Mile High with a Vampire - Episode 6

Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman and Jet Thunderbuns have reached civilization... somewhat. Now they've endangered several others including a red head with boobs way too big for her frame. Can they keep everyone safe from the threat of the blood lust crazed Russian vampires before they tear everyone apart? The only way to know is to listen and learn about how I got shot with a shotgun. 

Transcript

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Welcome back to Storytime with Uncle Beanbag. Mile High with a Vampire, Episode 6. This might be the longest chapter s well, it's the longest chapter so far, but it might actually be the longest chapter in the book at about 26 pages. Starts out with someone talking. I'm assuming it's Jet, but I have no idea, so What the hell do you mean you don't have a phone? Everyone has a damn cell phone nowadays. Why don't any of you? Jet blinked his eyes open at the rower, wincing even as he did. His head was pounding like a bass drum. He'd think he was suffering from one hell of a hangover. His memories weren't intact. Unfortunately, his memory was just fine. Hmm, okay. He'd think he was suffering from one hell of a hangover. No, that's that's exactly how it's written, Lindsay. What what the fucker is this? Unfortunately, his memory was just fine, and the last thing he recalled was haning down Quinn's back, nausea rolling up in him, and pain beginning to thump his head as she ran through the woods, leaping over logs and swerving around trees in her path as she raced desperately to save him. And presumably the six know seven people now facing her across the room with a combination of concern for her bloody and disheveled state and apparent irritation at her bellowing. I'm assuming they got to civilization now. Ma'am, you need to calm down and tell us what happened, the darker haired of the two men among the seven people said soothingly. Obviously you've been through some s something horrible, but you're safe now, and I'm not safe, Quinn snapped, and then shifted impatiently and added, Well I am, but you people aren't and Jet aren't and her voice broke off as she glanced his way and saw that he was awake. Oh, Jet, she breathed, rushing to where she he was pushing himself up to a sitting position on a large leather couch he'd been lying on. You're awake, how do you feel? You fainted. I didn't faint, he growled, reaching up to rub the knot on the back of his head where the most of the drumming seemed to be going on. Alright, so they made their escape. She probably threw him over her shoulder again. He fainted on the way there, and now they're talking to Canadian authorities or some shit like that. Noting her expression, he grimaced and admitted, Alright, so I fainted. It was the blood rushing to my head and all the swaying and banning around as I was doing against your butt as you carried me through the woods. Damn woman, you have a bony ass, he complained. That's that's nice, Jet, you fucker. We really need to feed you something besides alpapa sprouts and kale for real, he added, since she'd eaten fries in their shared dream. A choke sound from Quinn drew his gaze to her face to see that she'd flushed bright red and looked like she'd swallowed her tongue, and then Jet realized what he said and closed his eyes on a sigh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Well I sorta did. You're behind is all bone and it's hurting my head you know when it's hitting it over and over again. But I'd never say that if my head didn't hurt so much. I appreciate his attempt to thank her for saving his life died in his throat when a glass of water appeared before his eyes before his eyes. It says a husky voice, but I don't really know how to do a husky voice other than what I've already been doing. This might help, a husky voice said as he blinked at the glass. Jet followed the hand, holding the glass up an arm to a beautiful face with long red hair around it, two huge breasts underneath it. There was no neck, he noted with alarm, and then realized it was because the woman was bent over, offering him the glass. What the fuck kind of sentence is that? So he's looking at her, she's bent over, she probably doesn't have any cleavage showing, but she's got giant tits, red hair, and he's like, Oh my god, there's no neck. What the fuck, Jet? I guess it's better than having a giraffe which has all which is just all neck. Jet couldn't help shifting his gaze from her face to her breast and back and thought with dismay, Dear God, the poor girl probably got terrible backaches carrying those monsters around. Sounds like Jet would rather have her big gazongas than Quinn's tiny ones. A small sound rather like a growl made him glance at Quinn then, much to his amazement and alright, a little pleasure. Quinn was staring at the redhead like she wanted to rip her head off. She was jealous, he thought, and smiled at the idea until Quinn turned her furious gaze on him, hiding his smile behind a frown and he took a glass from the redhead and stood up abruptly. Where are we now? Oh, he finished weakly as the room did a little dance around him. Quinn caught the glass as it slipped from his hand and shook his arm no, took his arm to steady him. She urged him to sit back down as she answered the question he hadn't finished. We're at a private flying fishing lodge one hundred and sixty miles from civilization and apparently without a phone or a car to make your way out our way out. Someone's way out here. It says R, but I kept reading it wrong. I told you, a tall blonde male who looked to be Jet's own age, said testily. A car wouldn't do any good. There's no roads out here. People and goods have to be flown in and out. So they either have an airstrip or they have a body of water where they can land a pontoon plane on. And you know the river wouldn't really be traversable with all the rapids, so that's right out. I'm gonna go with pontoon plane, but we shall see. Quinn scowled at the man and then told Jet, I heard the plane fly out while I was still about 15 minutes away. It had just dropped off these guys to the open lodge. Apparently this place is only open eight weeks of the year. Why only eight weeks of the year? Is it eight weeks total, like in the summer, or is it just like a week here, a week there? Eight weeks out of the year? That doesn't make any damn sense. And it's been closed since the end of last August. Yeah, so it's probably the summer. Which okay, we'd put this in context, then if it's the summer, then this has to be taking place somewhere during the summer of the next year. The plane won't come back for two days when the first guests are scheduled to fly in. Well, that's not good, Jet said grimly and then frowned. If they didn't get here until today, where are the lights that Kira saw last night? Brittany and I got in yesterday, the blonde mill admitted reluctantly. The plane your friend heard was leaving after dropping off the rest of our crew today. Jet nodded and then took the glass of water Quinn was holding out and quickly gulped the cool liquid down. Surprisingly enough, it actually helped a bit. At least the pounding in his head seemed to be easing a little by the time he finished. Are they gonna make the entire guest party into vampires? Not Quinn and Jet, like the other Russians and everything. So are you gonna have a bunch of fly fishing vampires that join the coven now? That'd be really fucking weird. Murmuring a polite thank you, er murmuring a polite thank you. Jet handed the glass to the redhead who'd given it to him and then turned back to Quinn as she addressed the guy who was apparently in charge. You must have had some way to contact the outside world in case of an emergency, a CB radio or something. CB wouldn't do us any good out here, the man said, rolling his eyes, as if resgesting it was oh what? What the fuck? Alright, goddammit. I hate this paragraph. I fucked up. Murmuring a plate, thank you, from Jet. He handed the glass to the redhead who'd given it to him and then turned back to Quinn as she addressed the guys who was apparently in charge. So I just completely glat glassed over, glazed over, glanced, whatever the fuck, uh, that Quinn was the one who was saying these lines. You must have some way to contact the outside world in case of an emergency, a C V radio. But why would you put Jet saying thank you and Quinn's dialogue in the same fucking paragraph? That makes no fucking sense literally. You know, you should have people who are saying shit have different paragraphs. She does this a lot, I've noticed, with Lindsay Sand's writing style, where she'll have somebody say one thing, and then she'll have another person say the same thing in the same paragraph, and somehow I'm supposed to interpret that they're two, you know, separate people talking in one instance instead of just having another fucking paragraph for it. The CB wouldn't do us any good out here, the man said, rolling his eyes as if her suggesting it was ridiculous. We're too far from anywhere for that. We have a satellite phone in the office that take me to it, Jen interrupted. Yeah, C B radio has only got like old