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  Jason twisted his head and saw the bite for the first time. The teeth marks were deep, and he could see bone through the gash. Thankfully, it was a clean wound, and the bleeding had slowed. Now he began to notice the pain.

  “It’s not that bad,” he lied. “I’ll have Doc fix me up when we get back.”

  Sasha spun around toward Andre. “Did you know Jason was hurt?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “We need to get him medical care.”

  “He’ll be fine. Maybe next time the idiot will be more careful.”

  Sasha started to respond. Jason placed a hand on her arm and stopped her. “It’s okay. I’ll be all right.”

  “Well, you won’t be if you keep letting Andre push you around.” Sasha stormed off.

  For a moment, the blow to Jason’s pride hurt worse than the pain in his shoulder.

  Andre shook his head, a sour expression on his face. “Let’s move out, people. I want to be well clear of this area before nightfall.”

  Chapter Two

  Night had fallen by the time the team approached home. No one had spoken on the journey back because everyone had tried to forget what had happened at St. Mere Eglise. Jason knew that each one of them would try to quash the recollections either by tamping them down deep into their psyche or drowning them in alcohol. Suppressing those memories had become difficult. Attacks like the one this afternoon occurred with greater frequency, and over the past few weeks had involved an increasing number of Hell Spawn and losses among the teams. Today had been the worst attack yet, and they were lucky to have survived. What Jason realized–what all of them realized, even if they refused to admit it—was that their luck would not last forever.

  Jason had his own coping mechanism to deal with his brushes with death, preferring to allow guilt to consume the fear, even if it ate away at other emotions in the process. It didn’t work in this instance. He could not forget the afternoon’s events because the pain from the bite in his shoulder served as a constant reminder of his encounter with the Nachzehrer. What had started out as an isolated ache now spread down his left arm and across his back until every step his horse took made it throb. He didn’t need to see the wound to know it had become infected.

  The injury didn’t hurt as much as the silent treatment Sasha had given him after leaving St. Mere Eglise. During a scouting expedition, she usually would check on him, or at least look at him with that full-lipped smile that always made him feel warm inside. Not tonight, though. Sasha had taken a position ahead of him and had not glanced back once. Jason had tried to catch up with her a few miles west of Avranches, but she spurred her horse ahead, so he gave up and fell back in line. Doc would be able to give him something for the bite. Only time would heal the dull void in his chest.

  Around nine o’clock, the group arrived at the area surrounding Mont St. Michel. The road to their right ran for a hundred yards before ending at a beach. Half a mile offshore sat the island city, which had been their home since shortly after the opening of the Hell Gate. Even in the dark, the city inspired awe with its buildings and structures casting tall shadows into the star-lit sky. The 11th-century abbey towered three hundred feet above the bay, partially blotting out the moon. Candlelight flickered from hundreds of windows.

  In front of them stood the refugee encampment that had developed around the motels once used by tourists. Five and six families shared rooms barely large enough to fit four people, and they were the lucky ones. Those who couldn’t find space inside had set up a makeshift tent city that spread for acres across the campgrounds and deep into the forest. Jacques, the mayor of Mont St. Michel, had stopped counting refugees when their number reached five thousand almost four months ago. Their ranks had nearly doubled since then as survivors made their way to the only sanctuary in the region. Some sanctuary, thought Jason. These people had to scavenge for what little food and water they could find, all the time sitting in the shadow of a well-stocked and relatively comfortable town. Jacques refused to let them onto the island, stating that to do so would put everyone’s safety at risk. He had provided the refugees with a few desalination stills, though they barely produced enough drinkable water to keep the refugees alive. Jacques had also posted armed guards to roam through the camp, ostensibly to maintain the peace, although everyone knew that in reality, he wanted to keep an eye on the refugees and stop any plots to take over the town.

  As the search and destroy team passed by, hundreds of envious, spiritless eyes followed their every move.

