Chapter 9: Fire

R.Jairam squatted down in front of the magazine racks, putting back Us Weekly and pulling out Maxim. He'd been through this month's Maxim twice already, but then he'd been through everything on the rack at least once, and besides, Lacey Chabert was the covergirl. He flipped to her photos as he worked his way back behind the counter.

The wind outside made the windows bulge; Jairam hoped the power wasn't going to go out again. Customers didn't always understand that gas pumps needed electricity.

A car pulled up outside; Jairam didn't bother to look up. Customers liked it better when he ignored them, and generally vice-versa. Something about this neighborhood made everybody look ugly -- worn-out or desperate or scared, and almost always pissed-off. His father owned a second station up by the university; at least there Jairam got to see the occasional cute coed wander in for drinks, smokes, or snacks. Here all he had was Lacey Chabert, and six photos in a not-quite-skin magazine wasn't enough to last another whole night.

News radio burbled in the background, mentioning the apartment fire again, but just repeating what it'd said a half-hour ago. Jairam remembered the fire trucks wailing down the street a couple of hours ago. That and a couple of kids peeling out of the station had been the only two things worth looking up from already-read magazines so far -- and from the way the wind was blowing, Jairam knew the second half of that storm was about to land, and that would pretty much kill all hopes of anything interesting interrupting his boredom.

That's when They walked in.

The first guy barely registered in Jairam's peripheral vision -- bald, military jacket, no shortage of that type in this neighborhood; probably here for beer. But the girl on his heels set off Jairam's Don't Stare Or You'll Get Your Ass Kicked alarm. Tall, blonde, skinny with big boobs, with a stripper's strut that made her black PVC raincoat and matching stiletto-heeled boots squeak. Jairam's eyes darted over her form and then darted away toward the door, only to land on another dangerously-dressed girl. This one wasn't as tall or as stacked, but the short blood-red coat flared in a way that suggested a very pleasing figure. Legs sheathed in laddered black stockings ended in high-heeled pumps. Jairam's eyes broke free of those sexy legs to catch her piercing stare. Looking away, Jairam noticed the guy behind her; the dark ballcap, trenchcoat and cargo pants seemed harmlessly middle-of-the-road compared to his companions, as if he'd been swept up in something far wilder than he'd ever done before. But that impression died when he gave Jairam a nodded greeting; this guy looked too comfortable next to such a fine-looking woman to be in over his head.

Jairam half-wondered if he'd dozed off and awakened in The Matrix.

But then he came up with a more reasonable explanation -- the girls were strippers, and the guys were their bodyguards. Probably on their way to a private party in one of the hotels near the airport. Jairam remembered Taj's bachelor party...

These guys were probably here to buy Reddi-Wip.

"You have gas cans?" the sexy woman in red asked.
Jairam blinked. "Hmm?"
"Gas cans," the bald one said from the end aisle.
"A friend of ours ran out of gas," the other guy said.

"Oh! Yes, right up there." Jairam pointed to a shelf on the far wall, above the insulated travel mugs.
The bald guy grabbed two and headed outside; the others stayed put, waiting for him to fill the cans before paying.

The silence was uncomfortable. Jairam eventually noticed the tall girl eyeing his magazine; he flipped it shut. Lacey Chabert stared up at him from the cover; she seemed jealous.

Two gas cans. Why two? Jairam wasn't going to ask.

The guy in the trenchcoat answered anyway. "It's a Hummer."

The tall one stepped toward the counter, planting her hands at the edge. She leaned forward; Jairam knew she wanted him to look at her chest, but he wasn't going to. No, he wasn't. His peripheral vision informed him that her coat was parting as she leaned further over. There was cleavage. But he wasn't going to--

Damn.

Daaammmmn!

She spoke. "Mom's Cookies, is it up this street here?" She nodded toward the wall behind him.

"Umm ... umm ... yeah."

"Okay, tha-anks," she said in a sing-song voice. Her hand reached into her coat and pulled out something crisp-sounding and vaguely greenish. Jairam blinked to reset his focus -- a pair of twenties. "That enough?" she chirped.
He just nodded.

The cleavage rose and turned away; Jairam was sad to see it go.

Two cars started up and pulled away -- a boring blue Accord and some Japanese-looking sports car. Jairam sighed.

Lacey Chabert glowered.

Alex let Chester lead. Mom's Cookies wasn't hard to spot -- a cut-out of the familiar freakish balloon-head logo peeked over the top of the building, as if some giant Raggedy-Ann body was crouched behind the wall, ready to leap out and crush passing cars.

Em shook her head. "You'd think a cookie company wouldn't choose a logo that would scare children."

They looped once around the building. Longer than a football field and about as tall as a three-story apartment complex, with a loading dock at one end and an incongruous 1980s glass-cube addition of offices at the other, it looked more like an aircraft factory than a bakery. The back side had no obvious doors, just two horizontal stripes of old factory windows, separated by a stripe of courrogated metal that was painted in alternating blocks of pink and purple. The front side was the same, except for a tall protuberance a third of the way from the loading dock end. It looked like a cross between a garden shed and a clock tower butted up against the main wall, with the creepy Mom's logo-head at the top of each side, staring out as if keeping watch.

The main entrance was on the front side, where the glass cube ended and the factory began. Chester's Accord continued around the corner and pulled over; Alex pulled past him and parked.

Alex looked in his mirrors; Chester got out of his car, leaning and staggering against the blustering wind as he approached Alex's window. The wind whistled and then howled as it forced its way in through the lowering window, ruffling their coats.

