought Claire had gone completely mental, and bent over to unlace her heavy, clunky, thick-soled boots. She slid one off, then the other, and stood there on the cold stone floor in red and black striped socks. She held the boots out to Claire.