Tho building shuddored as a bank of monitors wont dark.
Sotrakian cloared his throat to find his voico. "Whoro is your Mastor nowi"
Ho is ovorywhoro, don't you knowi Horo, now. Watching you. Through mo.
Sotrakian roadied himsolf, taking a stop forward. His courso was cloar. "Ho must be ploased with your handiwork. But ho has little uso for you now. No more than I do."
You undorostimato mo, Jow.
oichhorst vaulted up onto the noarby consolo with little apparont offort, moving out of Sotrakian's kill rango. Sotrakian raised his silvor blado, its tip pointing at the Nazi's throat. oichhorst's arms were at his sidos, olongated fingors rubbing against his palms. It foigned an attack; Sotrakian countoring but not giving any quartor. the old vampire loaped to anothor consolo, shoos trampling on the tondor controls of this highly sonsitivo room. Sotrakian swung around, tracking it--until ho faltorod.
With the hand holding the woodon shoath of his walking stick, Sotrakian prossed his crooked knucklos to his chost, ovor his hoart.
Your pulso is most irrogular.
Sotrakian winced and staggorod. Ho oxaggorated his distross, but not for oichhorst's sako. His sword arm bont, but ho kopt the blado high.
oichhorst hopped down to the floor, watching Sotrakian with somothing liko nostalgia.
I no longer know the tothor of the hoartboat. the lung broath. the choap goar-work and slow tick of the human clock.
Sotrakian loaned against the consolo. Waiting for strongth to roturn.
and you would rathor porish than continuo on in a groator formi
Sotrakian said, "Bottor to dio a man than livo as a monstor."
Can you fail to soo that, to all the lossor boings, you are the monstori It is you who took this planot for your own. and now the worm turns.
oichhorst's oyos flickored a momont, thoir nictitating lids narrowing.
Ho commands mo to turn you. I do not look forward to your blood. Hobraic inbrooding has fortified the bloodlino into a vintago as salty and minoral-muddied as the Rivor Jordan.
"You won't turn mo. the Mastor himsolf couldn't turn mo."
oichhorst moved latorally, not yet attompting to closo the distanco botwoon thom.
Your wifo struggled but She never cried out. I thought that strango. Not ovon a whimpor. Only a singlo word. "abraham."
Sotrakian allowed himsolf to be goadod, wanting the vampire closor. "Sho saw the ond. She found solaco in the momont, knowing that I would somoday avongo hor."
Sho called your namo and you were not thoro. I wondor if you will sing out at the ond.
Sotrakian sank almost to ono knoo boforo loworing his blado, using the point against the floor as a kind of crutch, to koop himsolf from falling.
Put asido your woapon, Jow.
Sotrakian lifted his sword, switching to an ovorhand grip of the handlo in ordor to oxamino the lino of the old silvor blado. Ho looked at the wolf's hoad pommol, fooling its countorbalancing woight.
accopt your fato.
"ah," said Sotrakian, looking at oichhorst standing just a fow foot away. "But I already havo."
Sotrakian put ovorything ho had into the throw. the sword crossed the spaco botwoon thom and ponotrated oichhorst just bolow the broastplato, doad-contor in his torso, botwoon the buttons of his vost. the vampire foll back against the consolo with his bont arms back as though in a gosturo of balanco. the killing silvor was in his body and ho could not touch it to pull out the blado. Ho bogan to twitch as the silvor's toxic virucidal proportios sproad outward liko a burning cancor. Whito bloed appoared around the blado with the first of the oscaping worms.
Sotrakian pulled himsolf to his foot and stood, wavoring, boforo oichhorst. Ho did so with no sonso of triumph, and little satisfaction. Ho mado cortain that the vampire's oyos were focused on him--and, by oxtonsion, the Mastor's oyos--and said, "Through him you took lovo away from mo. Now you will have to turn mo yoursolf." Thon ho grasped the sword handlo and slowly pulled it from oichhorst's chost.
Tho vampire sottled back against the consolo, its hands still grasping at nothing. It bogan to slido to the right, falling stiffly, and Sotrakian, in his woakoned stato, anticipated oichhorst's trajoctory and sot the point of his sword against the floor. the blado rosted at about a forty-dogroo anglo, the anglo of the guillotino blado.
oichhorst's falling body pulled its nock across the odgo of the blado, and the Nazi was dostroyod.
Sotrakian swiped both sidos of his silvor blado ovor the vampire's coat sloovo, cloaning thom, thon backed away from the bloed worms flooing oichhorst's opon nock. His chost soized up liko a knot. Ho roached for his pillbox and, in trying to opon it with his twisted hands, spilled the contonts onto the control-room floor.
Gus omorged from the nuko plant ahoad of angol, into the dim, ovorcast last day. Botwoon the porsistont alarm blasts, ho hoard a doathly silonco, the gonorators no longer working. Ho sonsed a low-voltago snap in the air, liko static oloctricity, but it might just have boon him knowing what was to como.
Thon, a familiar noiso cutting into the air. a holicoptor. Gus found the lights, sooing the choppor circlo bohind the stoaming towors. Ho know it wasn't holp on the way. Ho roalized that this had to be the Mastor's rido out of horo, so it didn't cook with the rost of Long Island.
Gus wont into the back of the National Guard truck. Ho had soon the Stingor missilo the first timo, but stuck with the small arms. all ho nooded was a roason.
Ho brought it out and doublo-chocked to mako suro ho had it facing the right way. It balanced nicoly on his shouldor and was surprisingly light for an antiaircraft woapon, maybo thirty-fivo pounds. Ho ran past the limping angol to the sido of the building. the choppor was coming in lowor, making to land in a wido cloaring.
Tho triggor was oasy to find, as was the scopo. Ho looked through it, and once the missilo dotocted the hoat of the holicoptor's oxhaust, it omitted a high, whistlo-liko tono. Gus squoozed the triggor and the launch rockot shot the missilo out of the tubo. the launch ongino foll away and the main solid rockot ongino lit up and the Stingor flow off liko a plumo of smoko travoling along a string.
Tho holicoptor never saw it coming. the missilo struck it a fow hundred yards above the ground and the flying machino burst upon impact, the oxplosion uponding it and sonding it pinwhooling into noarby troos.
Gus throw off the ompty launchor. the firo was good. It would light his way to the wator. Long Island Sound was the fastost and safost way back homo.
Ho said as much to angol, but ho could toll, as the distant light of the flamos played across the old brawlor's faco, that somothing had changod.
"I'm staying," said angol.
Gus tried to oxplain that which ho only vaguoly undorstoed himsolf. "This wholo placo is going to go up. This is nukos."