As Chester leaned over to talk to them, his phone -- well, Jovie's phone -- warbled its inappropriately-amusing ringtone. Chester looked at the calling number; his face hardened. He looked at Em. "You really up for this?"
Em took Alex's hand. She nodded.
"Are you sure?"
Em looked at the phone, and then at Chester. "The only thing I'm not sure about is you."

The phone repeated its ring. Chester took a deep breath; he stepped back, punching a button and raising the phone to his ear.

"Yeah? [pause] 'It is their blood that binds.' [pause] Ruprecht. [pause] No, I lost her. [pause] I couldn't keep up with them; the guy she's with drives a Sup ... ped-up Mustang. [pause] I didn't let them leave; they just left. [pause] What, I was supposed to shoot her? [pause] She's smarter than that. But it doesn't matter now. [pause] I don't know where they're going. [pause] No. [pause] The police? But- [pause] All right, but ... shit ... I'm almost out of battery. You better call it in for me. I lost 'em at Industrial, right off the freeway. It's a red Mustang, like ten years old. Listen, I'm gonna keep looking for 'em; I'll try to get another battery and call you back." Chester hung up, holding the button down until the phone was off.

The air grew wet; a misting rain fell in jagged sheets that leaped sideways with every gust of wind.

"Leave the cars here. Give me a minute, then get Jovie and the stuff and come around the front. Keep the rags dry!"
"Got it."
Chester ran off into the mounting storm.

When the window closed, the sudden silence was a little unnerving. Alex looked at the display on the car stereo; the colon between hours and minutes blinked every second, but it seemed much slower than that now. One. Two.
Three.
Alex thought he should say something reassuring. That's what was expected. That's what happened in movies. But words ... words failed. It was too much. Somehow they were here and they had to go in there and killer eyeless elves fire Smiths book plague lost run demon crossing blood axe claws life Emmeline-

Something grabbed his neck and pulled him down, and suddenly he couldn't breathe because there was a mouth on his, soft lips pressing and sucking and turning and gasping and a tongue searching and enticing and breath drawing and holding, fingers curling, nails digging, bodies pulling closer, two frightened and frantic energies coiling and searching for strength and hope and finding only each other, two souls desperately clinging to the fading light of one last kiss...

Emmeline.

She pulled back, just far enough that his eyes could find hers, deep eyes that welled up with apology and terror and joy.

"We'll get through this," she said softly, her hand again finding his and gripping it too tightly. "We just have to stick together."

Jovie ran ahead, carrying her big bag stuffed with shop towels and a gas can; Em, toting a trio of baseball bats and Alex's flashlight, scurried a few steps behind, somewhat less confident running in heels than the stripper in front of her. Alex brought up the rear, hauling the two gas cans in one hand and the small fire extinguisher in the other.

Alex expected broken glass, but the doors looked intact, except for the bent and gouged metal around the lock. Chester saw Alex's look and held up a large crowbar.

Chester spoke crisply. "Em, watch the front door; Jovie, you keep an eye on the bakery through the window there. The main lights'll start coming on in a minute. Alex, wrap the end of the bats with four shop cloths each; don't worry about tying them, that's what this spool of wire's for." In a couple of minutes there was a torch for each of them. Chester poured gasoline into a wastebasket and dunked the torches. "Em, take this one; Jovie, here. Alex, you take the wooden bat; I got the crowbar."

Em already had the lighter out; Chester grabbed her wrist. "Don't light 'em yet. I don't know how long they're gonna last, and it's a big building. Don't worry, they'll light fast." He looked at Jovie, who was hoisting her bag over her shoulder. "Dammit, Jovie, did you have to bring your purse?"

Her voice was loud. "How d'you think I got the shop towels in here?" Em shushed her. "Besides," Jovie said more quietly, "I'm not leaving it in the car in this neighborhood."
"Well, leave it on the desk there and we'll pick it up on the way out."
"No way. What if one of those elf-things takes it?"
"They're not interested in your stuff."
"How do you know?"
Chester just sighed. "Whatever. Just ... be careful."

"So where do we look first?" Alex whispered.
"First we go upstairs," Chester said.
"You think they put the axe up there?" Em asked.
"No, but the main office area has windows that look out over the bakery floor. Once the main lights come up we can get a better idea of where to look."
"You think it's a good idea to turn the lights on?" Alex asked.
"I thought they didn't have eyes," Jovie said.
"I don't know if it matters to them," Chester said, "but us humans have a hard time finding things in the dark. Besides, one of us is a Winter, so they probably already know we're here."
"I'm endangering the mission. I shouldn't have come," Alex intoned.
Chester looked confused.
Alex identified the line. "Return of the Jedi."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Geek."
"I wasn't counting on the element of surprise, anyway," Em said, brandishing her torch.

"Okay, stay close," Chester said, starting up the stairs. "Alex, you bring up the rear."

Alex waited for Em to start up, then he slowly backed up the stairs. He wasn't letting those little monsters sneak up on him...

The second floor was a ring of smallish offices around an open central space. Chester had turned on the overhead lights, but less than half of the flourescents worked. It was enough light to see that the place was mostly cleared out -- there was only one desk left, an ancient metal thing tottering on a broken leg, a coffee-stained paper blotter kept from sliding off by a crusty rubber band carcass. There were no chairs anywhere, and the surrounding offices were all empty except for a few ratty posters. From marks on the floor there used to be a row of file cabinets along the back. From the look of things, one of them had managed to disgorge a drawer before being dragged away -- paper forms and manila folders formed a pale lake over most of the left side of the room; Alex thought the filing mess looked better than the tired tomato-colored carpeting.