I held out the cellphone and the pistol at arm’s length, aiming them both from side to side. Sinewy, bestial claws rose out of windows as we passed them, long, corded arms that pulled white-faced spectres from inside the hulks looming over us. They spilled into the night air in our wake.
“This way,” said Sawyer, cutting right.
I assumed we could make it back to the millhouse this way, but a sheer brick wall blocked us. It turned out to be a hook in the path and we ran to the left, bursting out into a small sitting area where two stone benches faced a collapsed merchant stall.
One of our adversaries was crouching on the pile of garbage, and as we passed it, it reached into the folds of its cloak and drew a dagger, leaping at me. I put a deafening bullet in it at about seven inches.
It dropped at my feet, but was immediately up again, slashing at me with a ferocious blade.
“Keep moving!” screamed Sawyer.
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