we’re looking for,” he began quietly. There was a tense edge to his voice and he clutched the steering wheel tightly.
“Five parked in a row outside a bar that looks like some alcoholic’s id?” Buffy asked. “I’d say chances are good these’re the guys.”
“Wait a second,” Willow said. The others turned to her as her eyebrows curled downward over the bridge of her nose and her lips tightened and drew together without touching. She turned to Giles and said, “We’ve forgotten something. We’re all too young to go in there.”
Giles removed his glasses and nodded once, looking out at the bar again. “Yes, you’re quite right.”
“We can’t wait out here,” Xander said. “If our guys are in there, they could start making beer nuts and pretzels of everybody any minute now.”
“Not to worry,” Giles said, killing the engine. “I’m of age.” He replaced his glasses and opened his door.
“You can’t go in there alone.”
“We don’t seem to have much choice, Buffy.”
“Reality check, Giles,” she said. “You Watcher, me Slayer. There are five of those things in there. You could get killed.”
“I’m quite capable of handling myself if need be, Buffy.” He got out, then reached back inside and took two of the silver-tipped stakes from the middle of the seat. He tucked them beneath his belt, then closed his tweed sportscoat over them. “I’ll stay near the door, and should anything happen, I’ll signal you immediately. Once violence breaks out, I seriously doubt anyone will take the time to ask for your IDs. Pay attention and be prepared.” He closed the door, walked around the van, and headed across the parking lot.
“I’ve got a bad feeling in my stomach,” Buffy whispered as her eyes followed her Watcher.
“Let’s hope it’s something you ate,” Xander quipped.
The sound of Giles’s shoes crunching on the gravel faded as he neared the bar. He was less than three feet from the entrance when a guttural scream came from inside the bar.
Buffy’s door was open in an instant and she jumped out of the van with her loaded crossbow in hand.
At the first noise Giles froze. Now as he looked back over his shoulder at the van, the door of the Trap burst outward and broke off its hinges beneath the force of a large, bloody man who shot through the air, a screaming human missile. Giles stumbled backward quickly enough to avoid being hit by the door, but the man slammed into him and both of them rolled over the gravel, coming to a halt about eight feet from where Giles had been standing.
Buffy ran across the gravel parking lot as more screams rose from inside the bar. Horrible, painful screams . . . wet screams. She glanced over her shoulder at the van and saw that no one was following her.
“Come on!” she cried. “What’re you waiting for?”
She ran by Giles and shouted, “You okay?”
“Fine!” he said as he got to his feet, waving her on.
The closer Buffy got to the open doorway of the bar, the louder the screaming inside became. There were crashing sounds inside, as well. And something else, something beneath all the other sounds . . .
Low, animal growls, and sloppy, moist chewing.
Buffy entered the bar with her crossbow held ready to fire . . . and her feet went wild beneath her. She slipped on something wet and slick, and the floor slammed against her back, knocking the breath from her lungs.
She couldn’t move for a moment as bodies rushed by her above, towering over her, shooting in and out of her field of vision with lightning speed. Behind her, she heard Willow cry, “No! No!” and Xander let fly a few choice curses as motorcycle engines roared to life.
Something howled as the engines revved . . . and then began to fade away.
Silence. It was deafening. The bar was completely silent . . . except for a gentle, thick dripping nearby. The coppery odor of blood slowly filled Buffy’s nostrils . . . the blood in which she’d slipped and fallen.
She