The rapid clack of the tasers bounce between Edward and Jacob as they wield the electronic. Between them and the door of the room, a group of five silvery anadas stand in shallow water coating the tile. As the light of the sinking moon falls through the broken window, their pale eyes shine as angry as the hatchets formed in their hands.
The dirty tile is slick under Edward's boots, coated in a thin film of rain water falling through the glass shards. He steps anxiously from side to side, his eyes darting from the water at his feet to the anadas ahead. He doesn't know what they'll do, and he doesn't know if there are any more hiding in the water around them.
"Those things are creepy," Jacob says. His voice shakes slightly, mixing with the gentle splashes underfoot.
"A bit," Edward says. The clicking of his taser overpowers the words as he shifts forward, reacting to the threatening lunge of the anada. The creature glides along the top of the water, giving a gurgly snarl.
The stand-off has lasted longer than Edward wants. It's well after midnight, the team is divided with limited communications, and they have yet to find the utlunta. Burgeoning within him, a stupid want to rush through the creatures grows. To tase away at their gnashing and hacking with a slim hope he'll escape unscathed.
"We need Emmett," Jacob says, apparently thinking of a similar plan.
"Yeah." Edward frowns to himself, his head rushing with thoughts that don't rely on a healing ability that's not present. In the neighboring building, he hears the muffled blasts of multiple gunshots. The sounds seems to briefly draw the anada's attention.
"Fuck it," he finally says with exasperation. "Shoot'em."
With one hand, Jacob slides his taser in to his vest and levels the machine gun to his hip with the other. A trigger squeeze and the small room explodes with noise and flashing light. The noise ebbs and flows as Jacob sporadically lets up on his assault, angry cracks of bullets followed by undying echoes. Paint and cement chips off the walls around and behind the anadas at it draws their attention. One disappears in surprise; the eyes of the others narrow.
The idea hits him and in an instant, Edward's rifle is hanging behind him and he's lunging forward. He lands hard on the wet tile, the ARMS digging in to his chest as momentum carries him towards the group of creatures. He activates his outstretched taser, the noise hidden by gunfire, and slides in to the legs of the closest anada.
Debris and water cover his body in a gritty film as he rapidly tases the remaining monsters. Each explodes into a cloud of steam and droplets. The whir of the bullets flying overhead, the smash as they impact the walls around him, create a potpourri of sounds with spurts of anguished cries.
It takes Jacob a moment before he realizes they've disappeared. Thick vapors hang in the air. Moonbeams cut through the cloud, throwing shadows on the wall as it shifts. He lowers his weapon, his face lose and blank at Edward lying prone on the floor.
"Shit, sir," he says with a chuckle. "Did you plan that?"
"Not really," a satisfied laugh leaking from his throat. With the taser in his hand, he presses himself off the ground. The water is warm and sticky against his palms.
Before his arms are fully extended, the chilling hand of an anada burst in to his face. Its claws in to the skin of his cheeks, burning hotter the deeper they go. With an overpowering twist of its wrist, it slams Edward back on his stomach. The impact loosens his grip on the taser which clatters beyond his reach.
At a sprint, Jacob pulls out his taser and shocks the watery limb. The liquid tingles and heats against Edward's skin before the pressure disappears with a burst.
Wrapping his fingers around the ARMS spine, Jacob yanks Edward off the ground and to a standing position. Water, paint, and dust speckle his body and hair in an uneven patchwork. Trickles of blood leak from the punctures circling his face.
"You good?" Jacob asks.
"Yeah," Edward says, still breathing heavily from surprise. "Let's go."
Their flashlights lead the way as they continue along the second floor. Nearing each closed, decrepit door causes his heart to race in anticipation, the muscles in his trigger finger tight. Each door that creaks open on rusty hinges revealing a dusty nothing slows his pulse. The remaining rooms are empty and dry, providing a respite Edward's greatly appreciates.
As they reach the stairwell to up to the final floor, Edward activates his radio.
"Bella, we're almost done with D-24."
"I hope she found Emmett," Jacob says. The claw marks across his face are crusty and caked, nearly black in the darkness.
"I think she did," Edward says, thinking back to the rapid volley of gunfire he heard in the building next to them.
