“Don’t be negative, Poe. Nothing good ever comes out of negativity.”
Even with the miserable headlamp, she could scarcely see the gun in her right hand. She stopped talking to Sister Ann and the dog. Between trying to 68
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see, trying to count, and trying to aim at anything that moved, Poe was a basket case. Like an errant fly buzzing too near her ear, Poe waved away the thought of the lobby waiting outside the door of the stairwell.
Since no further incidents plagued them, Poe was able to concentrate on counting down the sixth floor, then the fifth, then the–
“Crud!” screamed Poe, whose scalp felt like it was on fire.
A pudgy male paw grabbed at her hair from the air until her feet no longer touched the ground. She clutched at the cold hand and tried to pry the dead fingers away. She was going to go bald, Poe thought absurdly. Then she remembered the present from Sister Ann on her 17th birthday – her Rambo knife.
The fall to the third floor was nasty after she hacked at the intractable hand. Her funny bone hit the railing and she screamed out a family of expletives.
The severed hand continued to pull at her hair from sheer reflex. Pissed, bruised, and on the verge of insanity, Poe grabbed her spray bottle and blasted away at the squirming digits.
“Get off me, crummy hand!”
The hand hissed with exploding pustules and left yet more ooze on Poe. She flicked the smoking flesh off her head and watched out for a single-handed vampire. The creature did not come, but another did.
Still holding the spray bottle, Poe neglected to grab her gun. The only thing she could do was spray ineffectually at the hovering vampire until she could unsheathe the weapon. With a flick of the vampire’s hand, both the Beretta and the spray bottle clanged on the marble stairs. The container fell on a trip-wired step and exploded, spraying holy water at Poe and her vampire companion.
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Poe thanked whoever was looking out for her and jumped on the smoking fallen vampire at her feet. She lunged at the undead with the full force of her five-foot-two-and-three-quarter frame and drove her wrist knife into the creature’s dead heart.
“See that, you ass wipe!” Poe screeched, slashing away. “You mess with me, you die a one-time death!”
She was on the verge of tears and hysterics.
Her headlamp was smashed somewhere on the steps, and she couldn’t see an inch ahead.
The Rambo knife and the beloved Beretta were lost. Poe wiped away cowardly tears. She felt silly to fret over lost things. After all, they could be replaced.
“Sister? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” she said, sliding erratically down the handrail.
Poe caught her voluminous rear end and helped her down. The handrail, Poe noticed, was slick with Sister’s blood.
Poe reached for the two weapons she had left, her faithful James, the Walther PPK and her Faka knife.
She transferred the extra magazines from her leg pockets to her waist and handed the wrist knife to Sister.
“Sorry, but there’s only one gun left,” she said miserably.
“Don’t apologize, child. You’ve always been a better shot than me, even when I wasn’t seeing double.”
“So if we open that door, it’ll be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid time. You know that, right, Sister?”
“I’ve been ready to die since this whole Armageddon started. Don’t worry about me,” she said, clutching her stake.
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“Remember, doggy. Shoot, release, and reload,”
Poe said, voice quivering. She knew she had to keep her shit together. There was more than a good chance that they would be overtaken. If so, she had to be brave enough to shoot Penny, Sister Ann, and herself.
“Just don’t let us be bloodsucker fodder,” the nun intoned in her Tennessee twang.
“You said it, Sis. And um,” she began, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner.”
“Child, you’re here now. I thank you for that.”
Feeling for the last of the holy water in her pack, Poe was heartened somewhat when Penny licked her hand. She patted the dog’s head and doused her with holy water. She sprinkled Sister Ann and herself as well.
Her pack again secure on her back and the rosary cross kissed, Poe hobbled down the last steps with an exhausted Sister Ann. Her gun was drawn and her bottle of garlic water was in her other hand. She took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby of the Eastern Columbia Building.