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part seven

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William thought distantly that he should have felt overcome, but somehow desperation had cleared his mind. The darkness was complete around the stone arch through which they ran. Dawn could not see, but William's eyes were designed for the night, and he lead her by the arm.

They could hear panting breaths and rustling motions behind them in the distance.

"Here," said William, gesturing ahead to where the tunnel split off into two sections. Metal gridded gates hung open. They ran to the right and closed the grid. Water slicked the stones beneath them. It smelled of acrid mildew and stale air.

"It won't stop them very long," Dawn said, "And we'll be lost in here."

"We just have to keep moving," he responded.

And they ran on.

---

Buffy and Xander walked in the darkness of the forest. She shook her head.

"Xander, go home, I won't tell you again."

"You're stuck with me. I absolutely can't take a hint."

She stopped, turn to him. Her eyes were glazed with tears.

"You'll die-- if they are waiting, and we aren't ready, I might not be able to protect you. Xander, you have to go, you have to--"

"Hey it's my choice, and I'm not leaving you alone."

His words were lost on her. She sat down on a log, put her head in her hands a moment and sighed.

"They're not back here, and this is exactly where I lead them. Why can't I find them Xander? I need to be able to..."

"Buff, calm down a moment. Breathe."

"I have to do it, it's my responsibility and I screwed it up again."

"It's done, we just need to move on, ok? Do what needs doing. Let's retrace our steps. We'll find them, give them the old fashioned arse kicking we all know and love, and there's no foul, right?"

He pulled her to her feet, looking into the black distance before them.

---

The sound of crashing metal echoed through the still air.

"Oh God," Dawn said. She felt a tear run down her cheek. She couldn't think of anything, and let him guide her, glad for the strength of his presence beside her.

"This way," was all he responded. Somehow he felt removed, remote from the darkness around him, and yet focused on everything within that dark. The antiquated cobblestones, the still pools of water. The round, solemn openings to intersecting passages.

They ran left into a smaller, intersecting passage. It opened again on another main vein. They ran right, and he pulled her again into another one of the small intersecting tunnels. For a moment, his vision blurred, the dull pain that had become constant flared. He shook his head, tried to clear it away. This wasn't the time.

A sharp whine echoed in the distance. A musical response followed, and a harsh, guttural howl after that. He ignored the sounds, pulled her left. She gasped, holding back a sob.

He felt a moment of pity for her fear.

"This way, bit."

"What?"

"This way."

---

How did she miss it before? A deep depression in the earth of a freshly dug grave. The wide swath of soil marked by the passing of a pack.

"They went that way," she said, pointing to the back of the cemetery.

---

"This way," he whispered. It was a litany. Dawn focused on the rhythm of his voice, as he pulled her through the pitch black. She tried to exclude anything else from her mind, forcefully ignoring the burning pain in her legs.

The little world of stone and archways moved past his vision. Everything was the same, he could hardly imagine they had actually made any progress. Just the same tunnel, over and over again.

Dawn was running blind, tripped over a loose stone, and he deftly caught her before she fell. And he saw something.

Just initials, spray painted on a stone near the floor. The letters 'IG,' and a circle. There was something about them, he had seen them, wondered where they'd come from in the past.

And he remembered where he was, and what he had planned for in this place.

He stopped Dawn, pulled her in the opposite direction. He ignored the growing fire in his veins, the deep web of pain moving below his skin. He would not let that blood hunger control him.

And they ran strait through the passage for a long while, then he suddenly pulled her to the right with a new purpose in his movements.

---

It was with a dull horror Buffy stood in the door to Spike's crypt, saw the mud tracked on the stones. Beyond, the broken bookshelf. Dawn's book bag, tossed carelessly aside.

"Look Buffy, it's ok, we'll find her."

"She brought him here..." she whispered, understanding. She suddenly felt lost, dizzy. But she couldn't lose her bearings, not now.

"Come on," she said, standing with conviction, moving the shards of wood from the stairwell, heading for the tunnels.

---

They streamed together through the dark, following the trail. Each moment it grew stronger. Down the long, wide corridor they bolted, knowing they were close.

They paused. Around them were a number of passageways. The silver male sniffed the opening to one. He could smell running water. The white male, the two black pelted females and the rest, they could smell it too, from all the passages. They converged. They could surround their prey, and knew this was they way it had run.

With a simple motion, they all looked at each other, and then at the tunnels. And they separated, and ran.

---

William waited, and knew he didn't have long to wait. The air was fresh and cool here, where the tunnels converged together. There were grates at the ceiling, through which dark patches of sky were visible. Water flowed in a gentle current across the floor, a few inches deep.

The creatures were new to this place, but he knew it, and the advantage was all he had. Dawn waited behind him, versed in what she should do. She was worried for him, knew he had planned this so that, should he not survive, she might have a chance to escape before they pursued her. She solemnly closed her eyes a moment, and inhaled deeply in the thick silence.

He had been nervous, he might not have remembered correctly. But the wires were in place. He checked the stone in the wall. Five from the bottom, three from the left of the tenth support. For a moment, he hesitated. He might be wrong. The blood hunger might be turning his brain, making him remember what he did not. But it was loose. He removed the revolver from behind it. It felt familiar to his hand.

He stood in the center of the passage. In front of him was a semi-circle of black, circular openings. Beyond these, the passage narrowed, and there he stood, waiting. And then, a soft wimper, a bark. He felt a dull tingling in his veins, anticipation. He knew this. He knew this well.

He had only turned back to face the tunnels when the shapes, perfectly timed, emerged from them as one moving force. They paused a moment, focusing on the man before them, standing, calmly waiting. They were silent as they leapt forward in one motion, springing ahead with all their force. The water splashed up white around them.

And he pulled the tripwire that lowered the grate. And then he bolted forward, and they bolted with him. Dawn lowered the second and it fell in place behind him, knocking a wolf back with its force, crushing another under its iron weight. The others immediately began to push with their snouts against the bottom of the grating, lifting it where the body held it above the floor.

One had made it through, and landed with him, its claws on his back. He felt it tear the flesh. And he let go. The pain in his veins drove him forward, buried his hands in its chest, tearing.

He turned, rolled with it, tore with it. It was a sharp and exquisite pain.

He snarled, he could feel the blood all around him in pools, flowing in the gentle current. The wolf's, his own, and still he tore into it with bear teeth and hands. It could not kill him in the way it sought.

And he rolled to the top, could not hear Dawn cry out to him, seized the loose stone from the ground and crushed the life from the beast below him.

He could not see the extent of his injury. He stood, enveloped in the instinctual rage. He took the pistol from where it lay, raised it, and fired into the barking mass before him, hitting his targets where they leapt and snarled.

He blacked out a moment, swayed with an ominous pain.

And he could see again. The cool air flowed gently around him, the water's moving was a soft music in the night.

He was covered in blood, his face, his hands. There was a dark mass of matted fur before him. He saw what he had done as he collapsed to his knees. Dawn rushed up to his side.

"Spike!" she cried.

"My God..." he whispered, softly.

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