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Extra info for Laura Caxton 1 13 Bullets, A VampireTale
The other two bullets had gone into the side of his nose and his right cheek. The wounds were horrible, bloody, and definitely fatal. As I watched they undid themselves. It was like when you run over one of those shatterproof trash cans and they slowly but surely undent themselves, returning to their former shape in seconds. A puff of white smoke in Lares’ vacant eye socket solidified, plumped out into a brand new eyeball. The wound in his nose shrank away to nothing and the one in his cheek might as well have been a trick of the light.
The jaws were thick, sturdy bone full of broken teeth. Just from the teeth I knew they were all vampires. Maybe they were Lares’ family, in a perverse way. Maybe there was a whole lineage of them sleeping in that cramped little ship’s hold. There was something about them, something that made my skin crawl. It took me a long time to realize what it was. The bones in those coffins weren’t dead. They were moving. Just barely, just almost imperceptibly, but the bony hands were reaching out. The necks were craning forward.
I could only see what was behind us. He was running toward the Strip District, toward the river. When I was planning this takedown I had convinced Pittsburgh Traffic to shut down a big patch of city, to keep the streets empty. I wanted a safe environment in which to pull off my showdown. Lares must have sensed the unusual quiet of the streets. He ran right out into traffic, cars slaloming all around us, steam from the pouring rain rising from their hot lights like the breath of angry bulls. Horns shrieked all around us and I panicked and called out for God—if one of those cars hit us it might not damage Lares at all but I would surely be crushed, broken, impaled.