  On approaching the coastline, Jason spotted Gruber’s team on horseback. Jacques had sent them to the outskirts of Geneva two weeks ago to check on the original Hell Gate at the European Organization for Nuclear Research, or CERN. When Gruber’s team had left camp there were eight members; now Jason counted only three. Andre maneuvered his horse beside Gruber’s and said nothing. The rest of the team fanned out around him. Lucifer and Lilith lied down beside Jason’s horse, both animals exhausted from their long walk.

  A man emerged from the shadows wearing a long, dark gray pea coat. He stepped up to Andre. “Is this all of them?”

  “We didn’t lose anyone this time.” Andre nodded at Gruber in sympathy. The German responded in kind, and then lowered his head in despair.

  The man in the pea coat trudged to the end of the causeway. He used a match to light two lanterns, picked them up, and held them over his head, swinging them back and forth. The signal meant that those approaching the city had a right to be there and should be given safe passage. A few seconds later, a return signal came from the main entrance at the southwest corner of Mont St. Michel. The man stepped over to Andre.

  “You’re clear to go. Be careful of the quicksand.”

  Andre led his horse down to the beach. Most of the causeway had been destroyed seven months ago to prevent anything, or anyone, from swarming the town. Any potential siege would only last a few hours before the incoming tide rushed in and drowned or drove away from the attackers. That meant scouting parties had to cross the sandy floor of the bay to get home. The weight of each horse and its rider caused the hoofs to sink into the wet sand, each step accompanied by a squishing sound. Lilith and Lucifer made the crossing with ease, although the former whined several times at having to wade through the muck. Everyone kept an eye on those around them, ready to go to their aid if one of the horses stepped into a quicksand pit that formed without warning. No one wanted to die so close to home.

  Jason examined the city’s defenses. Every thirty feet, an armed guard stood sentry on the outer wall, most of them men too old or weak to go out with the search and destroy teams. For added protection, Jacques had engineers weld four-foot-long metal spikes into the top of the wall at one-foot intervals; each pointed down at a forty-five-degree angle to prevent anything from scaling the outer defenses. It would hold off humans, Nachzehrer, or soul vampires. However, if even a fraction of the rumors he heard about other Hell Spawn proved accurate, these defenses would not be enough to stop the other demons from making their way into Mont St. Michel. Jason spotted the top three stories of Le Mere Poulard Hotel extending above the outer wall. The hotel sat between the two main gates into town. Jacques had reserved it for the three gun teams and the gate guards, wanting the main defenders to be close to the entrance to protect the city. The hotel had a kitchen and enough space for every member of the team to have his or her own room, which presented a sharp contrast to the living standards of the refugees across the bay.

  After five nerve-wracking minutes, the group reached the cement landing in front of Mont St. Michel. A dozen armed men stood with rifles at the ready, only dropping their guard when they saw that those approaching were their people. The horses maneuvered up the embankment, past the guard outpost, and through Boulevard Gate. One hundred feet ahead of them stood King’s Gate. Massive steel doors had been constructed on either end of the archway. In a crisis, these doors could be sealed shut, locking out any enemies.

  The team dismounted, and a band
of young women gathered up the horses. A blonde girl pushed her way past Lilith and Lucifer to grab the reins of Jason’s horse. When Jason slid out of the saddle and dropped to the ground, a bolt of pain shot down his arm, causing him to wince. The werehounds plodded over and sat beside him, each staring at their master.

  “Are you all right?” asked the blonde.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “Thanks.”

  She smiled and led the horse through the portcullis to the stables.

  Sasha stepped up beside Jason. He hoped for an apology for the way she had ignored him on the trip home. Instead, her tone was cold and professional.

  “Get that shoulder taken care of. I’ll take Lucifer and Lilith to your room.”

  Andre sneered as he slid from his saddle. “I hate the idea of having those things stay in the same hotel as us.”

  Lilith leered at him, her ears folded flat against her head and her lips curled up to expose her fangs. The Russian reached for his Glock.

  Jason jumped in front of him. “Leave them alone. They’re not a threat.”

