Liz breathed in deeply, but she did not need to prepare for long. Fire expanded out from her, igniting both the dog and the Lynx.
"Come on!" Hellboy grabbed Liz, and they ran along the deck, heading toward the imposing bridge superstructure at the other end of the massive ship. They passed the open hold door, glanced inside, saw nothing. Hellboy could smell the stench of animals, but he could also sense that the ship was all but empty. The things that had once called this place home were now laying siege to the Anderson Hotel in the London Docklands. There would almost certainly be more guards like the four black dogs, but now he felt energized by the fight and ready to move on. His skin was ruptured and leaking. His fist ached with the need to connect again. His blood was up.
"What now?" Liz said.
"Now we find that bastard Blake and kill him," Hellboy said.
"He could be anywhere. This ship is the size of a city!"
"He'll be close to where we saw that car dropped in. That was brought here for a reason. Trouble is — "
The helicopter exploded behind them, casting a huge ball of flame and smoke skyward. Debris scattered across the deck, metal clanging on metal, and a chunk of smoldering flesh thudded down twenty feet away. Hellboy did not look to see what color it was.
"Trouble is, we've lost our element of surprise."
"And our ride home," Liz said.
They paused and looked back at the flaming aircraft. "I always treat these as one-way deals," Hellboy said. "That way, getting home is a bonus."
As they turned back to the hold doors they had been aiming for, the rukh rose up, turned its giant head, and stared right at them.
Hellboy sighed. "Next."
* * *
Even in the depths of the New Ark, walking pathways so close to the Memory that she could feel its infinite draw, Abby felt the weight of the moon pressing down upon her. The hairs on the back of her neck were constantly on end, her jaws and teeth ached, the bones of her back seemed to be constantly shifting as if readying themselves for their change. Her hunger was up, a raging dryness at the back of her throat and a hollowness in her stomach. Blood flowed hot in her veins. She could see around corners and hear through walls, and Abby knew she had very little time left.
If she were to kill Blake, it would have to be within the next couple of hours. After that she would change, he would see, and Blake would claim his victory by killing her at last.
I wish I'd finished him instead of just running away, she thought for the thousandth time.
Lost, she suddenly felt found. She was taking action to deepen her new life, not sitting back and letting her friends at BPRD do it for her. Abe had been her angel — he still was — but now, here, she was carving her own future from the potential of the present, not letting others guide her through it. Through these corridors that all looked the same, through the huge rooms where birthing vats now hung cracked and dry and unused, through the stalls and rooms and tanks where other creations from the Memory had spent their new lives waiting to fulfill Blake's desires — all of these places in darkness, all unseen — Abby ran, searching for the one door she knew she would recognize. She listened for the Voice that would welcome her back like an old friend. The one aspect from her time here that she enjoyed remembering was her conversations with the Voice and her growing realization that he was imprisoned, a conjuring that Blake had lived to regret long ago.
Now, Abby hoped he would regret it some more. The Voice must have a body, and the body must have a desire to be free. She would give it that freedom. In return, all she would ask for was help.
She rounded a corner in the corridor, skidded to a stop, and stared at the thing facing her.