Not leaving. Get the Hummer.
Qhuinn took out his keys and tossed them to Blay. "You go. And lock us in, feel me?"
Blay didn't waste a second, backing out and closing the door. There was the subtle sound of metal clinking as he reset the chain and then a click as that Master Lock was popped into place.
The lesser was starting to struggle with greater strength, but this was not a bad thing--consciousness was what they were going for.
John flipped the fucker onto his stomach and pulled back on that neck until the thing's spine pretzeled.
Qhuinn knew exactly what to do. Kneeling down, he put his face right into the slayer's. "We know you hold a female prisoner. Where is she?"
As the sirens intensified, the slayer managed only a series of grunts, so John relented a little and allowed some air down in those lungs.
Qhuinn drew back his palm and slapped the lesser. "I asked you a question, bitch. Where is she?"
John eased up a little further, but not so much as to offer an escape route. With the added leeway, the lesser shuddered in fear, proving that whereas the motherfucker had been all business with his showy shooting, here during crunch time, he was nothing but a young punk in over his head.
Qhuinn's second slap was harder. "Answer me."
"No . . . prisoner."
As Qhuinn threw back his arm again, the slayer recoiled--yup, although the fuckers were dead, their pain receptors worked just fine. "Female abductee held by your Fore-lesser. Where is she?"
John reached forward and gave his gun to Qhuinn and then, with his now-free hand, he went to the small of his back and withdrew his hunting knife. It went without saying that he was the only one who was going to do any real damage and he brought the blade around and put it right up to the lesser's eyes. Wild bucking ensued, but the struggle was quickly contained, John's huge body blanketing what was under him.
"You're going to want to talk," Qhuinn said dryly. "Trust me on this."
"I don't know no female." The words were nothing but a hiss, that wind-pipe constricted by John's forearm.
John gave a jerk backward and the slayer yelled, "I don't!"
Sirens were screaming now, and out in the parking lot there were multiple tire squeals.
Time to tread carefully. The lesser had already demonstrated a total disregard for the single rule in the war, so whereas with any other slayer you could be sure of silence, that was a not-so-much with Mr. Click-click Bang-bang.
John met Qhuinn's mismatched stare, but the guy was already on it. Reaching over to a pile of oily rags, Qhuinn snagged one and stuffed it into the lesser's mouth. Then it was freeze-frame time.
From outside, the voices of the cops were muffled: "Cover me."
"Roger that."
As John put away his knife so he could hold on with both hands, there was lots of foot shuffling, most of which was off in the distance. But would no doubt come near eventually.
While the uniforms scattered, the radios in the cop cars provided a chatty sound track to their initial search- and-secure. Which didn't take long. Within a couple of minutes, the policemen were pooling around the cars, right next to the shed.
"Unit Two-forty to base. Area is secure. No victims. No perp--"
With a quick kick, the lesser creamed a gas can with its boot. And you could practically hear all those CPD gun muzzles come back up and train on the shed.
"What the fuck?"
Lash smiled as the kid's eyes locked on the Omega. Although everything was covered with robing, you'd have to be a total moron not to realize there was something way off under there--and ding-ding-ding, they had a winner in the cognitive lottery.
As those feet started to paddle backward out of the farmhouse, Mr. D's backup slayers flanked the little bastard and caught him by the arms.
Lash nodded to the dining room table. "My father will do him in there."
"Do what!" Now there was full-on panic, with the kid thrashing like a gutted pig. Which was nothing but good practice for what was coming, really.
The slayers muscled him over and flipped him up on top of the pitted wood, holding him down at the feet and ankles as the Omega came forward amid all the squeaking and flapping.
As the evil lifted his hood, everything went quiet.
And then the scream that came out of the human's mouth ripped through the air, echoing up to the ceiling, filling the decrepit house with noise.
Lash hung back and let his father go to work, watching the human's clothes get shredded with a mere pass of that black, transparent palm. And then it was time for the knife, the blade catching the light of the cheapo chandelier that dangled from the grungy ceiling.
Mr. D was the one who helped with the technicalities--positioning the buckets under the arms and legs, scurrying around.