The New Night Novels (Book 2): Revelations (A New Night Novella) by Ashlei D. Hawley Page B

those? I wonder about it as I skirt the far edge of the tenth. I can see the second company cresting a small hill in what used to be a popular park and event center. No human or vampire fair-goers duck under the Pirate Ship or lope around the ferris wheel. The carnival is open only for Rippers.
     Come on, Sreya, I tell myself. Move it, move it. The Rippers closest to me have noticed food on the move. I veer right, but it doesn’t matter much. The Rippers all seem connected to their group, no matter how big or small. What one knows or sees, the others do , as well . And
, and
they all react.
     Howls and snarls erupt from the parched throats of more than a hundred shambling, flesh-tearing ghouls. Goose bumps chase each other around my skin and I actually start to pant. Even though I suck at it, no vampire gets winded from running. I’m gasping in legitimate terror. I do not want to die by Rippers.
     The first one flings an arm out at me. Rage contorts the sagging gray face. A shriek of furious hunger makes all the hair on my body stand at attention, especially when the call is answered and echoed by the multitude behind him. 
     I duck . We’ ve
, we’ve
trained in evasion so often and with such tenacity the movements are better than instinct. My first attacker loses sight of me before he’s finished his swing.  
     I leap to a rooftop, using the commercial-sized green trashcan situated beside the back door as leverage for my jump. Beneath my thick leather gloves, the metal siding on the roof squeals its
in
protest of my weight. Below me, several Rippers scramble up on top of the trashcan and swipe at my feet. I pull myself up . The
, the
muscles in my upper arms bulge against my tight black coat. The material of one sleeve catches on the roof and tears.
     “Damn it,” I curse. I don’t stop to mourn the damaged fabric. It can be fixed if I ever make it back to base. I sprint across the rooftop. My well-worn, thick-soled black boots slam on the metal. It sounds like the banging of the dinner gong to me. The noises send the Rippers below into a screaming frenzy. 
     The edge of the roof comes up faster than I expect. Behind me, several of the Rippers have hoisted themselves onto the roof to continue the chase.
     I lunge off the edge and prime for a roll. The hill on the other side of the building won’t soften the fall much, but it’s not going to kill me. 
     I hit the ground hard and roll forward, never losing my momentum as I power to my feet. The Rippers who didn’t follow me up have continued pursuit around the side of the building. I hate that the crazy bastards still have reasoning ability. You’d think with a brain that only says, “Sun bad. Ripping, tearing, blood good!” they wouldn’t have great deductive ability. But me vanishing from their sight didn’t deter them from the chase. 
     I’m getting closer to the tower with every step, but there are more of them than I thought. Maybe the lookouts missed a group. I’m going to be surrounded soon if I can’t figure something out.
     I intend to barrel through their ranks where they seem the thinnest. If more than ten of them get their hands on me, I’m probably screwed. 
     Two buildings-an antique emporium and a tire shop-split up the group that stands between me and the sector where I can enter via the tower. I head that way, toward the clearer area between the two buildings. One of the Rippers almost grabs hold of me, but I spin away before it can manage. 
     Another Ripper in my way drops to the ground before I reach it. Its head rolls away from its body as I pass. I grab the tool of execution, an expertly forged and sharpened axe, from the ground without breaking stride. My pistol is still nestled in its holster on my hip and my own axe, which is larger, heavier, and not designed for throwing, is strapped to my back.
     Without