MARTA TAKES THE GUN OUT OF LILA'S HAND. "Did you think I would let you go that easily?"
Exasperation makes me want to tackle her this very minute, but she's got the gun pressed into Max's spine. As quick as I am, I can't be sure I could knock her away before she pulled that trigger.
The pilot has joined us. He, too, has a gun in his hand. His is bigger. A .45.
I release my impatience in a sigh. "I thought we had a deal, Marta."
She laughs. Not pleasantly. "Oh, we did. But I've come up with a better one. I kill Max and lock you away until the hunger is more than you can bear. Then you may reconsider what I asked of you before."
Max, testing, takes a tiny step forward and turns to me. "What does she want?"
Marta closes the gap between them at once, keeping her gun in contact with Max's back.
She's not taking any chances. I shrug. "Simple. She wants me to make her vampire."
His brows shoot up. "Why would she want that?"
Marta shoves at him in a pique of impatience. "Ask me yourself," she growls.
Max stumbles, fights to regain his balance, tough with the broken ankle. But with the effort, he moves just far enough way from Marta to allow an attack. Marta realizes her mistake almost instantly, but I'm on her before she can correct it. I wrench the gun out of her hand and her injured wrist behind her back. I'm about to leverage the hold when the pilot's gun barks once.
I yank her around in front of me.
The pilot has his gun to Max's head. "The first one was to get your attention. The second will blow your friend's head off if you don't let her go."
His English is heavily accented but very good. He has Max with an arm around his throat. I'm about to release Marta, when Max sends me a look that coupled with a tiny shake of his head, gives me cause to reconsider. He has one hand in the pocket of his jacket; I see his fingers maneuvering the gun.
So does Marta. She starts to yell a warning. I snap her neck with one hand.
The pilot's mouth falls open in shock. But it's momentary. His fingers tighten on the trigger. Max slumps into him and in that same moment, fires the Derringer through the fabric of his pocket.
The pilot staggers backward, looking down at his mid-section in disbelief.
The Derringer is a .22 and even a contact gut shot is very rarely fatal. The pilot raises the .45. Max whirls around, the gun now out, and follows up quickly with a round to the head.
That does it. The pilot goes down like a rock.
Lila and Pedro are screaming. I toss Marta's body toward them and scramble to pick up Lila's gun and the pilot's .45.
It's not until the adrenaline has stopped pumping that the reality of the situation hits.
"Max," I yelp. "You killed the pilot. How the fuck are we going to get out of here?"
For the first time, I get a real smile out of Max. "How do you think," he says. "We fly."
"You know how to fly a helicopter?"
"Don't sound so shocked."
"But you never told me you could fly a helicopter."
"You never told me you were a vampire. I think your secret trumps mine."
We hold this conversation as we make our way toward the helicopter. Max pauses at the hatch. "What do we do about those two?"
I turn back to look at Lila and Pedro. They are prostate with grief over Maria's death. Lila is on the ground, holding Marta and rocking her body as if it were a child's. Pedro is standing over them both, tears streaming down his face. Neither looks in our direction.
"Leave them."
If the coldness of my reply fazes Max, he doesn't show it. He doesn't argue, either. He merely reaches into the copter and picks up the pilot's helmet.
He hands me one, too, and a leather jacket that was slung onto one of the rear seats. I look at it for a minute.
He raises an eyebrow. "You're dressed in a torn sheet."
I'd forgotten all about it. I slip on the jacket and zip it up. It falls to above my knees. I reach underneath and pull the sheet out and drop it on the ground.
I help Max climb aboard. I take the seat beside him in front. He fires up the engine and the rotors spring to life. In a few minutes, we're in the air.
I don't bother to look back.