man, I'm trying to go off of old information. I think like a three mile radius? Maybe five. You definitely would want like a ham radio instead. When the man hesitated, looking like he was going to refuse, Jet turned to Quinn and said, control 'em and make 'em. Quinn looked surprised at the suggestion, then bitter lip and admitted, I don't know how to do that. Jet's eyes widened in shock. What? But you were turned four years ago, didn't Marguerite? No, see, here's the problem, Jet. She has no fucking idea what she's doing because she didn't learn from Marguerite at all, even though Marguerite tried to teach her and Petronella tried to have her taught. And apparently her son Parker knows all this vampire shit on what to do. Same with Petronella. Quinn is fucking retarded. And I'm going to use that because it's very applicable here. She is absolutely stupid, and it drives so much annoyance to her. She wasn't curious about any of it. What the fuck? His voice trailed away as he recalled our earlier conversation. Shared dreams obviously weren't the only thing she hadn't learned about. Yeah, no shit, dude. Cursing he turned to survey the group of seven around them. Two of them were around his age, the redheaded woman and the blonde man. They seemed to be others in their they oh fuck. They seem to be the ones in charge, as if he were to guess the fact by they were wearing their name tags that read Jason, manager. It's in brackets manager. And Britney, assistant manager, on their dark blue polo shirts. The rest of the group around them rarely had names on name tags on their baby blue polo shirts. So this is the staff then. Oh yeah, okay, because they mentioned guests would be coming in like next week or something. The people in baby blue were made up of four young women and one young man who all looked between eighteen and twenty. The men in this group were attractive and well built. The females were all pretty and well endowed. Either the lodge catered to the rich old purpose who liked having large breasted women around or the guy in charge of the hiring did, Jed thought. He's always he always preferred smaller, well-shaped ones himself, so he doesn't like big tits. He likes quin tits. Quinn tits. He just says that right after I said that. Like quins, he acknowledged as his gaze slid around the expensive trappings of the room they were in. It looked like a large living room with log walls, cathedral ceilings, and big leather furniture everywhere. Everything was layered with a coat of dust that supported the story that had been closed for ten months. So okay, if it's been closed for ten months and it's August, that means this is the beginning-ish of June. The satellite phone is only for business calls or emergencies. Have they not pressed upon them yet that this is a fucking emergency? The announcement from Jason, the manager drew Jet's gaze and attention back to the matter at hand as he scowled at the guy. This is an emergency or did you miss the fact that I was unconscious when she carried me in, and she has blood all over her shirt. A lot of the starch went out of the guy at once when he glanced from Jet to Quinn, concerned beginning to pluck at the corners of his mouth as he muttered, No, of course I didn't miss that, but she won't tell us what's happening. Our plane crashed, three of my passengers Yeah, okay, yeah, this is Jet. Our plane crashed, three of my passengers were injured, and the fourth was attacked by a bear as we were trying to make our way to help. Jet spat out, but hesitated briefly before adding, and the bear chased us here. It's a big crazy bastard, rabbit, I think. And if it gets here before we'll get help, it'll probably kill us all. It's not gonna go over very well with the staff, pretty much. I don't think they're even gonna believe him. Bad choice he decided when the guys concerned gave way to suspicion. Yeah, see, they don't fucking believe you, dude. And he asked, You want me to believe this little girl outran a bear to get here? No one can outrun a bear, he said with disgust. She was carrying you for heaven's sake. Jeff, we don't have time for this, Quinn said grimly and moved her gaze to the door and then back. They weren't that far behind us when I checked from the tree. How far? Joe asked with concern. She shook her head. I'm not sure, maybe fifteen minutes if we're lucky. So how why are you dealing? Quinn, why are you eating up so much fucking time? Why don't you come in and address the situation immediately and try to put some type of defensive cord on in into stopping the vampires? 'Cause fifteen minutes from when you arrived and we've already been talking now for several minutes. They're probably coming through the door any second now. Fuck you, Quinn. God damn it. Who weren't far behind you? Jason the manager asked, his eyes narrowed. This time Quinn was the one who answered, coming up with a brilliant lie. At least it seemed pretty brilliant to him when she held out her hand and said, I'm Dr. Quinn Peters from Albany, New York. I'm Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman from Albany, New York is what she should have fucking said. The man took her hand automatically, a little respect entering his expression of the word doctor. Quinn sudden take charge professional boys probably helped too. Of course you're right, it isn't a bear we're worried about, she admitted, and then her gaze flickered briefly at the Jet before returning to Jason as she explained. We're flying back from Europe and our plane did crash. Mr. Lasser was the co-pilot. We lost the pilot in the crash, but who we were running from and the patients we were transporting, they got out of the plane. They're dangerous, she glanced at Jet again and then announced. They were mental patients. If they buy into this, it's gonna fucking annoy me. Mental patients, the redheaded Brittany, destined for back issues, gap gaped with this gas fucking did something. Ghast with dismay. I don't know how you would gape with this. Actually I do, and that's not a really good thought. Anyways. Oh the poor dears. She bought into it immediately. Quinn grimaced at the words but said, No, you don't understand. They aren't they look sorry, Jet voice, look, Jet said, picking up the table when Quinn faltered in the face of the young girl's sympathy. These aren't your garden variety mental patients. There's four of them, he added, and then hoped that was true, but he knew it was possible that Lilia had gotten hurt trying to slow the others down and might now be suffering the bloodlust as well. Pushing that worry away for now, he continued, and there's some of the most dangerous individuals you'll ever encounter. I think think Hannibal Lecter, Leatherface, Michael Myers, Norman Bates. Michael Myers never ate anybody, though. He suggested listening to the four horror movie psychos that came to mind. They're dangerous enough for blood, and we're directly in their path. Oh god, I knew I should have taken the job at the crispy chicken in town, one of the girls moaned unhappily. The pain might not have been good, but at least in town you don't get old men you don't get old men hitting on you, but at least in town you don't get old men hitting on you. That's you don't Alright. And psycho's trying to kill you. Shut up, Jeanette, Jason snapped, but he was looking from Quinn to Jet, obviously trying to decide if they were telling the truth. Fortunately, in the brief silence that followed, a high shriek, high shriek sounded from somewhere outside. The chilling sound drifted down to them through an open window next to the entrance, and it sounded as mad and terrifying as the last time Jet had heard it. The Russians were unhinged with need and were coming. Try that line again, beanbag. The Russians were unhinged with need and they were coming. They didn't sound like they were fifteen minutes away. What was that? Jeanette gasped, as she and the other younger females cowered together. I'm sure it was just a loon or something, Jason muttered, as he moved over to reach through the bars of the open window and slammed it closed. Apparently, even though he's Canadian, he has no fucking idea what a loon sounds like. I'm Utawn, and I know what a fucking loon sounds like, because we've got them here. He then quickly barred the door. Jeanette, you and the others go around and make sure the bars are all on the windows and the locks are in place. I'll take mister Lasseter to the satellite phone. Oh my god, we're gonna die! One of the girls moaned as Jet followed the manager from the room and down the long hall to an office. Uh so this went from a really schlocky romance book to a really schlocky horror movie. I don't like that. Shifting perspective now to Quinn, aside from Jet, Quinn watched the men go and then glanced around the staff rushing away, and most of them fled the room, presumably to check the windows and doors in the other rooms, but the busty Brittany, who had been fawning over Jet, remained to double check the bars on the other windows. In this room, Quinn watched her and then asked, Are there bars on the upstair windows? The structure was a large two-story building with lots of windows on both floors. She noticed that