The Blood Gospel

Jordan ducked to her side, ready to defend her as devoutly as the trio.

Bats now swirled overhead in a shadowy cluster of wings, claws, and glowing eyes. The horde held back for the moment, possibly smelling the blood of their foul brothers, hearing their death cries.

Even now, the shrill squeaks set Jordan’s teeth to aching.

He tried to find a single animal to focus on, but they darted back and forth too quickly.

Erin shone her light above. The bats shied from the beam, swooping away, as if it stung—and maybe the brightness did.

“Vespertilionidae,” she gasped, as if the word were an incantation. “Vesper bats. Never seen them more than a tenth of this size.”

“How do you—”

“I work in caves a lot,” she explained.

Her light jumped back and forth. Each time it struck a bat’s eyes, the animal retreated.

“They’re never aggressive like this.”

Jordan pointed his submachine gun up, the beam from the weapon scattering them, too. “Because you work around normal bats, not friggin’ tainted ones.”

“They’re regrouping faster each time.” Erin spoke like an objective researcher, but her voice was pitched an octave higher than usual. “They’re growing accustomed to the light.”

“Let them come.” Nadia had pulled off her silver chain belt and held it in one gloved hand. She fingered each silvery link like the beads of a rosary. “Waiting is wearing to my nerves.”

“Patience,” Rhun said. “Let’s walk farther ahead, search for a door, somewhere to shelter. Perhaps they won’t attack.”

“If you can,” Erin suggested, “look for a door on the right side of the passageway, something that might lead into the center of the Odal diamond.”

Jordan had to hand it to her. Even shrouded within a black cloak of shrieking death, she never took her eye off the ball. She still sought the treasure that was hidden in the bunker.

Emmanuel took a step forward, one hand upraised. A dagger glinted from his fist.

Nadia moved next to him, weight balanced, graceful as a ballerina.

Together, the five of them made slow progress down the tunnel, all eyes intent on the bats massed above them.

Jordan longed to fire his weapon, but he was worried about ricochets, and concerned, too, about provoking the bats. He remembered Nadia’s earlier warning that bullets would not kill them. Their best chance lay in reaching—

Without a sound, the bats dove.

Again, they ignored the Sanguinists and zeroed in on the pair at the center of the triad.

They came for Erin’s face.

And Jordan’s.

Overhead, Nadia twirled her belt. Jordan now recognized it as a silver chain whip. With her preternatural speed and strength, she wielded the weapon like it was a Cuisinart. Bats who came too close were shredded and torn apart.

Learning its lesson, the horde retreated.

Nadia’s whip caught one last straggler across its gray back, snagging the creature from the air and smashing it against the concrete wall.

Meanwhile, Rhun and Emmanuel kept the path open ahead, continuing to fight through the shadowy forms with silver blades in both hands.

Jordan defended the rear as best he could with his Bowie knife. The high-pitched shrieking stabbed his ears. Despite the protection of his leather duster, his hands and face bore countless scratches.

It now seemed as if for every bat taken down, two took its place.

Erin plunged her knife into the belly of one that slipped past Jordan. Its sharp caninelike fangs snapped closed by her nose before it thudded to the floor.

Jordan grabbed another bat as it tried to fly past, its skin cold and dry, like a dead lizard. He swallowed revulsion and slashed at it with his knife. It pivoted its muscle-bound neck and sank its teeth into the fleshy part of his thumb. Pain shot up his arm.

He slammed his hand against the concrete wall, once, twice, three times, but the bat’s teeth stayed firm. It would not knock loose. He felt teeth scrape bone, threatening to take off his thumb. Blood ran down the inside of his coat to his elbow. Another bat glanced off the side of his head, opening up a stinging wound across his temple.

Erin came to his aid. She grasped the bat attached to his hand by its ears. She thrust her knife under its chin and drew the blade downward. Black blood sprayed the wall, and the teeth finally let go.

“Forward!” Rhun called from a step away—which at the moment felt like an impassible distance. “A door ahead! To the right!”

Emmanuel drove forward, leading the charge. Bats flew at Emmanuel’s face, his neck, his hands. But they seemed reluctant to bite him, not that the tall man didn’t sustain wounds. His entire form dripped blood, his blond hair black with it.

Another of the horde reached past Jordan’s tiring arm. Fangs locked onto his wrist. They didn’t seem to have any problem biting him.

Rhun’s knife flashed through the air, slicing through wings and fur, freeing him.

But the bats never slowed.

Jordan’s arm trembled, weakening—and still the bats came.

34

October 27, 5:39 A.M., CET

Harmsfeld, Germany