Double Dead (39 page)

But then it occurred to him that the vampire was taking punches in the middle of day-time. Stranger still was how sometimes Coburn spoke in the little girl’s voice—not a man speaking
like
a little girl, but actually with Kayla’s voice.

Gil came around.

Mostly. He still wasn’t real excited about it. Didn’t help that he was emotionally torn up over the events of that day and physically torn up from the gunshot wound. The resultant infection had run him ragged. They never got around to finding antibiotics. Instead, Coburn gave the old man a little bit of his blood and, overnight, the infection cleared like a storm sliding out to sea.

“Ready to go?” Coburn asked.

“I suppose,” Gil said, tucking the crossbow bolt back into the homemade quiver he had hanging at his side. He’d taken to using the crossbow he found in a sporting goods store because, he said, the ammo didn’t disappear on you. “Recycling,” he’d said. “Good for the planet.”

“Let’s do it, then.” Coburn snapped his fingers. “That means you too, you little sonofabitch.”

Creampuff barked, having found himself a squirrel to chew on. He came bounding up, squirrel fur still stuck in his mouth.

Together, the three descended toward the Golden Gate Bridge, heading for the City by the Bay. It was time to fulfill Kayla’s mission.

END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter and self-described ‘penmonkey.’ He sold his first story when he was 18. After working in the computer and role-playing game industries he began scripting TV and film projects, including a horror film script which won him a place at the prestigious
Sundance Screenwriter Lab
2010.

He’s written too much. He should probably stop. Give him a wide berth, as he might be drunk and untrustworthy. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with wife, dog, and newborn progeny.

Double Dead
is Chuck’s first novel. His second novel,
Blackbirds
, is due out with Angry Robot Books in May 2012.

www.terribleminds.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Michelle, who lets me be who I need to be and isn’t afraid of me being a writer, crazy as we are.

To Tracy, who first put a Robert McCammon book in my hand.

To McCammon, who made me want to be a writer and a storyteller.

To Stacia, who gave me a shot and got me out there.

To Coburn, who got in my head and in my blood and put this book before you.