she'd hurried across the manicured lawn with Jet over her shoulder. Fortunately not expecting anyone. None of the staff members had been looking out the windows to see her whiz across the yard from the woods at immortal speed. In fact, she was pretty sure she had interrupted a staff meeting and startled a good ten years off of every one of the young people's lives when she rushed inside with Jet over her shoulder and slammed the door behind her. It kind of makes me wonder what the setup of the lodge is. I'm thinking more of like the one from The Shining. Probably nothing like that, but it would be kind of more interesting if it was. Oh, uh okay, you know, seasonal shit. Gotcha. But we did open a couple of windows before the others got here. It's the good it's good the girls are checking, they'll close them, Britney assured her and then babbled a bit nervously. The bars are not going to keep out the vampires though. If they've got super strength like Quinn, they can rip those bars right off of there. The bars are to make sure no one breaks in while the lodge is closed. Ten months is a long time, and there's some old crazies wandering the wilds up here. And of course everything in the lodge is top of the line and expensive. The owners wanted to be sure no one broke in during the off season and set the place on fire or something, so they had bars installed. Why don't you have somebody who's like a caretaker the whole damn time? Just have them roam around with a shotgun. I know shotguns are legal in Canada. Self-defense is not, but shotguns definitely are. I mean, up north in the Canadian Arctic, especially in the Greenland parts of the Canadian territories. They use shotguns all the time as a polar bear deterrent. Quinn didn't comment. She suspected the woman was just speaking out of anxiety anyways. It'll be fine, right? Brittany asked. They can't get through the bars. I mean, of course they can't, she tilted her head nervously and then nodded. It's not like they have chainsaws and stuff like leatherface or something, right? Quinn stepped up to the nearest window, grasped two of the bars, and pulled each to a side. Her breath left her on a sigh of disappointment when the bars began to bend away from each other. Yeah, that's exactly what I was saying. The vampires can rip through them. She had been hoping they were strong enough to keep the immortals out, but if she could bend them. Oh my god, Britney gasped at this me. The bars are broken. I didn't break them, Quinn said quickly. I just bent them a little, see, I'm bending them back. Yeah, but you shouldn't be able to, Brittany squawk. They're supposed to be still, they're obviously defective. Oh yeah. Quinn's just realizing right now what she fucking did in front of a normal human. Oh, Quinn stepped back from the window and then asked with a frown, do you have a safe room or something here? No, Britney bit her lip unhappily and then offered. The best we have is a booze box. Booze box, Quinn echoed with bewilderment. A steel cage down in the basement where the expensive alcohol and stuff are kept, Brittany explained. We call it the booze box. How big is it? Quinn asked at once. Can you all fit into it? Maybe Brittany said slowly. Are they gonna get drunk? Are they gonna get absolutely sloshed drunk and then fuck each other in the booze box? Not quitting Jet, but everybody else. Show me, Quinn said, moving toward her and then when following that oh moving toward her and following when, not when following, Britney turned and hurried from the room. The redhead led her along the hall. Jet and Jason had disappeared down moments ago. As Quinn listened to she followed the woman. Hmm. Then Quinn listened as she followed the woman. She came to a brub halt outside the door marked manager and reached for the doorknob when she hears Jet when she heard Jet's voice from inside. Are you coming? Oh no. Sorry, I thought that was Jet talking. It's still Quinn talking. She heard his voice, but he's she saying, Are you coming? Brittany had stopped next to another door farther down and Quinn let her hand drop out from the knob to follow the woman. She couldn't find out what Jet had learned after she checked the cage. It probably wouldn't be much stronger than the bars over the windows, but they had only had to slow the women down long enough for help to get to them. The problem was she wasn't sure at all she could manage that. They reached the plane half an hour ago. They've already retrieved Jeff Miller's body in her tending to Annika. Jet lowered his head at Bastian Arginault's words. I'm assuming Bastian's like one of the enforcers or one of the heads of the Arginot Coven. That's another character we have not been introduced to yet. He hadn't been sure who to call once he got his hands on the satellite phone. Lucian Arginot had hired Jet. So there's Bastian, Lucian Tomato Arginot. Actually, I don't know if Tomato is part of the Arginaux group. Or if he's just like a late comer like Jet and Abigail are. But the man's nephew, Bastian, was the president of Argino Enterprises and the guy who signed his check, so Basion's like the head of it. So he'd called him, but Bastian had linked his call to Lucian, even as he told him that his uncle was leading the rescue effort that headed out to search for the plane that hadn't arrived in Toronto and had become apparent the plane had gone down. Unfortunately, it had taken time to locate the plane. There was a lot of cloud coverage north of the lodge where Jet and Quinn now were. The ceiling around the plane had ranged from 500 feet to one mile visibility and a zero foot ceiling. One eighth of a mile visibility. Okay, I understand those terms, but basically she's just saying you couldn't see shit unless you were directly upon it. And that's why they couldn't really locate the plane. But wasn't the transponder switch switched on? Maybe. The emergency locator that jet thought what's a fuck couldn't even deal with. And the helicopters had a circle, cross, circle, and circle over the air. Again to pinpoint where the ELT was coming from. Okay, well there's the transponder. But they finally located the plane. I'm sorry about Jet sorry about Jet. I'm sorry about Miller Jet, Bastion said. I know he's a good friend. I'm assuming Bastian's Italian. I don't do it in Italian accent. You know, I'm sorry about the Miller Jet, Bastion said now. I know he was the good friend. I'm not gonna do that ever again. Yeah, Jet murmured, swallowing thickly, and then his hand tightened on his phone as his head came up slightly. Did you say they're attending to Annika? She hadn't escaped her seat and got away from the area. No, Lucian was the one to answer his voice grim. I'm surprised his voice wasn't solemn. We are currently eleven pages in, and there's been no solemnly, so I'm expecting it to show up any second now. She was too badly hurt to get out of her seat. Her neck and back hell every bone in her body looks to have been broken, and the armrest of her chair were crushed around her body. She didn't have enough blood in her to heal half of her injuries and couldn't get out of her chair. So decapitation was the one surefire way to kill them. What was the other one? Dismemberment? I don't remember. That was a few chapters ago. Do they just go into like a stasis state where they're just a husk waiting for more blood? Because I know that's like a lot of the lore of of many Dracula stories, is that he'll be in his coffin for years kind of shriveled up and then he'll get like a little taste of blood and he'll go in. Or like in Underworld, where Bill Night's character, I forget his name. Anyways, he's uh gets the blood from yeah, he gets the blood from Kate Beckensdale and then kind of wakes up, but also gets the memories of her blood too, which is really kind of a cool thing with Underworld. But after that first Underworld, I think they just kind of trailed off and didn't get very good. Uh there was the one that was the prequel with um the same guy who was the head of the Volturi in Twilight. I forget his name, Michael something, the character or the actor. But he did really good in that one where he was the head of the werewolves, and it was all about how the vampires and the werewolves came together. So that one's actually pretty cool. But the rest of them, aside from one I didn't like at all. Jet thought that was the longest speech he'd ever heard Lucy and Arjuno give. He suspected that meant the man was been horrified by the state Annika had been in when they found her. Makes me wonder if she was basically like a hacky sack man, all completely broken up and and loose, you know, having all of her bones. How long is that gonna take to stitch back together? Not only that, but like is she gonna be conscious the whole fucking time? Like if you take an immortal and you basically make it so that every part of their insides is broken and they're jelly, are they gonna be conscious for all of that? And then if you restitch them back together, let's say if you break their skull up and like mash their brain up, and then the nanobots restitch all that back together, are they gonna be the same person or they're gonna have permanent damage? Because the