Shane said, "We found where they have him." That was all he said, and that was probably a really good thing; Eve lit up with a smile. "We need reinforcements before we can even think about getting him out."
"But he's alive?"
"Yes," Claire said. She couldn't smile back; she just couldn't. What she'd seen was too . . . grimly awful. "Yes, he's alive. So's Oliver, and Naomi, and a bunch of others. I have to get to Amelie. She has to understand."
"Well, you need to do it soon, because she's already started moving vampires out of town," Eve said. "I saw buses leaving. They have blacked-out windows, like those rock star kind of things. Probably hot and cold running-blood taps, and I just totally skeeved myself out by saying that. I guess those are the first-class passengers. I heard from Hannah Moses that some were being put into semi tractor-trailer trucks, too. I guess that would explain the sudden Wal-Mart invasion."
"Wal-Mart?" Shane repeated.
"I guess they grabbed whatever trucks they could get. Wal-Mart, grocery trucks, mail trucks . . . It looks like one of those disaster movies, with the people crawling over each other to get on the last helicopter." Eve had lost her smile, and she looked . . . adult. And suddenly grim. "I think this town is done for, guys. It feels like it's dying all around us."
It felt that way to Claire, too. "Will you take us to Founder's Square?" she asked. "Please? It's not safe to try to get there on foot, not anymore. I know they told you to come here, but . . ."
"Sure," Eve said. "Like I ever followed anybody's rules anyway. Hey, try the seat belts. I hear they save lives and crap. We may be doing some seriously defensive driving."
She turned the key, and the engine made an awful grinding sound. Eve frowned and tried it again. It sounded horrible, and it definitely didn't sound like an engine was supposed to sound.
"Dammit," she said, and unbuckled as she got out. Shane joined her at the hood, but instead of lifting it, they both stood there, staring.
Claire scrambled out to take a look, too. "What is it?"
The front grille of the hearse looked melted. There was black, wet gunk oozing out of it, and when Eve reached out to pop the hood release, Shane stopped her. "Don't," he said. "Don't touch that stuff. Get the work gloves - I left them in the bag in the back."
Once she'd gotten them, Shane tugged the thick, heavy gloves on, took a deep breath, and reached under the grille to pop the latch. It came free with a sticky, wet sound, and as he raised the hood, there was a thin film of goo that came up with it.
The engine was fouled with the stuff, and it was bubbling. It looked, Claire thought sickly, like a cross between slime and seaweed, and it gave off a wet, thick smell of decay.
"Oh my God," Eve said. It came out muffled, since she was pinching her nose shut and backing away. "Oh my God, my poor baby - what is that?"
Shane slammed the hood and stripped off the gloves. They were smeared with the same stuff, and he kicked them under the hearse. "Whatever it is, you're not driving us anywhere," he said. "So what are we going to do?"
"Find another car," Claire said, and just at that moment, she spotted one pulling up. It was rocking pop music at an earsplitting volume, which cut off abruptly as the driver pulled the key and got out.
Monica Morrell didn't look like she was planning on getting out of town. In fact, she looked like she'd been pulled out of an after-hours club, and as she stalked up the sidewalk, stiletto heels tapping out an impatient rhythm, Claire had to give her style points. Everybody else had a mismatched refugee look, but not Monica. She had on a glittery, figure-hugging minidress, one that showed off her long tanned legs and curves and cle**age. Even her long, straightened dark hair blew in the wind like a supermodel's.
She slowed down as she caught sight of them, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, perfect," she said. "You guys." Claire wondered if she'd heard about her death; obviously not, because Monica skipped right over her presence. Or just massively didn't care either way.
Monica tried to go around them, but Eve stepped directly in her way. "Bitch, please!" Monica tried to shove her, but Shane's timing was perfect; he moved Eve out of the way, and Monica's flattened palm hit his chest instead. "Oh. Well, hello, delicious." She batted her eyes at him. "Looking for something a little less pasty and junior-sized?"
"Keys," he said, and looked down at her hand on his chest. "You're touching me, Monica. That's a bad thing."
"Keys," she repeated, and slowly stepped back. "What do you mean, keys?"
"As in, give. Now." Shane had that look - hard, and no bullshit. "We don't have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does."
She got serious. It looked very odd on her, Claire thought. "My brother told me not to go out," she said. "He wasn't wrong, was he? Something's happening. They shut down the club and told us all to leave." Shane nodded slowly, and Monica turned her attention to Claire. "Why do you need my keys, exactly?"
"To get to Amelie," Claire said. "We need a ride. Eve's is toast."
"That's true," Eve said. "I'm in mourning."
"Really? How can anybody tell?" Monica tossed her car keys in her hand and gave them a brilliant smile. "Tell you what, losers: I drive. Nobody touches the baby but me. Besides, if I'm semisafe here with my brother, I'll be much safer with the Founder."
Claire doubted that, really, but she wasn't about to tell Monica that.
Eve, for once, didn't call shotgun, and neither did Shane. She just got in the back, behind Monica. Claire quickly rock-paper-scissored with Shane on the way to a decision, and Claire lost. She was up front, with Monica, and Shane piled in the back, along with a canvas bag of stuff that he'd dragged out of the back of the hearse.
"Seriously," Shane said as they settled in and Monica turned the key. "You live in a town full of vampires. Is a convertible really the best option?"
"I didn't know you cared," Monica said, and the pop music started up in midsong. It was off Monica's iPod, Claire guessed, and she was apparently a big Britney Spears fan.
"Toxic."
That was actually weirdly appropriate.
Chapter Seventeen
CLAIRE
By the time they were halfway to Founder's Square, Claire wished the shotgun seat actually came with a shotgun, because Monica was killing her slowly, with her incessant chatter. That was funny, because Monica normally wasn't talkative, at least not to them, but it seemed like her shut-up circuit had fried.
". . . I went to DeeDee's to pick up my new dress, and it was closed. Not even a note in the window. I was so pissed off! I actually had to wear this thing. . . ." Monica plucked at the fabric of what she was nearly wearing in disgust. Claire didn't see how that was really possible, since it fit like skin. ". . . Which all the guys have seen about a dozen times now, not to mention Janis Taylor was there and wearing her new dress, which was skanky, and I know she was talking about me recycling the look - "
Shane, from the back, said, "I'm really trying to swear off the random fighting, Monica, but I swear to God that if you don't shut up, I'm going to go back to Step Zero on my twelve-step program. We don't give a shit about your dress or your club or Janis Taylor. Michael's in trouble."
Monica sent him a hard look in the rearview mirror, and said, "And when is one of you losers not in trouble, anyway? Not that Michael is a total waste of genetics; I'll give you that. So . . . what's happening? You seem to always know."
Claire said, "There's something new in town, and it's bad. It's taking vampires and humans and - " What was it doing, exactly? She didn't know, but whatever it was, there was no doubt it was pure evil. "Amelie's scared enough to shut up the town and run."
"Shut up the town?" Monica's glossy lips pressed flat. "Are you kidding me? I put a lot of work into living here. I have roots."
"Here I thought you stopped dyeing your hair," Shane said. Monica flipped him off.
"Shouldn't that be Eve's line?" she shot back. "Or has Goth Princess finally learned to shut up?"
Eve leaned forward. As Claire looked back at her, she felt a little shocked at her friend's set, serious expression. "I've learned a lot of things, Monica," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind and the music. "Michael is missing. He may be dying. I am not in the mood for your shallow bullshit right now. If you get in my way, I will cut you, because you are nothing but a speed bump on my way to saving him. Are we clear?"