  Andre dismissed Jason with a shake of his head and walked toward the hotel. “Tame that bitch before I put her down.”

  Slava passed by Jason, purposefully shoving him with his backpack. “I think it says a lot about Bait that he keeps Hell Spawn as pets.”

  Although Slava constantly picked on him, this time, his taunt hit home since it came closer to the truth than Jason let on.

  Sasha waited until the two Russians had entered the hotel. “Don’t listen to them. A lot of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Lucifer and Lilith.”

  “Thanks,” Jason said half-heartedly.

  “I’ll make sure they’re safely locked in your room. You see Doc. Now.” Though meant as an order, she spoke with the hint of friendliness. Jason wanted to ask Sasha if everything was okay between them to make certain that her feelings toward him had not changed, but thought better of it. He already felt that he seemed pitiful in her eyes. Jason watched as Sasha led the two werehounds inside. Once she entered the lobby, he passed through King’s Gate and headed for the Abbey.

  Chapter Three

  The infirmary was located on the top floor of the Abbey. To get there, Jason had to make his way across the city. The only access to the structure passed between twin towers stretching over one hundred feet into the night sky that guarded a flight of steep stairs between the ancient walls of the Abbey and the outer defensive wall. The walk and the climb did not do his shoulder any good. By the time he reached the top, he could barely move the fingers in his left hand due to the pain. Using his right hand, Jason pushed aside the entry door to the Abbey. Even that minimal effort caused his wound to ache. Passing through the Romanesque nave to the opposite bank of doors, he opened the one farthest to the right and entered. The Gothic architecture towered above him, only heightening his feeling of inadequacy. Two rows of floor-mounted candelabras ran along either side of the central nave. Their light reflected off of the stone arches and windows, yet penetrated only thirty feet, leaving the vaulted ceiling in shadows. Jason veered right and passed through a set of curtains into the room used as an infirmary.

  The soft glow of fluorescent lights washed over him. Most of Europe had lost electricity when the Hell Gate opened up. Doc had told him that the portal had emitted an electromagnetic pulse, whatever that was, which burned out anything that ran on a motor. It explained why they had no cars, no televisions, no radios, and no computers, nothing that most people equated with modern living. In a matter of minutes, Europe had been plunged into a void the continent had not experienced for centuries. Jacques had somehow obtained half a dozen solar-powered generators; however, they produced minimal amounts of energy, so only the most vital parts of the city–the infirmary, the command post, and the kitchen–used them.

  Their primitive existence served as a constant reminder of his guilt.

  “Is Doc around?”

  “Hey, Jason.” Neal glanced over his shoulder and acknowledged the teenager with a nod. His eyes widened upon seeing the wound. He dropped the scalpel into the sink, grabbed a towel, and dried his hands. “What happened?”

  “I got bit by a Nachzehrer in St. Mere Eglise.”

  “Hop up the exam table. I’ll go get Doc.”

  Jason did as he was told and Neal raced out of the infirmary. While he waited, Jason slid off his jacket. His left shoulder throbbed as he pulled off his shirt. The skin around the bite flared red, and yellow pus had begun to form around the edges. Jason pushed the top flap of dangling skin aside to get a better view. His face contorted in pain as the rancid skin folded back.

  The curtains to the infirmary pushed to one side, and Doc entered. Doc’s real name was Eric Fisher. He had no medical background, having worked as a physicist alongside Jason’s mother. Being the only person in Mont St. Michel with a doctorate, by default he had become the city’s physician. Jason liked Doc, and not just because Doc had been watching out for him since that fateful day outside of Geneva. He reminded him of one of those befuddled doctors from the movies, over six feet tall and lanky, with a full head of neatly combed hair. The only thing about Doc that bothered Jason was the left arm missing above the elbow, yet another reminder to haunt him.

  “Evening, Jason,” said Doc.

  “Hey.”

  “Neal says you were bitten by a Nachzehrer.”

