Demon Pope by Frank Lauria

Author:Frank Lauria [Lauria, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RothCo Press
Published: 2014-10-19T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

The rat that had bitten his toe crouched at the far corner of the mattress, mouth wet with fresh blood. The one he’d smacked off his chest sat crouched on the other corner.

At first Orient thought the bowl of milk had attracted them, but then he saw the creatures avoided that area.

Was that Ganwi’s idea of protection?

For a wild second he glanced around for a weapon but there was nothing but a telephone and a copy of the Koran on the night table. On the other side was a large painted ashtray.

Instinctively he shouted, freezing the creatures, and grabbed for the ashtray. It was made of glazed clay, smooth and light. Too light for a club. Orient tapped the ashtray against the wall. It cracked into three sharp pieces. He grabbed two of them, a crude knife in each hand.

It didn’t faze the rats. He could feel the momentum building.

Orient got his feet under him and started to stand, but before he found his balance, both creatures on the bed attacked at once, knocking him back down against the wall. He hit one with his fist, but the other bit deep into his hand. The blazing agony forced a savage rasp from his throat as he punched the creature with the clay blade. The glazed point drew blood then broke.

Incredibly, the rat seemed to know this. It arched its back and bared its sharp teeth in a mocking grin, a harmless red streak on one side of its fat, pink belly.

Suddenly a third rat leaped onto the bed. As he stared at the three creatures poised to strike, he realized the second wave on the floor would attack while he was trying to ward the first, here on the bed.

Breathlessly he clutched his useless blade. The other still had a point, but was small. It would deter momentarily, not defeat. Flaming tongues of pain licked at his forearm, hand and foot. Oily red blood was spreading over his fingers, its scent exciting the rats.

On his knees, facing the creatures, he again tried to get his feet under him, succeeding only in throwing him slightly off balance.

In that frozen nanosecond Orient knew they would all attack him this time—eight sets of fetid teeth drooling saliva and blood, digging into his flesh, tearing him apart piece by piece. He looked at the door. He could run the gauntlet. They’d be nipping at him all the way. Still better than being slowly devoured where he was.

As he was about to make his move two of the rats leaped for his wounded foot. Before he could slash them off, they had both bitten him badly. Desperately, he heaved himself erect ready to race for the door.

He almost collapsed when the agonizing bolt, shocked his foot. Steadying himself against the wall, he tried to kick at the nearest creature. With whip-like speed it eluded the kick and bit his ankle. Roaring in pain and frustration he grabbed the rat’s neck and flung it away.

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