nanobots can heal the body, but that's not saying anything about neurological damage. Sure, they can probably heal that, but how do you know? I mean, if you get like damaged enough in your head, so my dad, when I was working with him at the handicap school, there was a kid there who had been completely normal a couple years earlier that had been involved in a motorcycle accident, and he wasn't wearing a helmet, and it took him from a kid who was basically aspiring to go and do college basketball, and he was pretty talented at it in the high school level, got massive head injury, and all he could do was walk around, slap his own chest every once in a while, and shit his pants. That's it. It took uh you know, that type of damage took out his soul completely. Like he's probably still locked into there, but through his brain he couldn't access any of that. Is that type of damage recoverable with the nanobots? Can they just restitch all that back together? Because if she's to the point where she's that broken up, she's gonna have some bad neurological issues. Is that gonna work at all? And then like psychological trauma too. That's something that most people never fucking consider with something like that. That's one part of Elysium I really, really liked when Charter Copley's character got his face blown off by a fucking grenade, and they re-stitch his face back together through one of those machines that's on the ring, and then he's looking in a mirror and he's touching his face, and he's has clear fucking psychological trauma of having his face blown off, but still being conscious enough to know what the fuck was going on while his face is blown off. So he could hear everything, but he couldn't see anything and he couldn't say anything. Kind of reminds me too of a story that one of my good friends, the one well, anyways, he was in the initial invasion of Iraq in 2003, some of the first boots over the border, and he was telling me that there was one of the guys, the Republican Guard, that they ended up fighting and they shot. And this is a pretty grim story, so if you don't want to hear this, skip ahead. Um probably 30 seconds to a minute. They shot the guy, and then another guy popped up and they shot him, but they didn't kill them. And they basically their brains were leaking out, but they were still alive. So they took him to an aid station, they couldn't patch him up, so they sent them on. They took him to another place, well, they couldn't patch him up, but legally, according to the rules of war, from what he said, they were not allowed to kill them because they were disabled enemy combatants. So they had to drive them out into the middle of the desert and sit with them for two to three hours until they finally passed. And then they brought them back and presented their bodies to the Iraqis, which really fucking sucked for him. I can tell I could tell that really fucked him up. That would have fucked me up, man, too. So psych psychological trauma issues and shit like that. These books rarely ever fucking deal with. So I'm interested to know what the fuck's gonna happen there. Jet understood that but found himself grateful for it, and meant when less local immortal in the thrones of bloodlust to fight off if the rescuers didn't get here in time. How long can we expect you here? Jet asked. No, it's not what he says, guy. Come on, beanbag. How long until we can expect you here? Jet asked now. Where are you? Lucian asked abruptly. A fly in wildlife lodge called I know the name of the lodge, Lucian said dryly. You mentioned it earlier, but where the hell is it? I need coordinates. Oh, Jet turned to Jason, who was hovering next to him. They need here, just tell them how to find us. He said as he passed the phone to the man, it seemed more expedient than Jason. Oh yeah, it seemed more expedient than Jason giving Jet instructions and his passing them on. He suspected every second would count here. The streaks from outside were growing, nearer and coming more fevered. It was like the women knew they were closing in on their quarry. With that thought in mind, while Jason spoke on the phone, Jet moved to the window and peered out. There were no crazed immortals rushing towards the building. They were still in the woods making their way here, thank God, he thought. Then held his breath as he listened to the mournful sounds from outside, trying to sort out if the streaks were coming from just one woman or three or four. Had Lilia joined the pack or was she okay? Maybe she was fine and managed to keep at least Kira away and they'd only have two immortals to deal with. He wants to talk to you. Jack gave up his position by the window and moved to take back the phone. Fifteen minutes. That long, Jack squawked with alarm. We're in a helicopter, not a fighter jet, Lucian snapped, and you're a good fifty miles from where the plane crashed. Speaking of which, how did you manage to get that in fourteen hours over rough terrain? He asked. My immediate thought was fifty miles, that's not very far, but I for some reason was thinking that it was like two days worth, and he's just saying fourteen hours. So okay. Fifty miles in fourteen hours is pretty good, especially with like coasting down the river for a little while. Had it really only been fourteen hours, Jet wondered with amazement, even as he answered. Yeah, see, that's what I thought. I thought it was a lot longer than fourteen hours. Quinn carried me. Then what the hell took so long? Lucy embarked. Now yeah. She should have been able to cover that and she got hurt in the rapids, and we had to stop for a while, Jet interrupted, not willing to listen to criticism of the woman who had saved his life. Yeah also kind of like heavily petted each other and almost came. A long silence ran in his ears and Lucy asked, And is she there with you? Is she safe to be around? Yes. I gave her Jet paused a glance at Jason, then murdered. A medicine. Lucian understood and grunted to that news. Tell her we're on our way, but to do her best to hold them off until we arrive. I will, Jet murdered. Muttered. Why do I keep saying murdered when I see the word fucking muttered? But he was speaking to dead air, sighing he dropped the phone on the desk and stood up. How long did he say it would take for them to get here? Jason asked, anxiously following him to the door. Fifteen minutes, Jet said grimly. But that's how far away your friend thought those mental patients were, and that was five minutes ago, Jason, worried out. Jason pointed out wordly. Worriedly. Yeah, Jet said. I guess you better look for weapons. Weapons? Jason echoed with amazement. Yeah, it's fucking Canada, dude. So Canadian laws for guns are fucking ridiculous. Like I am fortunate to live in Utah, which, for the current time being, anyways, has some of some of the best gun laws in the country. Arizona, I think, is a little bit better. Alaska's probably the absolute best. Canada, though, is extremely totalitarian with their gun laws, and they don't want you to use them at all for defense. You have to apply to get um a permit per gun. And you also, I think, are limited to Yeah, magazine capacity on anything that takes a magazine, I think, is limited to five rounds. And so they'll weld pins in there. So you can have a 30-round magazine, but it has to be welded to only accept five rounds. It's stupid. You know, as if that's going to prevent gun crime issues. But then you have things like tubular magazines on lever actions and shotguns, perfectly fine for those to have as many rounds as you want. You have revolvers, well, can't exactly pin a revolver cylinder. You know, you can of can, but it doesn't really work very well. Those are perfectly fine. It's just because people think for some reason that changing magazines is going to facilitate killing more people, I guess, when in reality it doesn't quite work that way, or like limiting the number of rounds of the magazine. Long story short, I think Canadian gun laws are ridiculous ridiculous and retarded. But that's also coming from me who lives in a place where there's no legal restrictions on magazine size. If I could, I could have a 500-round drum. The thing would be prohibitively fucking heavy for my AR-15, but I could. And, you know, I kind of wish we would invade Canada and give them the same gun laws that we have in the Southwest. That would be awesome. Arm our neighbors to the north. They'll be the most polite while they're killing you. You ever heard of the Geneva Convention? Yeah. The Canadians are the reason it fucking exists. Canada is an extremely polite nation sometimes, but when it comes to war, they freak everybody the fuck out with how brutal they are. Weapons, Jason echoed with amazement, either shocked that Jet was bringing it up or shocked that he hadn't thought of it himself. Yeah, weapons, Jet said grimly. I'd ask for garlic and crosses, but those won't work unfortunately. Jason looked confused by his comment but said, We have a shotgun, a shotgun. Jet pursed his lips for a moment. A flamethrower would be more useful, but beggars can't be choosers. The reason that I said that about the Canadians is because in World War One, uh when the