Archangel

Начало книги

Inside.

The vault door sealed itself with a resonating clang. Sickly sweet aerosol puffed into the air and the air conditioning hummed into life, shivering the skeleton-like frames of aluminum ducting. Shadows danced around the lithe and shaking frame of a girl-like soul, around the fleeing outline of her faceless silhouette. She was walking backwards, dragging something.

Deeper. Away. Away.

The girl-shape and its burden emerged into fluorescent light. She stood there, hunched, garbed in her mantle of shadow-white armor. Panting, she pulled the form of the dying man in behind her, the survivor who was named Silas-Something and nothing more. She lifted the man and puffed out fits of moistened breath, the girl no more, Sophia Ingrid Saint-Germain.

To the shower. She grunted as she repositioned him. His head rolled on a bird-like neck, his eyes fluttered veined and white. He’s delirious, he’s dying. Get him to the shower. Now. Go!

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