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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 182 из 205The sounds of scrambling claws, cracking bone, the splatterof blood, the squabbling howls of the ghouls-it was an unwelcome preview.
Halfway to the shed, a howl went up through the night, long and hostile. No dog ever sounded like that. I glanced back, and the ghouls were rushing over the ground on all fours.
“Run!” I said.
We ran.
We crashed against the shed door and found the damn thing padlocked. Edward shot the lock off; no time to pick it. The ghouls were close, howling as they came.
We scrambled inside, closing the door, for what good it would do us. There was one small window high up near the ceiling; moonlight suddenly spilled through it. There was a herd of lawnmowers against one wall, some of them hanging from hooks. Gardening shears, hedge trimmers, trowels, a curl of garden hose. The whole shed smelled of gasoline and oily rags.
Edward said, “There's nothing to put against the door, Anita.”
He was right. We'd blown the lock off. Where was a heavy object when you needed it? “Roll a lawnmower against it.”
“That won't hold them long.”
“It's better than nothing,” I said. He didn't move, so I rolled a lawnmower against the door.
“I won't die, eaten alive,” he said. He put a fresh clip in his gun. “I'll do you first if you want, or you can do it yourself.”
I remembered then that I had shoved the matchbook Zachary had given me in my pocket. Matches, we had matches!
“Anita, they're almost here. Do you want to do it yourself?”
I pulled the matchbook out of my pocket. Thank you, God. “Save your bullets, Edward.” I lifted a can of gasoline in one hand.
“What are you planning?” he asked.
The howls were crashing around us; they were almost here.
“I'm going to set the shed on fire.” I splashed gasoline on the door. The smell was sharp and tugged at the back of my throat.
“With us inside?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I'd rather shoot myself, if it's all the same to you.”
“I don't plan to die tonight, Edward.”
A claw smashed through the door, talons raking the wood, tearing it apart. I lit a match and threw it on the gasoline-soaked door. It went up with a blue-white whoosh of flame. The ghoul screamed, covered in fire, stumbling back from the ruined door.
The stench of burning flesh mingled with gasoline. Burnt hair. I coughed, putting a hand over my mouth. The fire was eating up the wood of the shed, spreading to the roof. We didn't need more gasoline; the damn thing was a fire trap. With us inside.
Halfway to the shed, a howl went up through the night, long and hostile. No dog ever sounded like that. I glanced back, and the ghouls were rushing over the ground on all fours.
“Run!” I said.
We ran.
We crashed against the shed door and found the damn thing padlocked. Edward shot the lock off; no time to pick it. The ghouls were close, howling as they came.
We scrambled inside, closing the door, for what good it would do us. There was one small window high up near the ceiling; moonlight suddenly spilled through it. There was a herd of lawnmowers against one wall, some of them hanging from hooks. Gardening shears, hedge trimmers, trowels, a curl of garden hose. The whole shed smelled of gasoline and oily rags.
Edward said, “There's nothing to put against the door, Anita.”
He was right. We'd blown the lock off. Where was a heavy object when you needed it? “Roll a lawnmower against it.”
“That won't hold them long.”
“It's better than nothing,” I said. He didn't move, so I rolled a lawnmower against the door.
“I won't die, eaten alive,” he said. He put a fresh clip in his gun. “I'll do you first if you want, or you can do it yourself.”
I remembered then that I had shoved the matchbook Zachary had given me in my pocket. Matches, we had matches!
“Anita, they're almost here. Do you want to do it yourself?”
I pulled the matchbook out of my pocket. Thank you, God. “Save your bullets, Edward.” I lifted a can of gasoline in one hand.
“What are you planning?” he asked.
The howls were crashing around us; they were almost here.
“I'm going to set the shed on fire.” I splashed gasoline on the door. The smell was sharp and tugged at the back of my throat.
“With us inside?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I'd rather shoot myself, if it's all the same to you.”
“I don't plan to die tonight, Edward.”
A claw smashed through the door, talons raking the wood, tearing it apart. I lit a match and threw it on the gasoline-soaked door. It went up with a blue-white whoosh of flame. The ghoul screamed, covered in fire, stumbling back from the ruined door.
The stench of burning flesh mingled with gasoline. Burnt hair. I coughed, putting a hand over my mouth. The fire was eating up the wood of the shed, spreading to the roof. We didn't need more gasoline; the damn thing was a fire trap. With us inside.