“Then he and I both die.” Angus’ gaze flicked up to Harris, then returned to Jean-Pierre. “Damned shame when it doesn’t have to happen, boy. I can leave, he can leave, you can leave, we all meet later and kill each other. Or you can decide to be a hero and kill your friend.”
Harris couldn’t find it, the perfect solution. The only way everyone could be happy was if Angus was telling the truth . . . and if Harris did what he said. He could feel the eyes of the elderly man on him, too.
“I don’t believe you.”
Angus looked at him, though his gun remained aimed rock-steady at Jean-Pierre. His expression was solemn, open. “Son, I give you my word of honor. Throw your piece away and we all walk away from this.”
Jean-Pierre shook his head and tried to get to his knees. He couldn’t; he rocked in the pool of his vomit. His voice was a pained wheeze. “Don’t. He has no honor. I’m dead, Harris. Kill him for me.”
There was nothing but calm resolve in Angus’ eyes.
Harris swore and tossed his gun down the hill. Jean-Pierre managed to get up to his knees.
“And the other one in your pocket. I’m not stupid, boy.”
Harris complied.
Angus smiled, showing the points of his teeth. “But you are.” He pulled both triggers.
The blast caught Jean-Pierre in the chest and face, blowing him over backwards.
Harris looked at his friend. Jean-Pierre’s chest and half his head had been erased by a paintbrush dipped in dark, dark red. There was white noise, a scream of static, in Harris’ head where his thoughts should be.
In slow motion, he turned to look at Angus Powrie.
The redcap was smiling at him. He had the shotgun broken open. He was pulling two new shells from his shirt pocket, moving them down to load them into the gun.
The static in Harris’ head grew into a roar of hate. In slow motion, he forced his hand back to the holster over his kidney.
He got the pistol out, swung it in line, saw Angus’ eyes widen with surprise.
He fired.
Darkness sprouted from Angus’ gut.
He fired.
There was an explosion. The open shotgun went flying and Harris saw raw, red-black meat where Angus’ left hand had been. Angus turned.
He fired. A dark circle appeared on Angus’ back. Angus began running.
He fired. Angus lurched forward and rolled down the hill, arms and legs flailing. Then the redcap was up at the base of the hill and running toward the safety of the trees.
He fired.
He fired.
His gun began clicking, the noise of failure. Angus disappeared among the trees.
Harris looked at Jean-Pierre. The prince’s one remaining eye was turned skyward.
And the white noise filling Harris’ mind found expression in his voice, a roar of pain that stripped his throat raw.
Alastair saw motion in his peripheral vision. He dropped, aiming left as he fell, and fired. The burst caught the gangster in mid-aim. The man fell, a surprised look on his face. Alastair switched to single-shot and put a bullet between the man’s eyes to make sure of him.
There was a thump from behind. He spun around.
A headless man stood there, arterial blood pumping up from his neck. His head was rolling away down the hill. He fell, revealing Noriko crouched behind. She held her blade in her right hand and an automatic pistol, doubtless picked up from one of the men, in her left.
Alastair nodded his thanks. He switched back on full auto, then scrambled around the left side of his cabinet.
A silhouette appeared before him, moving across his line of vision. Alastair aimed, then swung his barrel up as the firelight revealed the man’s white, white hair.
It was Doc . . . and it wasn’t. Alastair watched as his friend aimed without looking and put a bullet into the brain of a man directly behind him. Doc’s arm swung around and the gun fired again, taking down a sniper Alastair hadn’t even seen, but Doc never looked at the man he killed.
His face in the firelight was smiling, serene, perfect. His eyes did not blink.
Alastair shuddered. Doc was with the gods of blood and fire now.
Men ran down the hill. Gaby counted six of them. Two tripped, one after another, and rolled a good thirty yards. One got up and began limping; the other lay still.
She shot the one who ran toward the trucks. He, too, fell and did not move. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten again.
The other men were headed toward the trees. They waved and shouted at the men coming out of the forest, directing them to run.
There were two more gunshots from the top of the hill, then silence. Cabinets continued to burn. Gaby watched the last of the men move, reach the trees and disappear.
Joseph waited beside her. “It is a bad thing to be clumsy,” he said. “I feel I have not helped much. Perhaps I should go up and see what has happened.”
“Okay.”
“Will you be—”
“Just go, dammit.”
He began his long, lumbering walk up the hill.
They descended the hill toward her in a slow, single line.
Joseph carried Doc like a baby. She could see Doc jerk and twitch.
Alastair was next. He was talking to Jean-Pierre. But as they got closer Gaby realized that the thin man wasn’t Jean-Pierre, but an older gentleman with glasses.
Harris came next. He staggered under the weight of the tarpaulin-wrapped mass he carried, but his face was fixed, his eyes unseeing.
Noriko brought up the rear. She wouldn’t look up.
Gaby tried to make sense of it as Joseph reached the trucks. Where was Jean-Pierre? Then she saw the expression on Harris’ face, on the faces of the others, and she knew. Her vision blurred under tears.
The old man, handsome in spite of his leanness, animated in spite of his grimness, was talking. “I’m sorry about your friend. I know his family. Fine people. We can’t wait.”
“One bell of our time is so precious?” Alastair asked, anger in his voice. “One bell?”
“A bell might be death for us all.”
They passed Gaby. Alastair got to the rear of the truck and lowered the tailgate. Joseph set Doc down in the truck bed.
Harris didn’t look at Gaby as he passed. He walked to the back and gently placed his precious cargo down beside Doc.
Alastair said, “Joseph, can you drive this?”
“I can.”
“Drive. Back to the airfield. Forget about the other car.” Alastair swung up into the rear of the truck. Harris and Noriko followed suit and lifted the tailgate.
Gaby, numb, got into the passenger side of the cab. Joseph was already in the driver’s seat. “What happened?” she asked.
He told her.
Alastair inserted the hypodermic into Doc’s vein and drove the plunger home. He withdrew the needle and set it aside.
Doc gave one final twitch, then heaved a sigh and relaxed. His eyes closed. His breathing slowed and became more regular.
Alastair silently cursed the gods that had brought him here.
With the forests of Cretanis disappearing behind them, one of their number, a good friend, was dead. One had left his mind in the land of the gods and was now drugged into a stupor. The rest were numbed by grief. And if what their new ally had hinted at was true, they needed more strength for what lay ahead.
He drew shut the drapes over Doc’s bunk on the Frog Prince and went forward. Turbulence made the footing unsteady.
The others were arrayed in the lounge—except for Noriko, who flew the plane on its westward course, and Jean-Pierre, whose body now lay in the cargo compartment under most of the ice from the galley.