  Jason nodded toward his shoulder. A few strands of blonde hair fell across his face, which he pushed aside. Doc examined the wound from several angles and pushed aside the loose flap of skin. Jason jumped from the pain.

  “I’m afraid it’s infected. Lie down. I’ll stitch it up.”

  Jason maneuvered himself lengthwise onto the examination table. “Will I be okay?”

  “Sure. It’s going to hurt for a while. In a few days, you’ll be fine. I’ll give you something for the pain.” Doc raised the head of the table so Jason could sit upright, and then stepped over to a cabinet that contained medical instruments. “Neal.”

  The young man poked his head through the curtains. “Yes?”

  “I need two hypodermics with penicillin and morphine.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Neal crossed over to the makeshift pharmacy and prepared the injections. A minute later, Doc returned with a tray containing a hypodermic needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze, and a suture kit. “I’m going to inject the area around the wound with Lidocaine. It’ll hurt for a few minutes. You shouldn’t feel anything when I stitch you up.”

  Doc stuck the needle into the skin near the bite and squeezed the plunger a quarter of the way down. Jason winced. It felt like a hornet had stung his shoulder. The pain in his shoulder soon disappeared as numbness settled in. Doc repeated the process three more times until he had saturated the area around the wound with Lidocaine. He dropped the needle onto the tray.

  “Neal, help me suture him up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Doc stood by the exam table. “How does that feel?”

  “Pretty good. The throbbing is going away.”

  “In a minute you won’t feel much of anything.” Doc opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and stood over Jason. “I’m going to disinfect the wound.”

  Jason gritted his teeth, preparing for a searing pain when Doc poured alcohol into the bite. Instead, he only felt pressure on his shoulder as Doc dabbed away the liquid and wiped off the pus. He figured it should only take a minute or two to clean. After five minutes and a dozen pieces of gauze, Doc still hadn’t finished.

  “Everything okay?” asked Jason as he strained to see what Doc was doing.

  “The wound has a nasty infection. I caught it in enough time that you shouldn’t feel anything worse than a slight fever for a few days. I’m going to put you on a heavy regime on antibiotics. It should knock it out of your system in a week.”

  “I thought we were running low on antibiotics?”

  “We are. You’re a special case.”

  Jason bowe
d his head. “Because of what happened to my mother?”

  “No.” Doc’s voice sounded firm yet caring. “Any member of the search and destroy teams is entitled to it. However, it will run out quicker than I want if you keep making yourself a Hell Spawn Happy Meal.”

  Neal sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a Happy Meal.”

  Someone entering the room caught their attention. It was Monique, one of the pre-teen girls who served as a runner for Jacques. Doc glanced up. “How can I help you? You get bit, too?”

  “N-no, sir,” she stammered, confused by the question. “Jacques sent me to tell you that he wants you at a meeting tonight in his quarters.”

  “What time?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Why so late?”

  “I have no… I mean, he didn’t say.”

  “That’s okay. Tell Jacques I’ll be there.”

  Monique spun around and raced out. Jason grinned. He could never understand why so many of the others didn’t like Doc. Jason enjoyed being around him and Neal. They didn’t judge him like everyone else in the city. In the infirmary, he felt at ease, which is why he spent so much of his free time helping out.

  Neal sewed up the wound because Doc couldn’t manage it with one arm. It took thirty-six stitches. As Neal washed off the shoulder one final time with rubbing alcohol and applied the bandage, Doc came over with a metal tray containing two hypodermics and two orange plastic bottles.

  “What’s in the needles?”

  Doc pointed to the one on the end. “This one is Morphine. It’ll deaden the pain for a few hours and help you sleep. The other is Zithromax. The Nachzehrer’s mouths are Petri dishes of disease, especially Clostridium, so I’m giving you the most powerful antibiotic we have to be sure we kill whatever infected you.” Doc handed over the plastic bottles. “This is Zithromax in oral form. Take two pills a day until the bottle is empty. The larger bottle is Motrin. Take two as needed if the pain gets bad.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop calling me sir. We’ve been through too much together.”