"Two days, give or take, yes," Promise gave a confirming nod. Considering she was old enough to have lived through a time when vampires still fed on humans, she would probably know. She aimed her flashlight down the tunnel. "The question now is the distance they've traveled. How far is the larder they slipped from?"
There was only one way to find that out and we moved on. Promise had her hair in an intricate twist that was wound tightly around her head. Despite the delicacy of it and her large shadowed eyes, she didn't look out of place in this hellhole. She … I don't know…fit, in some strange way. From day one, if you'd asked me to picture her life, I would've imagined that every day of it was spent in elegance and quiet luxury. That she was to the manor born, as they say.
But she'd once given me the hint that that wasn't the truth, not her truth anyway. She hadn't gone into any detail, but I got the impression Promise had been born to dirt and hardship rather than silk and satin. Not all vampires had lived in a castle with bug-munching flunkies to wait on them hand and foot. I didn't know Promise's age, but it was possible she was old enough to have been born into some pretty rough times in history…for vampire or human. It would explain all the rich husbands with fastly approaching expiration dates she'd had. Our bodies might escape the conditions that made us, but our minds rarely do.
Whatever her origins, she moved through the tunnel as if it were an aisle in Sak's—boldly and comfortably. I followed and Niko pulled up the rear. Every fifteen minutes or so, Nik and I would switch off, but we kept Promise, her flashlight now turned off, in the lead. Vampire night vision was better than both of ours put together. When the revenants came, she spotted them several seconds before we did and raised a hand to halt us in our tracks.
To look at, they weren't so different from the body parts that had been carried our way—decomposing and hideous to behold. Nature's imitation of a corpse—slick putrid-appearing flesh, white-filmed eyes, and yellowed, rotting teeth framed by bloodless gums and a dead black tongue. Some of them wore filthy clothing; some of them wore nothing at all. An anatomically correct revenant is nothing to write home about…literally. With all their smooth mottled flesh, I had no idea how to tell the difference between male and female. But knowing how to kill them was info enough.
It wasn't too difficult…killing them. Although, if you just chopped a piece off, it would grow back— given enough time. Simple minds, simple nervous systems, Niko had explained disparagingly. Upright salamanders with an attitude, that's what I said. Bottom line, not that hard to kill, but if you didn't finish the job, a revenge-seeking revenant would show up a few months later sporting new limbs and a hard-on for a little mutilation of his own. The motto is "Make sure the imitation dead are the genuine dead."
So, when the first revenant appeared into the weak orange light ahead of us, I wasn't worried. When the next five showed themselves, I only pulled my Glock. I wasn't wasting the .50 and expensive rounds on these guys. But when the following sixteen slunk into sight, I did spend the time to be grateful that I didn't see Sawney with them. A revenant was a walk in the park, a couple of revenants…cake, but twenty-two? I'd been accused of being a little cocky, but I wasn't stupid. Certainly not that stupid. Twenty-two was going to be a workout, no way around it. Because revenants, when they wanted to be, were fast. They weren't the cheetahs of the preternatural world, but they were the hyenas. Their asses could move.
Niko, always up for a little aerobic exercise, had left the cello case behind at a junction of several tunnels and now hefted his axe. "How unfortunate for them that they can't regrow their head." Which was the place to aim on a revenant. If they had a heart, I had no idea where it was. Their circulatory system was a lot more primitive than a human's. Whatever pumped their vital fluids didn't seem to be centralized, and taking out the brain, à la every zombie movie ever made, was your best bet.
They were unusually quiet as they came. Revenants weren't the biggest talkers around, but they weren't above the occasional dinner conversation…of the usual "I'll rip you to shreds and enjoy every mouthful" type. Not these, though…they were silent and completely on-task. Sawney appeared to be a monster who valued discipline in his clan. There was no speaking, only determined white eyes, and a random jagged laugh here and there.
Which was disturbing in its own right. Because that laugh…that crazy, nerve jangling, completely over-the-edge-and-dogpaddling-in-the-pit-of-insanity cackle…was pure Sawney Beane. "Sound familiar?" I murmured to Nik.
"Yes," he answered flatly. "Yes, it does."
That's when they spoke. Every last one of them…simultaneously.
"Travelers."