Germans were starving, they tossed them a bunch of bundles of food and the Germans grabbed them and ate them, and then they tossed them more food, and the Germans grabbed them and ate them. They tossed them more food, and the Germans went to grab them. And that's when the Canadians chucked the fucking hand grenades. They are insane when it comes to fucking warfare, man. Just the brutality, especially during World War II. Holy fuck, man. So now we're shifting back to Quinn. Here it is. Quinn halted beside Brittany, her eyes moving with interest over the steel cage at the very back of the room of the lodge basement. She'd expected one of those human-sized gerbil cages with thin lines of steel making up one square inches squares from top to bottom. But this cage looked more like a gel cell. It had still bars an inch in diameter running up and down the side every eight inches in both directions. But it was also a little more than six feet wide and about the same as deep. Not ideal to hold nine people. At one of the parties I was at a long time ago in the early 2000s, we stuffed, I think, ten of us into a shower, one of those standing showers. Now you gotta keep in mind too at the time I was like 325 pounds, so just slightly heavier than I am currently. And there was nine of us stuck into a shower. We got pretty close to some of our friends there. We just wanted to see if it were possible. It were. It might be tight, but I think we could all fit in, Brittany said, and Quinn looked at her with disbelief, seeing her expression. Brittany pulled briefly on her lower lip and then muttered, Well, I said it would be tight. Sighing Quinn turned a grim expression to the cage, wondering who would be dragged through one of those eight inch squares first, and if they'd survive it. You're not going to survive being dragged through an eight inch square, Quinn. Even an immortal, that would be hard pressed to do. Because they might all manage to squeeze in there if they moved everything presently in the cage out of it, but they wouldn't be able to get away from the sides, they'd be like fish in a barrel waiting to be snatched and dragged out one by one by the immortal women. Brittany, both women turned toward the dark haired young man entering the room, his tag read Sean and Quinn noted and uh his tag read Sean, Quinn noted as he joined them. Jason and the other guy are done with the call and looking for the two of you. Thanks, Sean, Brittany said, patting his shoulder as she moved past him. Then she paused and swung back to the hand to hand him a set of keys. Can you move all the boxes out of the booze box? All of them, he said, turning to stare at the cache of stacked boxes in the cage. Yes, Brittany said, then she frowned at Quinn sharply when she said no. I guess Quinn says no. Ignoring her, Quinn said, Stack a layer of boxes along the inside of the cage walls top to bottom and remove the rest. There's no way nine of us are gonna fit in there with a layer of boxes making it even smaller, Brittany protested. Alright, let me try that again. Quinn's voice. Stack a layer of boxes along the cage inside the walls, top to bottom and remove the rest. There's no way nine of us are gonna fit in there with a layer of boxes making it even smaller, Brittany protested. You'll have to manage it, Quinn said firmly. You really need those boxes between you and the mental patients, she finished grimly, and then turned to lead the way to the door, adding, Besides, there's only be eight of you. Eight even won't fit with the boxes lining the inside. You'll just have to hold your breaths and get really friendly, Quinn said firmly, noting that the woman hadn't asked who was it going to be inside the cage. Brittany started to follow her out of the room, but then paused to say, Work fast, Sean, I'll send the girls down to help you. Thanks, Britt, the young man said with a sigh of relief. He's already inside the cage, beginning to shift the crates around. We are just bouncing everywhere on parking perspective now. And we are twenty pages in on and there's no solemnly. What the fuck? Lindsay, have you broken yourself with that word? Very fucking unlikely. But having used it almost thirty fucking times in a hundred pages, what the fuck? There you are. Quinn stopped moving just inside the door to the front room, her gaze moving to the shotgun Jet was carrying as he turned from watching it out the window and rushed towards her. A last resort, it might slow them down a little, he said his gaze following her to the gun he carried. But then he raised his head and announced, Lucy and Arjuno is on his way up here to help. They already found the plane. Maybe it's just because I'm me, but if I had a shotgun in my hand, I wouldn't even explain it. I think people would just kind of expect that. I mean, I recently just got a space shotgun. It's a wonderful marvel of cocaine-fueled engineering out of Cocoa, Florida. And it's a KS7, which if you don't know guns, means absolutely nothing to you. But it looks like it quite literally came out of something like Starship Troopers. It's insane. I fucking love it. But people kind of just expect a guy like me to be carrying a shotgun around with them. And quite often I do. I have several of them. How long until they can get here? Quinn asked once. That's not Quinn's boy's beanbag. How long until they can get here? Quinn asked it once. He said fifteen minutes, Jack added with a grimace. But they had good news too. What's that, Quinn asked, not sure what good news would be at this point. What what? What Quinn asked, not sure what news could be good at this point. It's early in the morning for me. I wasn't feeling up to recording last night, so I actually just kind of slept. And now I'm recording early in the morning on Saturday, and I'm still not fully awake. But I'm going through the book pretty good just because I'm not doing as many tangents in this one. But just wait, that'll probably still come. We've got enough pages left. They have Annika. She never made it out of her seat. She was too badly injured to free herself. Oh, Quinn murmured. It was actually good news of a sort. At least it would be one less crazy. At least it would be one less. See what I told you, man. It's early mornings. At least it would be one less blood crazed immortal to deal with, she supposed, then asked. Did they mention seeing Kira or Lilia? Jet shook his head. We were doing so fucking well. We are what? Yeah, twenty almost twenty-one pages in. And the the most hated word of all time for me now showed the fuck up. Jet shook his head solemnly and Quinn sighed. I need to start doing a counter. But the problem with it is, is like I have no idea what the fucking count is. And I do I count where it says it in the book, or do I count all the times that I fucking say the word two? Not sure. Maybe in the master episode I'll just have to go through all of them, which is gonna be ridiculously long. It's gonna take me like a month, you know, not a month, but I'm fully expecting the master episode to be somewhere around twenty two, twenty-four hours, so it's gonna take me over a day to sit there and count solemnly. I could probably have AI do it, but AI fucks up constantly, so I can't trust that. Jet shook his head solemnly and Quinn sighed. So they would either have had two or four mortals to contend with, maybe three if Lilia hadn't been too badly hurt while trying to slow down the others. Good lord, she wished she knew which it would be. Another shriek came from outside and Quinn frowned at how close it sounded. They'd be here soon, and they if they weren't re already They'd be here soon if they weren't already. Jet Oh, sorry, I thought that was Quinn. Jet, Jason said suddenly. He glanced around in question. Yeah. A woman just came a woman just came out of the woods, and Jesus, how is she running so fast? Jason gasped. Quinn was moving before the man finished speaking. She barely reached him when the window shattered, fingers bent claw like bursting through the long bony Oh, through on long bony arms, reaching for him and missing him by a hair's breadth. Just as Quinn managed to tug Jason out of reach. My God, what is that? Brittany gasped with horror. Quinn was asking herself the same question. She'd never seen such emaciated figure in all of her life. It was like the nanos had eaten away more than just her blood. Perhaps there was so only so much what the fuck? Or perhaps there was just so much blood of the body you Oh man. Brain's not processing words on page. Let me try this again. It was like the nanos had eaten way more than just her blood, or perhaps there was just so much blood in the body that once it was all taken away, really removed from the veins, organs, and tissues, there was little left. The fingers, hands, and arms looked like bones with dried out grey skin stretched over them. She noted, and then the arms withdrew, an equally emanciated and badly scarred face pressed against the bars. So this is exactly what I was asking, the question. So she did kind of confirm a little bit of that. That they can dry up, and I guess that the blood power nanobots are using everything to repair all of that, but then now they just need