Lord of Misrule Page 0,88

extremely dangerous storm tracking toward Morganville, which will reach our borders at six twenty seven this evening at its present speed. This storm has already been responsible for devastation in several areas in its path, and there has been significant loss of life due to tornadic activity. Morganville and the surrounding areas are on tornado watch through ten p.m. this evening. If you hear an alert siren, go immediately to a designated Safe Shelter location, or to the safest area of your home if you cannot reach a Safe Shelter. Attention Morganville residents--

Michael clicked it off. There was no point in listening to the repeat; it wasn't going to get any better. "How many Safe Shelters are there?" Shane asked. "University dorms have them, the UC--"

"Founder's Square has two," Michael said, "but nobody can get to them right now. They're locked up."

"Library."

"And the church. Father Joe would open up the basements, so that'll fit a couple of hundred people."

Everybody else would head to City Hall, if they didn't stay in their houses.

The rain started to fall in earnest, slapping the windshield at first, and then pounding it in fierce waves. The ancient windshield wipers really weren't up to it, even at high speed. Claire was glad she wasn't trying to drive. Even in clear visibility she wasn't very good, and she had no idea how Eve was seeing a thing.

If she was, of course. Maybe this was faithbased driving.

Other cars were on the road, and most of them were heading the same way they were. Claire looked at the clock on her cell phone.

Five thirty p.m.

The storm was less than an hour away.

"Uhoh," Eve said, and braked as they turned the last corner. It was a sea of red taillights. Over the roll of thunder and pounding rain, Claire heard horns honking. Traffic moved, but slowly, one car at a time inching forward. "They're checking cars at the barricade. I can't believe--"

Something happened up there, and the brake lights began flicking off in steady rows. Cars moved. Eve fell into line, and the big, black sedan rolled past two police cars still flashing their lights. In the red/blue/red glow, Claire saw that they'd moved the barricades aside and were just waving everyone through.

"This is crazy," she said. "We can't get people out. Not fast enough! We'd have to stop everybody from coming in first, and then give them somewhere to go. . . ."

"I'm getting out of the car here," Michael said. "I can run faster than you can drive in this. I'll get to Richard. They won't dare stop me."

That was probably true, but Eve still said, "Michael, don't--"

Not that it stopped him from bailing out into the rain. A flash of lightning streaked by overhead and showed him splashing through thick puddles, weaving around cars.

He was right; he was faster.

Eve muttered something about "Stupid, stubborn, bloodsucking boyfriends," and followed the traffic toward City Hall.

Out of nowhere, a truck pulled out in front of them from a side street and stopped directly in their path. Eve yelled and hit the brakes, but they were mushy and wet, and not great at the best of times, and Claire felt the car slip and then slide, gathering speed as it went.

Glad I put on my seat belt, she thought, which was a weird thing to think, as Eve's car hydroplaned right into the truck. Shane stretched out his arm to hold her in place, anyway--instinct, Claire guessed--and then they all got thrown forward hard as physics took over.

Physics hurt. Claire rested her aching head against the cool window--it was cracked, but still intact--and tried to shake it off. Shane was unhooking himself from the seat belt and asking her if she was okay. She made some kind of gesture and mumbled something, which she hoped would be good enough. She wasn't up to real reassurances at the moment.

Eve's door opened, and she got dragged out of the car.

"Hey!" Shane yelled, and threw himself out his own door. Claire fumbled at the latch, but hers seemed stuck; she navigated the push button on her seat belt and opted for Shane's side of the car instead.

As she stumbled out into the shockingly warm rain, she knew they were really in trouble now, because the man holding a knife to Eve's throat was Frank Collins, Shane's father and allaround badass, crazy vampire hater. He looked exactly like she remembered--tough, bikerhard, dressed in leather and tattoos.

He was yelling something at Eve, something Claire couldn't hear