“Oh my.” Wellington giggled, but it sounded forced. “I’m so scared.”
“Get away from him, Wellington.”
“This is only a joke, Detective. I refuse to play along.”
“Drop the weapon, now!” Tom ordered.
Ol’ Jasper didn’t drop it.
Time seemed to slow down. Tom had enough time to think it through, make a gut decision, reverse the decision, then go with what his gut told him to do.
He squeezed the trigger twice, a double tap to the black man’s chest.
He felt the gun buck in his hands.
He heard the shots.
He smelled the gunpowder.
He knew he’d hit the target, dead on.
But Ol’ Jasper didn’t even flinch.
Instead, he swung the machete with vicious force, connecting with the side of Wellington’s neck.
Wellington went down like one of those buildings being demoed, collapsing in a heap right where he stood, his head flopping to the side as if on a hinge, a bright spray of arterial blood painting the front doors.
Chaos ensued.
Tom tuned out all the screaming from the others, tuned out the spectacle of Wellington’s dying body flopping and twitching on the floor like a landed fish, and emptied his magazine into Ol’ Jasper.
At least ten shots hit home.
Ol’ Jasper stood there, unaffected.
Then he looked at Tom—
—smiled wide—
—and roaches came out of his mouth.
It was the scariest thing Tom had ever seen in his life.
He ejected the empty magazine, fished out a new one, and loaded it as he backed away. Tom’s hands had begun to shake, and the beam flitted over Ol’ Jasper, catching him sporadically, until Tom somehow lost him in the darkness.
“Everyone!” Tom yelled. “Follow me! Let’s go!”
Tom hurried to the nearest hallway, alternating between lighting the way for people and trying to find Ol’ Jasper. Pang with his camcorder brought up the rear.
“Keep moving!” Tom said, covering the rear and walking sideways. He followed the group down a left turn, and into a large room.
“Dr. Belgium?” he called, keeping his gun on the doorway. Not that shooting had helped, but Tom didn’t have a better plan.
“Yes yes yes!”
“My fanny pack. I have some glow sticks. Pass them around.”
He pointed the flashlight at his pack, and Belgium fished out a handful. Tom listened for the sound of a machete scraping the floor, but all he heard was cellophane wrappers being opened. Soon the room was bathed in soft, multicolored neon light. Greens and blues and pinks.
Tom took a quick look around, discovered they were in a massive library.
“Pang, Frank, get that desk, move it over here to block the door. Mal, you got your gun?”
“Left it in my room.”
Shit. “Okay, do a head count.”
Tom peeked his head down the hall. Still no Jasper.
“Everyone say your name,” Mal said.
A bunch of people began talking at once.
“Okay, everyone shut up. Let’s try this again. I’m here, Deb is here, Tom, Frank, and Pang are here. Moni?”
“Yeah. Here. I’m here.”
“Sara?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Madison?”
No one answered.
“Dr. Madison, are you here?”
No answer.
“Did anyone see where he went?”
Sara, bathed in pink light, said, “I think he ran down the other hallway.”
“How about Aabir?” Mal asked. “Aabir, are you here?”
“She was passed out on the table,” Pang said.
Tom ground his teeth.
Shit. One dead, and two missing.
How quickly things all went to hell.
“Tom, move over.”
Tom stepped aside, then helped Frank and Pang slide the heavy desk in front of the door.
“Are there any other doors in this room?”
General murmuring, and lights crisscrossing the space.
“I think that’s the only one,” Mal said.
Having only one entry point was a good thing. Easier to guard.
Having only one escape route was bad.
“Are there windows in this room?” Tom asked. “We need to find one, get out of here, and find the cars.”
More scrambling around.
“Got a window!” Deb croaked. Her voice was getting stronger.
People rushed over.
“Bars,” Moni said. “Thick ass metal bars.”
Mal grunted. “They’re set in concrete.”
“Okay.” Tom wasn’t sure on what to do next. He knew the right thing to do was go and look for Dr. Madison and Aabir. But he didn’t want to leave everyone alone.
Bullshit. Be honest. It isn’t about them. It’s about you. You’re afraid to go back out there.
“Everyone look around. Find something you can use as a weapon.”
“A weapon?” Pang giggled. “Why? Your gun didn’t do much good with Ol’ Jasper.”
“Did you miss, Tom?” Sara asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“You shot a whole shitload of times,” Moni said. “You sure you didn’t panic and miss?”
“I’m sure,” Tom said, but as soon as the words passed his lips he questioned them. He’d been less than five meters away, and had emptied an entire fourteen round magazine. He should have been able to hit that target with his eyes closed.
But could he have been so afraid he missed?
“Did you see those extra arms?” Pang’s voice had an edge to it.
Tom ignored him. “Does everyone have something to defend themselves with?”
Grunts and grumbling.
“If not, find something fast. I’m…” Tom swallowed. “I’m going to go look for Madison and Aabir.”
“Bad idea, Tommy boy,” Moni said. “I saw that movie. As soon as the people split up, they start dying.”
“They’ve already started dying,” Pang said. “Did you see what happened to Wellington? His head was practically cut off!”
Tom swallowed again. “I have to go check. When I come back, I’ll knock three times. Frank? Pang? Move the desk and put it back when I leave.”
“I’m going with you,” Moni said, stepping up next to him.
Tom shook his head. “You’re staying here.”
“I’m staying with the guy holding the gun. And you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
Shit.
“Okay. You stay close, move when I tell you to. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Pang, Frank, move the desk.”
They shoved it back, Tom took a deep breath, held it, and opened the door, expecting Ol’ Jasper to be standing right there.
But the doorway, and the hall, were clear.
Tom stepped out, Moni close enough to be his shadow. Behind them the door slammed shut, and Tom heard the scraping of the desk along the floor.
They began to make their way back toward the great room. Slowly. Cautiously. Tom waving the gun and flashlight in front of him in a steady, sweeping motion. Left to right to left to right.
“My nana believed in spirits,” Moni whispered. “She told me some people were so wicked, the devil kicked them out of hell because he was afraid of them.”
“Shh.”
“I thought ghosts went through walls and shit. How could one hold a machete?”
“Be quiet.”
The floorboards creaked under Tom’s foot, and he winced at the sound.
“Why should I be quiet? Can ghosts hear us? Do they even have senses like we do? Maybe they can zone in on our life force or something like that.”
Tom stopped. “And maybe,” he whispered, “there are no such things as ghosts, and you’re going to give away our position.”
“Doesn’t your flashlight and my pink glow stick give away our position, too?”
She had a point. Tom resumed creeping down the hall. He was coming to the left turn, a right angle corner he couldn’t see around. He paused again, unsure of how to proceed.