blood to function and put juice back in the body, I guess. At first, Quinn thought it might be Kira. Her face had been clawed by the bear after all, but then she realized this woman's hair was darker and decided it must be Nika. Apparently, like Annika, Nika had taken a lot of damage too, aside from the crisscross scar on her face. Her neck was twisted slightly at an odd angle. It was one of her arms. Her body hadn't been able to fully repair herself. Well, as was one of her arms. Her body Hadn't been able to fully repair herself. The sound of another window breaking somewhere in the house made Quinn glance worriedly around, and then Nika said, G Ot cum G Ot. So I guess they're trying to get Jet to come outside to them. Naked Gun. One of my all-time favorite series. Here I go on another tangent. Strap in. This one's kind of fun. It's not going to be very long, though. I really like the first Naked Gun and the second one. The third one, not as much. And then when they and Police Squad, what it's based off of, I like quite a bit. When they remade the newest one with Liam Neeson and Pamela Anderson, there's a really funny sequence in the middle of it when they're in a cabin in the woods and they're kind of having their montage thing like Priscilla Presley and Leslie Nielsen did in the first one. And they create a snowman and then kind of have some fun with it, but then they exclude him and he decides to go on a rampage to kill them, and they end up having to beat them. So in the middle of a fucking comedy movie, it turns into a horror sequence, a cabin in the woods in the middle of winter. That's fucking hilarious. This is what it's kind of reminding me is where you have this romance book, and now all of a sudden they're at this lodge in the middle of the woods, and now it's turning into a horror film. It sounded like the woman was trying to talk around broken glass, Quinn thought, and then noticed she moved and then noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see with some shock the jet was moving toward the woman in the window, his face blank. So yeah, they know how to use their fucking powers. No, she screamed, leaping forward and catching his arm to pull him back before he could reach the window. Cursing then she shoved him toward the hallway, barking, out of the room now, all of you is Quinn gonna fucking fight these vampires these sheep hars? The other woman had returned from their task and joined them in the room. She saw they all stampeded for the hall, the staff members nearly mowing each other down out of their desperation to get out of the front room. Quinn couldn't blame them. She was an immortal herself, but she'd never seen her expected something like this. Nika looked like a monster. It crossed between a zombie and the vampire of myth, and that was enough to be and that was bad enough, but the immortal had also made Quinn aware of the problem she hadn't considered. She might not have been sensible enough to learn how to use and read and control mortals, but every one of the women about to try to claw their way into the building had. She didn't just have to protect Jet and the others from the women, she had to protect them from themselves too, or at least their inability to keep from being controlled by the women laying siege to the place. Block the door, she barked as Jet pushed into the hall, leaving the others to tend to it. She urged Jet to a chair outside the manager's office. Is that the cuck chair? And then I didn't worryly, when she saw the blankness lifting, now he's no longer Nika's view, so no longer in current control. So it's the line of sight, it sounds like. Or is it audio? Can you control somebody over long distance? Like if you had a phone, could you give them subliminal suggestions? I guess it wouldn't be subliminal at that point. Can you give them suggestions and control them over a long distance is what I'm asking. That's something I would really want to test. Like if you ended up somehow on a phone call with the president, could you control him? Or could you do a message first and then have them watch that video tape and then control them for that? Videotape where the fucking century are we in, motherfucker? The recorded message. Can you have them do that? Like if I was a vampire, one of these fucking nanobot bitches, and I made a YouTube video, could I incite people to do things over that YouTube video? It's an interesting thought that we'll never get an explanation for. Block the door, she barked as she pushed Jet into the hall, leaving the others to attend to it. She urged Jet oh. Quinn sighed and released him, and then she turned to see how the others were doing blocking the door in the hall. Quinn shook her head with dismay as she saw she as she saw all they'd done was jam a chair under it. That won't excuse me, it's Jet. That won't do, Jet said suddenly standing up beside her. I know, she said warily. We need something heavy or something several somethings heavy. Several heavy oh fuck me, dude. I can't read shit. English is my first language, and I still can't fucking read it. Or several somethings heavy. Why don't we just go down to the cage? That it was Jet as Brittany. Fuck, I'm all over the place with the voices. This is why the only two I want to do voices for Jet and Quinn. Why don't we just go down to the cage, Brittany said anxiously, already sliding toward the basement door. Because we need to slow them down long enough for help to get here, Quinn said quietly. If we just head down to the cage without putting obstacles in their way, help might not reach us in time. There were filing cabinets in the manager's office, Jet said suddenly. You'll never move those, Jason said with dismay. They're chock full of papers and weigh a ton. Perfect, Quinn said grimly. Moments later, she and Jet had moved all three filing cabinets from the manager's office to stack them in front of the door. Quinn could have moved them herself, but as Jet had pointed out, a display of strength like that might have freaked out their host, and they were already freaked out enough from seeing Nika in the shape she was presently in. Quinn didn't want them scared of her too, so she took one end and huh? So he took one end and she took the other end as they shifted them. She wasn't foolish enough to think the filing cabinets would stop Nika and the others from getting through the door, but it might slow them down a little, hopefully enough to allow Lucy and Arjuno and the others enough time to get here. It was their only chance. I don't hear anything out here anymore. Jet murdered. Fuck, why do I keep seeing murdered? Muttered. Quinn glanced across the filing cabinet. They just sat down and then straightened and listened. She didn't hear Nika out in front anymore either, she realized. She shared a concerned glance with him. Maybe she's trying to get it in another way. The words had barely left her mouth when the sound of breaking glass brought small yelps from a couple of women cowering further up the hall. That came from my office, Jason said anxiously. There's a cell Fuck you, Lindsay, I just read slightly ahead. Fuck, that's two now. There's a cell made up of steel bars downstairs, Quinn told Jet solemnly. Detest that fucking word. I will never use that in any of my writings ever. Because of this fucking book. It's like her go to word. They call it the booze box because it's where they keep the booze when the other exp and the other expensive items fuck me. I think the crossbars might make it strong enough to keep Nick and the others out or at least slow them down. How much time is left on the fifteen minutes until help gets here? Jack glances his wrist watch and then frowned and tapped the watch face before letting his wrist drop with a sigh. Okay. So the next line is a dip in the river must have killed it. This is the first time he's been looking at his watch since he got the fifteen minute thing from Bastian or Lucian or whoever the fuck he talked to. He didn't look at his watch immediately to understand when fifteen minutes would be. This is the first time he's looking at it. It's been dead the entire fucking time, and he's just noticing that now. The military lives and dies on time. He's a fighter pilot. Looking at the watch and having a good innate sense of time is a requirement for all the shit that he went through. And he's only now looking at his fucking watch. That era got banged around at some point since the crash. It's reading the same time as it did when I finished the call. Oh, okay. So I just went through that entire rant, not realizing that his watch had just stopped. I thought he couldn't look at it at all. Well, fuck me, I guess. But I guess you probably have at least another five to ten minutes. Giot, help me, Giot. Quinn shuddered as Nika's garbled cry reached them, muffled from the manager's office, but then turned with concern to the young women cowering together up the hall when a couple of them burst into tears. Downstairs, Jet said firmly, picking up the shotgun he'd set aside while they moved the filing cabinets. He took Quinn's arm and urged her away from the door. They'd just blockaded. They had to pass the door to the office