"Locked?" Myrnin asked, as Michael put the car in gear again.
"Yep," Shane said. "Big chain with a padlock. But I'm pretty sure you strong vampire types can take care of that, right?"
Michael maneuvered the car through some twists and turns, then hit the brakes and brought them to a movie-worthy skidding stop, throwing gravel in a wave ahead. "Stay in the car until I open the doors," he told Shane and Claire. "Myrnin, you get the lock and open the shed. Anything else?"
"Open the trunk," Shane said. "What we're looking for is pretty big. We'll need vamp muscle to move it."
He'd never asked for that, as far as Claire could remember .... Shane, saying he needed more muscle for something? Sometimes he accepted help, but he rarely asked. Even Myrnin seemed to recognize that. He didn't make any quips or taunts, just leveled a sober look at her boyfriend, nodded, grabbed the boom box, and left the car, fast, on the passenger side. As Michael swung open the car door beside Shane, Claire heard the snap of metal breaking, which must have been Myrnin snapping the chain, the lock, or the door itself; there was a dry, high-pitched squeal of hinges as her own car door popped open. Claire stepped out, and saw that Michael had also opened the trunk, as Shane had asked.
The shed they were facing was really that-a shed, sheet metal, nothing fancy. The ancient cigarette butts littering the gravel around the side showed it was the smokers' hangout. Probably the stoners' as well; those groups usually shared space away from everybody else, since both things were illegal. She headed for the open, gaping metal door, and stopped, because Shane had stopped.
He was staring at the school.
Morganville High was a not-so-big brick building that had that early-sixties uncomfortable architecture to it-boxy, intimidating, more like a prison than anything else. Even the fence around the perimeter was high enough to qualify as escape-proof. The faded sign towered over the school, with a really quite scary rendering of the high school mascot. Of course Morganville High's team symbol would be a viper, showing fangs.
"Shane?" Michael was at the shed door, looking back at them. "Faster is better, man."
"I know," Shane said softly, but he kept staring at the brick bulk of the main MHS building. "Hey. Is there still a pool inside?"
"A pool?" Michael frowned, and for a second he looked ... worried. "No. You remember, there was some kind of accident and they closed it down, drained it, filled it in right before you left town. It's a gym now."
"I was thinking that the draug ..." Shane's voice died out. It was too quiet out here, and Claire felt clumsy and awkward as she moved toward him. "I thought there was a pool."
"Hey," she said, and took his hand. "Stay with us, okay? I don't know what's wrong, but just ... stay focused. We need you."
He took a deep breath and let it out. There was a dark, damp chill in the air, and overhead the clouds rumbled. "Right. I'm here. You're here. We're okay." He turned a smile on her, and it almost felt right.
But not quite.
"Come on," Michael said, more urgently. "Let's go, guys, now. We're in neutral territory, but it's too close to them for comfort. Move."
Claire led Shane across the gravel and into the shed, where Michael clicked a light switch that threw a bright, industrial glow over the contents. It smelled of chemicals and rust and oil in here, and there were industrial-sized drums, boxes, cans, all kinds of things that looked like they might be used by janitorial or groundskeeping staff.
"Claire, you're not going to be of any help with this," Myrnin said. "Get shotguns from the trunk, please. One each for you and Shane, I think. I assume Michael and I will be lifting and carrying. And what exactly is it we are to be carrying, if you would be so kind ...?"
Shane looked around, and pointed to a big industrial drum painted shiny black. It was covered with labels, but Claire didn't recognize any of them; none seemed to have to do with flammability or toxicity, at least. She wasn't actually sure what it was, other than big and very bulky.
She ducked out and ran to the car. The trunk was mostly empty, but there were three shotguns stored in the wheel well area; she grabbed two, then added a third, because ... well, because. Besides, they were going to need the space, it seemed.
She heard a grinding metallic noise, then a hollow boom-the drum tipping over on its side, she guessed. In another second or two, she saw Shane leading the way out as Michael and Myrnin rolled it over the gravel to the open trunk of the car, and then each grabbed an end, lifted, and dumped it into the space.
Vampire sedans had incredibly large trunks. They doubled, Claire guessed, as sunlight protection for the younger vamps who might be caught outside in the sun. This one could have fit four or five, at least.
Of course, there were other, less generous interpretations that she didn't really want to consider.
The drum settled the car down on the back tires, and slightly lifted the front. Myrnin slammed the trunk lid. He was carrying his boom box in one hand, and now he zipped around to the driver's side, loaded it into the car, and said, "Quickly now. I think we're safe enough, but there's no reason to-"
He didn't have time to finish, because the sprinkler system went off. It happened with a click, as the metal heads pushed up through the grass, and then a cough and hiss as water started spraying out in all directions. A lot of water. Much more, and more pressurized, than a normal sort of system. Fat drops hit the windshield of the car, and Claire felt them slap against her skin as well-not water, or not completely, because it had a different, thicker consistency.
And it burned.
Shane reacted fast. He grabbed a shotgun from her and pushed her toward the car; she dived in, and he got in after, rolled down the window and put the barrel out as he tried to pick out targets through the artificial rain. It was the draug; it had to be. Michael took the third shotgun and mirrored him on the other side of the car. The downpour of sprinklers-mixed with actual rain now- sounded like hail as it hit the roof and hood of the car, and Myrnin cranked up a dial on the boom box. Claire heard it as a thick mist of static.
"Get us out of here," Myrnin said grimly. "Quickly."
Michael tried. He put the shotgun in his lap, rolled up the window, and started the car.
It caught, roared, sputtered, and died with a rattle of broken metal.
There was a second of silence, with only the static and rain to fill it, and then Myrnin said, with soft viciousness, "Damn."
"So? What are we doing?" Shane asked, without taking his eyes off the constant artificial rain pouring down outside the car, running in rivulets, dripping down the paint. It was splashing in on him, and when he wiped the drops off, Claire could see the red welts that were left. "This is not the time to freeze, man. I'll take any kind of plan."
Myrnin hesitated, then ... grabbed at Claire. He was fumbling at her, and she was so stunned that she started hitting him-with no result, of course-as he patted down her pockets and shirt, quick light touches as he muttered, "Sorry, sorry, beg pardon, sorry ..." And then he pulled back with her cell phone in his hand. He squinted at the screen, awkward still with the technology.
There was a shadow forming in the rain outside, dark and ominous. A human-shaped shadow that took on form and substance.
It smiled at them.
"Yeah, happy to see you too," Shane said, as he aimed. The stunning smash of the shotgun's roar whited out Claire's hearing for a moment, and she missed what Myrnin was doing until the keening noise in her ears began to subside again.
"-School," he was saying, or at least she thought he was. "What? Yes, Shane is target shooting, and we are going to die. I just thought you should know." He listened for a moment, then said, "That is not comforting, you know." Then he hung up the call and handed the phone back to her.
Shane, and now Michael, were still focused on the shapes forming outside. More than one this time. Shane had exploded the first one, but they'd responded by making more.
"Why are the sprinklers on?" she asked. "We shut off the water! The cutoff valves!"
"Except one," Shane pointed out. "That's right, isn't it? We left one open."
"You what?" Myrnin whipped around in the seat to look at him with a wide-eyed stare.
"Partly open," Shane clarified. "At least, I think-" He looked uncertainly at Claire. She nodded. "Yeah. Partly open." Why didn't he remember that clearly? She saw growing panic in his eyes. "There's no pool in the building, is there?"