Free Lord of the Shadows by Darren Shan Page B

their first priority, but once word reached them of the scuffle in the projects, units would be sent to investigate.
    As I stood bent over, panting for breath, I studied the path I’d taken and saw little puddles of blood marking my course — a clear trail for anyone who followed. If I was to progress any farther undetected, I’d have to do something about my wound.
    I examined the hole. There was a tiny bit of shaft sticking out of it, attached to the arrowhead. I took hold of the light piece of wood, closed my eyes, bit down hard, and pulled.
    “Charna’s guts!”
    I fell back, shivering, fingers twitching, mouth opening and shutting rapidly. For maybe a minute, I knew only pain. The buildings around me could have collapsed and I wouldn’t have noticed.
    Gradually the pain abated and I was able to study the wound again. I hadn’t managed to pull the head out, but I’d drawn it closer towards the hole, plugging it up. Blood still oozed out but it wasn’t flowing steadily like it had been. That would have to do. Tearing a long strip off my shirt, I balled it up and pressed it over the wound. After a few deep breaths, I got to my feet. My legs were shaking like a newborn lamb’s, but they held. I made sure I wasn’t dripping blood, then resumed my sluggish flight.
    The next ten or fifteen minutes passed in a slow, agonized blur. I had enough sense left to keep moving, but I wasn’t able to take note of street names or plot a course back to the Cirque Du Freak. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop.
    I kept to the sides of streets and alleys, so I could grab a fence for support or lean against a wall to rest. I didn’t pass many people. Those I did pass ignored me. That surprised me, even in my dazed state, until I realized how I must look. A teenager, reeling along the path, head bowed, body crooked over, moaning softly — they thought I was drunk!
    Eventually I had to stop. I was at the end of my rope. If I didn’t sit down and rest, I’d drop in the middle of the street. Luckily I was close to a dark alley. I fell into it and crawled away from the streetlights, deep into welcome shadows. I stopped beside a large black garbage can, sat up against the wall by which it was set, and dragged my legs in.
    “Just . . . a short . . . rest,” I wheezed, laying my head on my knees, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “A few . . . minutes . . . and then I can . . .”
    I got no further. My eyelids fluttered shut and I passed out, at the mercy of any who happened to chance upon me.
    My eyes opened. It was later, darker, colder. I felt like I was encased in a block of ice. I tried lifting my head, but even that small effort proved too much for me. I blacked out again.
    The next time I awoke, I was choking. Some stinging liquid was being forced down my throat. For a confused moment I thought I was a raw half-vampire again, and that Mr. Crepsley was trying to force me to drink human blood. “No!” I mumbled, slapping at the hands holding my head. “Not gonna . . . be like you!”
    “Hold him still!” someone grunted.
    “It’s not that easy,” the person holding me complained. “He’s stronger than he looks.” Then I felt a body pressing down on mine, and a voice whispered in my ear, “Steady, kid. We’re only trying to help.”
    My head cleared slightly and I stopped struggling. Blinking, I tried to focus on the faces of the men around me, but it was either too dark or my sight was clouded with pain. “What . . . are you?” I gasped, meaning were they friends or foes.
    The man holding me must have misheard my question, and thought I’d asked
who
were they. “I’m Declan,” he said. “This is Little Kenny.”
    “Open wide,” Little Kenny said, pressing the rim of a bottle to my lips. “This is cheap and nasty, but it’ll warm you up.”
    I drank reluctantly, unable to argue. My stomach filled with a sickening fire. When Little Kenny took the bottle away, I leaned my head back against the wall and