to get to the others, and Quinn eyed it warily as they hurried by, quite sure the door would crash open any moment and they'd be under attack. Move, people, Jet growled once they made their way past the door to the manager's office and were approaching the group. Downstairs now. But we'll be trapped down there. That terrible protest came from the girl Jason and called Jeanette earlier. But several of the others nodded and seemed reluctant to move. We're getting in the booze box, Brittany announced reassuringly, giving a couple of the girls a push to get them moving. We'll be safe in there. We won't all fit, another girl worried even as she stumbled toward the basement. Yes, we will. Sean is moving the booze crates out, Brittany said, and then glanced back to Quinn with dismay. I suppose I send some girls down to help. She didn't wait for a response from her. Yes, she forgot. Which is understandable. But then began hustling the girls under her charge along more swiftly, saying, Come on, hurry, he might need help. We have to get the crates out to make room. We have to be we'll be much safer in there. Much to Quinn's relief, that seemed to calm the other girls and get to get them moving more quickly. Even Jason abandoned Quinn and Jet and ran to catch up with them as they hustled to the door to the basement and rushed down. Go make sorry, this is Quinn. Go make sure they leave a line of crates around the walls of the cell, Quinn suggested, Moot slowing to a stop at the door of the basement. It'll mean you guys will most likely be standing on top of each other, but you'll need to place the Ho ho ho Language is hard. It'll mean you guys will most likely be standing on top of each other, but you'll need them in place to keep Nika and the others out from being able to grab you and try to pull you through the bars. Jet nodded with an arching eyebrow. What are you gonna do? I'll try to slow them down up here if they get inside, she said quietly. Oh hell no, Jet said grimly, urging her forward again. We won't put I'll put it in the cell, Jet, and if I can slow them down, then you can slow them down outside the cell, he countered grimly. I want you where I can see you. I don't want to be downstairs worrying that they're ripped your head off or something. Quinn didn't protest again. She supposed she could stand guard outside the cell, as well as upstairs. Besides, she wasn't eager to do that at all. It was just something one had to do as the only immortal present, she had the best chance of surviving an attack by the women. Yeah, but in their current crazed bloodlust state, you also, like Jet said, might get your head ripped off by them. No, no, leave the crate Shauna stacked against the bars, Brittany was saying when Quinn led Jet into the very back room in the basement where the booze box was. It seemed the assistant manager had changed her mind on their being necessary now that she'd seen what they were contending with. Quinn supposed she was imagining Nika's grey snake like snake like arms and clawed fingers reaching through the bars to grab to tear at them. Don't be ridiculous, Brittany. There won't be enough room for all of us at the crates, Jason said impatiently. They'll have to be, Brittany said sharply. We can sit on each other's laps as necessary, but those crates need to stay. Or do you want to be one of the outside group with nothing stopping that thing upstairs from reaching through the bars and clawing at you? It was all she had to say, mouth thinning Jason and the others sat down the crates. They'd started removing and turned their attention to the ones in the center instead. With all of them working it took less than a moment to remove the remaining crates, and then the small group began to crowd inside the center of the cage. You two sorry, that's Quinn. You too, Quinn said. You too, Quinn said when Jet remained by the door where he'd taken up position to watch the basement halper or their pursuers approach. We need to blockade this door first, Jet murmured, pushing it closed. Wondering why she hadn't thought of that herself, Quinn nodded and glanced around. The only things the room with any weight of them were the crates, the alcohol that had been removed from the cell. She and Jet worked quickly, carting the crates over and stacking them in front of the door. She suspected it was a waste of energy. The crates wouldn't slow them down for more than a second or two. It would take to push the door open with the added weight, but it was better than nothing. Worried about the Russians reaching them at any moment, Quinn didn't bother hiding her strength. Carting the crates stacked four or more high compared to two or three Jet can manage. She heard murmurings that caused among people, crowd outside the cell who could see but ignored it. So Jet's got like three crates at a go. She's got four more. I would expect her to have even more, but with her small stature, she probably can't lift them just because it would be awkward. It's like when you get a really long box, it's not heavy to lift, it's just unbalanced and gainly. Ungainly? Yeah, ungainly. That's the last crate, Jet said grimly as he set it down. Quinn nodded. You need to get in the cell with the others now. Jet frowned and hesitated, his gaze sliding from the door to her to the cell, and then shook his head and hefted the shotgun he'd held. I'll stay out in here and help you. You can't help me, Jet, she fucking third time fucking not existent charm. I want to just burn this book now. You can't help me, Jet, she said solemnly. It's not an act either. I am legitimately frustrated over the use of the fucking word so fucking much. They can control you, but look, she interrupted. If you're making her lose her temper, I'm not some black belt fighter like my sister. Oh, so Pep is a black belt. Okay, why not? And I'm not saying that's unrealistic, I'm just saying, you know, this is other stuff. It's like in there's an anime, an Isekai anime called Gate, where a gate opens up in Tokyo and they invade Ginza district, and then the JSSDF, the Japanese self-defense, strategic self-defense force, is that what it's called? I think that's what it's called. Fights back, and then they end up invading the land, and there's a character in the name of Tommy who's the main character. But all the stuff, like he's apparently special forces, and he's got all these certifications and all these things, and it never comes up organically. It's not like, yeah, you know, he's listed with all this stuff. It's just like whenever the story needs it to be convenient, he all of a sudden has this all this extra training, and he's all of a sudden been through all this extra shit, and it's just fucking annoying. It's like the story needs it to be convenient right now that Quinn is saying that Petronella has a black belt and she's not like her. Legitimately, yeah, that's probably, you know, in the context of the story, Petronella probably is a black belt. Probably was that before she got turned into a vampire by a tomato. But it's just one of those annoying conveniences that is only relevant for the moment and then is never discussed again. I've never even been near a fight before this. I'm gonna be it's gonna be tricky enough. Someone's gonna be tricky enough. Fuck me. I've never even been in a fight before this. It's gonna be tricky enough without my having to worry about keeping you from shooting me in the back or going one to one of them while I'm fighting another. Just get in the damn cell and let me do what I can. I would hope Jet's got enough control to not shoot her in the back. But everything I've seen might not be the smartest thing. I mean, you know, heat of the moment and all that, and I don't know how many combat situations he's been in, if ever. And being around a lot of military personnel has taught me that even though they get a lot of good training, it's up to the person to kind of carry through with that. Proper discipline, you know, finger off the trigger, don't aim at anything, you're not willing to destroy that type of shit. I would say the good majority of them do not fucking care and flag you constantly. Flagging just means when you're moving a gun and the barrel goes over somebody. Like if I have a pistol in my hand and I'm talking to somebody and I move the pistol over, and that person is between me and the pistol, and that pistol points at them for a brief second, that's flagging. That's a severe violation of firearm safety rules. And when I went and got that space shotgun, the guy who was showing it to me flagged all of his co-workers with the gun. Was it unloaded? Sure. Did I know that for sure? No. Did he know that for sure? No, but he assumed. But you still need to treat every firearm like it's loaded and can kill. Because if you don't, it shows an inherent disrespect for the firearm and the people that are around you in the vicinity, and that's when accidents happen. That's when you have discharges when you're not intending to, and people die from that. So Jet having a shotgun in the heat of the moment and firing and shooting Quinn in the back is entirely plausible because that's exactly what fucking happened to me when a friend that