He remains a step below Jacob as they ascend the stairs, his focus on the hallway behind them. Jacob holds his hefty weapon at a forty-five degree angle, scanning above them. Both men keep their footfalls light.
Reaching the third floor, they approach the nearest doorway. Methodically, Jacob positions himself, his machine gun at the ready. Edward stands to the side, gripping the cool knob in his hand. He watches Jacob, their intense eyes meet, and he waits for his nod.
A soft female hum whimpers out from a room down the hall. Light, frail, with a nervous shake, the way it bounces lightly off the walls is ephemeral. The sound makes Edward and Jacob both stand up straight, curious and unnerved.
With a tight mouth and narrow lids, Jacob shoots his eyes to Edward. His weapon lowers slowly until his arms are fully extended. A dull pang runs up his forearms as his wrists curve uncomfortably under the machine gun.
Edward slowly brings his extended index finger to his lips before pointing down the hall. After a deep breath, they cautiously head towards its source. It doesn't seem monstrous, which terrifies Edward more than he expected, but is rather like a music box as the windup ends.
They silently reach the door, the unintelligible sound growing louder, and Jacob readies himself to barge in to the room with his machine gun raised. Edward places his palm atop the barrel, nudging it down until Jacob obediently allows its aim to meet the floor. Biting his lip hard, Edward listens closely with his ear grazing the door. The bubbled paint draws goosebumps as it chills his skin.
The song is an unfamiliar lullaby, lilting and innocent in the battle-razed night. And the voice sounds definitively human. Edward moves away from the door, and focuses on Jacob.
Cousin. He mouths the word deliberately. Jacob had mentioned what the wampus said; who she was here with. His eyebrows twist dramatically to emphasize the question.
With a half-frown, Jacob shrugs and nods.
Turning away, Edward forces his thoughts to slow. How to approach this? The rain outside has stopped, leaving the only sound the melodic tune from behind the door. The air feels suddenly thick, his skin disgusting. A whisper of caution forms in the back of his mind: it may be the utlunta.
He beckons Jacob to follow him to the far end of the hall. The song fades as they move away.
"Did the wampus say what her cousin's name was?" Edward whispers, his expression stern.
"Oh, yeah," Jacob says. He rapidly bobs his head as he recollects. "Heidi, I think."
"Heidi?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," Edward says. He looks back toward the room and his brow furrows in thought. "Keep your muzzle on my hip. If it's the utlunta, shoot it."
"Okay," Jacob says, shrugging in casual agreement.
They return to the door, Edward standing directly in front of Jacob. The heavy barrel of the machine gun rest atop the magazine pouch on his side, the lukewarm steel seeming to reach through Edward's damp clothes.
The song seems fainter now, weaker. A sporadic note of strength rings through the concrete amid an imperceptible melody. The pounding of Edward's heart in his chest is an off-beat percussion. He takes a heavy breath, and glances back for Jacob's nod to signal he's ready.
"Heidi?" Edward calls. The calm professionalism of his own voice relaxes him. He immediately raps his knuckles against the door three times. The singing stops as the dull echo of his knock dies.
He says the name again, softer this time, as he turns the door knob and nudges it open. Through the inches wide crack, he makes out a pile of bedding and a worn mattress in the weary moonlight that pours in through the window. Dark green stains spot the cushion, frayed rips along the seams reveal its age.
"We're here to help," Edward says, pushing the door further open. He sees no one, but he can sense something is there.
"Vicky," Jacob whispers, volunteering the name of the wampus as he shuffles his feet to stay immediately behind the team leader.
"You can trust us," Edward adds. Now fully in the dimly light space, he can tell the rooms been lived in a while. A faint shadow fills the imprint set into the mattress. A makeshift nest is built in to the tattered cloth and discolored quilts beside it. Empty bottles and grime-covered food wrappers line the baseboards. Two backpacks, patched and written on, sit in the far corner. "We're here about Vicky."
A bolt of pain runs up Edward's arm as the edge of the door slams against his bicep. The force knocks him forward, separating Jacob's weapon from his hip. A furious scream makes Edward turn as she appears behind him, baseball bat overhead. Her unkempt mahogany hair billows wildly from her pale skin, her face disgustingly twisted in fear and anger.
"Vicky?" she cries, her voice coarse with hatred, "What did you do to Vicky?"