Dark Shadows. Edmund Glasby

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СКАЧАТЬ be. Both were things he was good at. Springing forward, he caught hold of one of Nikolai’s arms and hauled him close. With his other hand, he reached out and grabbed a handful of unwashed hair. He slammed the head down to meet his rising knee.

      Howling in pain, Nikolai tried to break free, smacking two quick-fire jabs into Myers’ ribs, savagely breaking the hold. Then, even as Myers was about to chop down with the palm of his right hand, Nikolai pulled back, spotting the shadowy outline of his knife on the floor. Clambering swiftly over the bed he whisked it up. Myers was on him before he could take a swing, barging him into the wall, crushing the air from him and knocking the blade from his hand. Viciously, he then hauled his attacker to his feet and spun him around, driving his head into the wall before throwing the badly battered man to the floor. For a moment, he considered standing on the other’s throat, but changed his mind and bent down to retrieve his gun. It was that moment’s indecision that allowed Nikolai to act. With a twist of his boot, he tripped Myers up, sending him falling against the bed.

      Before Myers could get to his feet, his attacker was on him, punching and scratching. Fighting savagely, the two tore at each other, each seeking to get in the one blow that would assure victory—whether a kick in the groin or a gouge in the eye. Blood streamed from a gash on Nikolai’s forehead and dripped down onto Myers’ face.

      Bloodlust lent Nikolai strength. His hands clasped around Myers’ throat, the nails digging in and puncturing the soft flesh. His grip tightened and Myers now began to panic. Desperately, he reached out for anything that might be useful, his fingers tightening around the handle of a ceramic jug. He crashed it down on the head of his attacker, succeeding in forcing the other off. Gasping for air, he groggily got to his feet and half-fell out into the corridor.

      With a maniacal scream Nikolai came charging, arms outstretched, curling a little, fingers stiff, as if he already had his foe in the circle of his arms, crushing him in a bear hug. Myers stepped to one side and drove in two solid punches, both landing hard and firm on the other’s jaw, Nikolai’s forward momentum adding weight and force to them. His head danced loosely on his shoulders and his knees began to buckle, took a surge of strength, then went completely as a third jab from Myers burst his nose.

      Nikolai slumped to the floor, out for the count.

      Rubbing his wounds, Myers went back into the room and retrieved his automatic. So much for Bulgarian hospitality, he thought. Stepping back onto the landing, he froze. Something strange was happening to the man on the ground. He was shaking terribly, convulsing as though he was undergoing an epileptic fit. Squealing like a skewered pig, he started to undergo a gruesome transformation. Greyish-black hair sprouted from his hands and face. His eyes narrowed and turned pinkish. His ears became pointed and his nose became a whiskered snout. His mouth was stretched back, snaggle-toothed incisors emerging from his gums. Inch-long ragged nails tore through the flesh of his fingers.

      With a snarl, the thing that had been Nikolai scrambled to its feet.

      “Jesus Christ!” Myers stepped back in utter shock. What in God’s name was this?

      Hissing its wrath, the thing approached. It was slightly smaller than the human version of Nikolai had been, is back hunched, clawed hands extended, ready to rend.

      Myers raised his gun and shot off half a dozen bullets. The force of the slugs knocked the horror back but did not seem to cause any true damage. He had heard stories and seen films of men who had turned into wolves, immune to everything bar silver bullets. Could it be that this was such a creature? He fired twice more, then sprang back into his room and slammed the door to, hastily dragging a chair over and ramming it against the handle.

      There came a loud thump on the door and the wood rattled.

      Myers had to get out of here. For the moment, his survival instincts were greater than his fear. He dashed for the thick curtains and parted them, lifted the window and looked down.

      The door was thumped a second time and one of the wooden boards splintered. With the thing’s third blow its clawed hand smashed through the door.

      Myers had no more bullets. Nerves afire, he clambered out of the window, took a hold of the lintel and let himself drop. A second or two later, the ground came up to meet him, the impact jarring through his feet, up his legs and into his entire body. He lost his footing and fell over backwards. For a moment, the pain in his ankles was excruciating, but at least he hadn’t broken anything.

      The hideous face was at the window, peering down, snout twitching, its red-rimmed eyes full of hatred.

      Gritting his teeth, Myers scrambled to his feet. What the hell was going on? He turned and began limping away into the darkness, his heart sinking as he heard a chorus of angry shouts coming from around the corner of the tavern.

      A crowd of dark shapes came into view. Some held aloft flaming brands. There were far too many of them to fight. One of their number rushed forward. He was a thoroughly ugly individual; bearded and with shoulders that were nearly as broad as he was tall. Laughing insanely, he leapt at Myers, tackling him to the ground. Then there came kicks and punches. A black hood was savagely forced over his head and something hard smote against it, knocking him out.

      * * * *

      “Psst! You. Englishman. Are you alive?”

      Myers began to stir. From somewhere within the gloom, he heard a whispered voice, the words heavily accented. Pain crept into his body, letting him know that he was very much alive, although for how much longer, he had no idea. His head ached and it was with a considerable effort and a wrenching of neck muscles that he managed to look to one side. Panic set in as he felt the cold dampness at his back and he realised that he was manacled to a wall; arms outstretched. He saw the flash of torchlight. A moment later there came the sound of a metal gate opening and suddenly a dark figure appeared.

      “I don’t know who these people are that have you prisoner and to be honest, I don’t care, but if you don’t tell me where they’ve taken the files I’ll kill you where you stand.”

      In the dim light, Myers could see that the man who had spoken was tall and well-built. His black hair was parted down the middle. His features were strong and chiselled, with a jutting jaw and wide forehead. A deep scar ran down his right cheek. He was one of the men whom he had seen enter the tavern; one of those that had been searching for him—one of the enemy agents.

      From further back in the shadows came an agitated whisper which prompted the big man to turn around. He responded in Bulgarian before glaring at Myers once more. Menacingly, he drew out a knife, its blade serrated.

      “I know where the files are. Get me out of here and I’ll show you.” Myers knew his situation was dire to say the least and that this was his only card left to play. Throughout his career as a professional spy he had not once been captured by the enemy yet he was fully aware of the many means of interrogation that were commonly used. He didn’t think this man was a professional however, rather he was an underling, a bit of hired muscle. If it had been someone with the proper skill and training he would have been in serious trouble.

      “Tell me where they are!”

      “You’re going to have to get me out of here first.”

      The big man held his knife against Myers’ neck. “Tell me or I’ll cut your throat.”

      “Do that and you’ll never find them.”

      The man’s companion who had been stationed by the cell door skulked into view. He was shorter, timid-looking, bespectacled. His eyes were darting СКАЧАТЬ