Dead Harvest

  Then Mu'an let out a horrible, rasping cough, followed by another, and then another. I released his hair from my grip, and withdrew the shard – but not far. His face reddened, and he doubled over. A thin thread of blood trailed downward from his lower lip, and this time, he made no move to wipe it away. From the corner of my eye, I saw a crash team approaching, worried by his sudden fit, while behind them, a mass of uniformed security personnel were going bed-tobed, looking for us. I turned my head to watch as a patient – just a few beds from the one I'd occupied – raised a shaky hand at whatever he'd been asked and pointed directly toward me. The cop's gaze was close behind, and our eyes locked across the massive, crowded tent.

  "Well, Collector," said Mu'an, sucking breath after labored breath, "I've told you all I can. Kill me if you must – I only ask you make it quick."

  "You aren't going to die today, Mu'an – at least, not by my hand. C'mon, Kate, it's time to go." I stuffed the shard into my pocket and grabbed Kate by the wrist, dragging her deeper into the teeming medical tent.

  "You're just forestalling the inevitable!" called Mu'an, though his huddled form was already lost to the crowd. "She will be taken, and when she is, you'll pay!"

  As we pressed through the crowd, Kate leaned close. Her voice was nearly swallowed by the din – the patients around us now were the worst-hit, and between the flurry of medical personnel, and the nightmarish arcade cacophony of their monitors, I could barely hear myself think.

  "You think he's right? That my collection is inevitable?"

  "Eh, you know demons – they just can't help but indulge in a bit of apocalyptic bluster every now and again." I flashed her a smile. It felt tight and awkward on my face.

  Kate looked over her shoulder, and I followed suit. A half-dozen of New York's Finest were pushing toward us through the crowd, maybe thirty feet away and closing fast.

  "You got a plan to get us out of here?" Kate asked.

  "I'm working on it," I replied. I figured it sounded more encouraging than no.

  The tent roof sloped steadily downward toward us, and through the crowd I caught a glimpse of open street and pale gray sky. I pushed aside a nurse in blood-spattered scrubs and broke for the edge of the tent. It wasn't till I could feel the kiss of fresh air across my face that I saw him.

  He was a mountain of a cop, with dark deep-set eyes peering outward from a fleshy face, the features of which were twisted into an angry frown around a mustache the size of a small woodland creature. His barrel chest strained the buttons of his uniform blues as he approached, nightstick in hand. I sized him up as he approached, wondering if I could take him down. I was pretty sure the answer was no. A shame, that – he didn't look like one for talking.

  I released Kate's hand and stepped clear of the tent, my hands raised in surrender. My crutch clattered to the ground, and I had the sudden, queasy realization that if this didn't work, I couldn't exactly make a run for it. Kate, for her part, had the good sense to stay a few steps behind me, hidden in the bustle of the tent, although if I didn't deal with this guy quick, it wouldn't matter – there were a bunch more just like him bringing up the rear.

  "Stay where you are!" he shouted, his sandpaper growl slathered with a goodly helping of Bronx.

  "I'm unarmed!" I replied. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, nearly disappearing between the flesh of his cheeks and meaty brow. If he hadn't planned on frisking me before, he sure as shit was gonna now.

  Fine by me. The closer I could get to him, the better chance we had.

  "Put your hands on your head." I complied. The cop holstered his nightstick and approached. "Now turn around." Again, I did as he asked.

  His hands were the size of hams, and he was none too gentle patting me down. My muscles tensed in anticipation. When he gave my bum leg a good thwack, I made my move. And by made my move, I mean fell down.

  Well, mostly, at least. Mr Suspicious here made my job easy by not skipping over the pound of gauze I had wrapped around my wound, and who could blame him? After all, the bandage gave me ample room to stash a weapon, and I was plenty shifty. His only mistake was in not knowing it was my hands he had to be afraid of.

  When his hand connected with the bandaged meat of my thigh, I let out a wail. My leg buckled. That part wasn't just for show, but I'd expected it – in fact, I was counting on it. I twisted as I fell, so that we were chest to chest when he did his cop-ly duty and caught me. Or, rather, we would have been chest to chest, had my hands not been between us.