I took dove hunting dick chanied me. The short of that story is he'd never really been dove hunting before. He was following a dove, and we were far enough apart that he should have been cognizant to where I was. And he had been, but he was so focused on the dub he wasn't paying attention to how he was aiming the shotgun. By the time he pulled the trigger, I got a load of bird shot in my shoulder and my lower neck. I was far enough away that it only went just barely under the skin, but it bled. It fucking hurt. It felt like somebody smacked me in the shoulder and the neck with a board full of a bunch of little hot nails. And I ended up packing up everything, drove him to his house, drove to the hospital, and they picked bird shot out of my shoulder and my neck. I fucking sucked. It could have been really bad too, had it hit him in my arteries, I put a blood out out there. So if you're gonna use firearms, just be safe with them. It takes a huge level of personal responsibility to not only own, but to use a firearm, especially around other people. And personal responsibility is my biggest thing because so many people just completely fucking disregard it. Concerned creasing the corners of his eyes, Jet nodded, handed her the shotgun, and started to turn toward the cell. But then paused and swung back, much to her amazement, he grabbed her by the upper arms, dragged her up against his chest, and bent to kiss her. Which is gonna be a feat in of itself because she's so fucking small, he's basically gonna have to kind of half crouch to do that to give her any type of kiss if it's not directly on the top of her forehead. Just like head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. If you're old enough and you watched infomercials at night, you'll remember that, and you'll fucking hate me now. And I'm laughing because fuck you. But thank you for listening. Quinn suspected that he had meant it to be a very swift kiss, a peck really, meant to convey his gratitude, his worry, and every other emotion they were all experiencing. But they were life mates, and that's not confirmed yet, but I guess you have a choice in that. Or at least they were something, Quinn acknowledged, because despite the situation and the terror of the moment, the second his lips touched hers, the world melted away and they were cleaning, trying desperately to devour each other right then and there between the frightened people in the cell and the blockaded door. Okay, for a second I thought they were in the cell kissing and they were trying to fuck each other in the cell around the people. It was a crash from the floor above that finally had them breaking the kiss. They're inside, Quinn paint painted. They're inside, Quinn panted, her fingers tightening on a shotgun um they're inside, Quinn panted, her fingers tightening on the shotgun she held between them. She then stepped back out of his hole. You better get in the cell. See, I want to know what fucking shotgun it is. I know Lindsay Sands does not give a fuck. She will not go into detail, but if I was writing this part of the story, I would tell exactly what type of shotgun it was. And it being Canada and a lodge, I would probably put the shotgun at something like Ooh, Mossberg 500 with maybe an 18.5 inch barrel and an extended tube magazine to have like eight rounds and a synthetic stock. Maybe the Mariner version because it's uh more moist and that way you don't have to worry about rust as much because it has a stainless steel and chrome lined barrel. But she doesn't care about that. And so me being a gun guy, I want to know exactly what type of fucking shotgun it is. But to her, a shotgun is a shotgun. To me, I go fucking crazy for the details. Jet's mouth thinned, but he didn't argue this time and allowed her to urge him into the cell. The people inside were pretty much on top of each other already, but managed to make enough room for him to squeeze in. Quinn closed the door behind him and then frowned and glanced up at the people inside. How do I lock this? There's a padlock on the shelf against the wall, Sean told her. Quinn found it and quickly locked the cell door closed, trying to ignore the fact that the door was only part of the cell that was not protected by stacks of crates, and Jet was pressed up against it. There's nothing we can do about it now, he said quietly when she raised her distress to his gaze. Go on, I have faith in you. Quinn managed a crooked smile and then turned to face the barricaded door to the room. She raised the shotgun to aim at the door and then bit her lip. The door was a good fifteen feet away and she'd never used a shotgun before. Mm-hmm. I understand that. She'd probably miss anyone coming through the door at this range. Wow. She thought unhappily and moved closer, stopping ten feet from the door for a moment before moving another couple feet toward it. Hmm for just a second there. Just a modicum of time. I was about to praise Lindsay Sands, but I don't know if I'm going to. Most people think shotguns immediately open up into a cone of shot. And so you can be just a few feet from somebody and hit every single part of their body. They don't realize that yeah, shotguns do spread, but the spread's not nearly as much as they think. And when it spreads out, it also loses a lot of power over time and distance. So had I been within like 10 yards, 30 feet of somebody when they shot me with that shotgun, that you know, friend of mine, I probably would be dead if it hit where it hit. But because I was around 25 to 30 yards, which is ninety feet there or l you know, more or less, it just went under the skin. That's about it. But you know, it shotguns are really close range weapons unless you're using slugs, which I'm assuming they're not gonna be using slugs, they're probably gonna be using buckshot. I hope they're going to be using buckshot and not birdshot. Well, birdshot will just make more holes in a vampire. Buckshot will at least slow them down a little bit more. And then maybe you should have like consecrated silver shot or something like that, which would be even better to shoot them with. But I don't think the nanobot vampires are allergic to silver in this one, so that wouldn't make any sense. But what I was getting at is that then she moves closer to the door, but she's not realizing that at that distance you basically have no spread, so you need to be a hundred percent on target with the shotgun. Just a little bit off, you're gonna miss entirely. Deciding that was close enough, Quinn raised the gun again and aimed for the center of the door, and then she held her breath and listened for any sound that could tell her where the Russians were. She heard movements upstairs, it sounded like running feet, and then another mournful shriek reached them, as well by a loud scraping sound overhead. I'm also yeah, you know, center mass is probably the best in this because she just wants to slow him down, she doesn't want to kill him. You could Kurt Cobain it and hit him in the head, but that would probably kill them instantly. It'd be a form of decapitation, enough of the brain's gone, or separation of it. That's the filing cabinets, Jason no, that's Jason. That's the filing cabinets, Jason said, as a voice naturally unnaturally high. Well, I'm not gonna do an unnaturally high voice, so fuck that. She heard Jack curse and someone else praying, and listened to the thundering footsteps overhead, move toward the back of the building more slowly than she expected. They were searching each room, her guess was as she listened, it seemed like a decade had passed when she noticed the noises were coming from somewhere outside the door to the room they were in. Then the crates began to shake and tremble as the door opened, pushing them across the floor. Quinn closed her eyes and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. The weapon jumped in her arms, jerking back sharply into her shoulder. Wincing at the pain, she opened her eyes and blinked when she found herself staring at Lucy and Argineau. The man wasn't looking at her, though. He was staring down the huge hole in his shoulder where she shot him, raising his head, he arched one eyebrow at her. Somehow I expected you to be happier to see us. Oh shit, Quinn breathed and then dropped the gun. That's chapter six. Got through that pretty quick. I think it's mainly just because I wanted to get through it as fast as I could and get to I wouldn't say more interesting material, but other material. But you know what? We introduced a whole bunch of other people. Now they're gonna have to explain vampires to them. Now they're probably gonna be brought into the original fold. The lodge probably is gonna get bought out by Lucian, and then these people will probably be given the option to turn into vampires, and I'm surprised they didn't get up to an alcohol-fueled orgy in the middle of the booze box. Well, chapter six is done. Join us next week for chapter seven. Uh we only had three solemnlies this time, but my fuck, man, why does she keep using that fucking word? It's so ridiculous. It just makes me want to engage in a boo booze fueled cage orgy myself, just so I could fucking forget it.