“What’s going on in there, Mace?” Gunnar asked.
“Now slowly—slowly—raise both hands where I can see them.” The man’s voice was muffled. Tinny. Like he was wearing a respirator. “Don’t think for a second I won’t put a bullet through your head. I don’t give a rat’s ass who your old man is.”
“You do realize these people will kill you, too,” Mason said. “That is, if I don’t first. And at this point, I’m kind of thinking I might.”
“I’d laugh if I didn’t think that by doing so I might accidentally pull the trigger of the gun that I’m holding to your head. You seem to have forgotten that little detail. Now let me see your hands.”
“Talk to me, Mason,” Gunnar said. “Should we accelerate our timetable?”
“No. I have everything under control.”
“Everything under control?” the man said. “What world do you live in? The last thing you’re going to see is a bullet exiting your skull between your eyes if you don’t raise your goddamn hands!”
Mason held his arms out to his sides, his left hand open, fingers splayed. The Infinity was in his right, the barrel pointing up and away. The beam cast long shadows from the dead bodies, as though their souls were trying to depart their physical forms. He removed his index finger from the trigger and placed it on the side of the under-barrel light, where the man could see it.
“Just give the word,” Gunnar said. “Alejandra can put a hole through the side of that building—”
“Like I said, everything’s under control.”
“Now drop the gun on the floor,” the man said.
“It’s a custom Infinity. I should set it down gently.”
“I said drop the fucking gun!”
“I don’t want to break it. Do you have any idea how much love goes into the manufacture of one of these things? I’m going to set it down gently. No sudden moves, right? I’m just going to lean over—”
“Drop it now or—”
Mason switched off the under-barrel light and ducked. The crack of gunfire above his head was deafening. He pivoted on his left foot. Came up hard with the pistol in his right fist. Struck the underside of the man’s forearm. He barely heard the second shot over the ringing in his ears. The bullet went high and wide and careened off the ceiling with a spark. The man’s pistol clattered to the floor.
“I heard gunfire. I’m making the call whether you like it—”
“Not yet, Gun—”
The man bulled into Mason’s chest and lifted him from the ground. He collided with something soft and forgiving. Something that slopped cold sludge down beneath the collar of his jacket. It made a snapping sound as it gave way. He landed squarely on top of it, the full weight of his adversary on his chest. He sensed the blow coming in time to move his head to the side. The dead woman underneath him wasn’t so lucky. Dampness spattered his cheek, but he was already rolling to the side. He switched the light back on and swung it toward—
Blunt impact to his wrist. The Infinity skittered away across the floor, spinning the light in circles as it went. He lunged for it, but the man grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him backward. He swatted away the man’s arm and popped to his feet.
Gunnar was shouting in his ear, but he couldn’t afford the distraction.
He reached for the Sigma under his other arm, but his attacker recognized what he was doing and charged him before he could draw it. He stepped to the right. Drove back into the man’s body. Used his momentum to turn him around. Got in close, under his arms. Lifted and pushed—
With a snapping sound and a grunt, something pried the man from his grasp. Mason stumbled forward. Hit the ground. Rolled to the side. Grabbed his pistol. Swung it back in the opposite direction. The beam highlighted the man’s twitching form and cast a long, swinging shadow across the wall.
“Answer me, Mace. That’s it. I’m giving the order—”
“I’m fine, Gunnar. Like I said, everything’s under control.”
The man’s body twirled from the chain, his feet dangling inches above the floor. He wore a glistening bib of blood. The hook had passed through the back of his neck and out the front at a severe angle. His arms hung limply at his sides. Only the fingers on his left hand continued to move.
Mason stepped closer and waited for the man’s face to come around again, but it remained concealed by the spatter of blood he’d coughed out against the inside of the respirator mask.
“Under control? The others are converging on your position!”
The man’s body jumped and blood burst from his shoulder. Right in front of Mason’s face. He heard footsteps and the clapping sound of the swinging doors behind him and extinguished his light. Darted back into the maze of bodies. Bumped as many of them as he could. The chains squeaked as the bodies swung and spun, masking the sound of his movements. Unfortunately, the racket also prevented him from hearing his pursuer.
“I’m going silent,” he whispered. “Stick to the plan. Don’t fire the grenade launcher too soon. Give me as much time to find the Hoyl as you can.”
Another shot rang out, but the bullet went well wide of him.
Mason stopped and stood perfectly still, listening to the squeaking and squealing slow and then finally stop. Assuming he hadn’t lost his bearings, he was at the back of the precooler room with the cooler, where the bodies were further along in the process of decomposition, to his right.
The man hunting him was undoubtedly already moving into containment position to prevent him from advancing deeper into the building. He tried to remember everything he’d seen before he turned off his light. There were four rows of corpses, maybe a dozen per row, separated by five feet in all directions, which meant the room was roughly seventy feet deep and thirty feet wide. If he could pinpoint the man’s location and get a clear shot, there was no chance he’d miss at such close range.
Unfortunately, his adversary knew this place better than Mason did. He knew the sounds, the layout. He also knew where the light switches were. If he turned them on, he’d expose Mason, but he’d reveal himself in the process. The whole confrontation would boil down to who could shoot the other first, and Mason liked his odds. It was a risk the other man didn’t have to take, though, not when he could utilize the darkness and his familiarity with his surroundings to his advantage, which meant he would likely make the first move.
Mason was rewarded for his patience with the sound of soft footfalls approaching.
Slowly.
Cautiously.
The faint squeak of a chain.
The patter of fluid dripping to the floor.
Mason was behind the next-to-last body in the second row. One row to his right and he was in the cooler. Two rows to his left and he was cornered. The fact that his adversary wasn’t filling the room with bullets suggested he was being herded toward a second man, who was already attempting to outflank him.
He decided to test the theory.
In one swift motion, he lunged right. Shoved the body beside him in the first row. Ducked back.
The man fired a single shot, which struck the body hard enough to knock it off the hook. The discharge from the barrel revealed him to be maybe thirty feet away and between the first and second rows.
Mason exploited the thunderous echo. He pushed the body in front of him, the one in the first row to his right, and the one behind him, then sprinted back into the corner behind the fourth row. The chains screeched for several seconds before twirling back into place.
He wasn’t the only one who’d had that idea.
Bodies swung to his left, near where the first man had been when he fired. Presumably, he intended to use the distraction to move closer to where he’d last seen Mason, assuming he was going to make a break for the cooler rather than retreating deeper into the maze of corpses.
Mason concentrated and listened for any sound that would betray the location of the second man. He thought he heard a footstep diagonally to his left. And another diagonally to his right. The soft creak of a chain.
He inched forward until he was right up against the body in the corner. A naked male. Shorter and stockier than he was. Also hairier, apparently. He had an impressive gut, which—hopefully—would be big enough to serve his purposes.
“You have two in the room with you, Mace. Another coordinating their movements from the second floor. That accounts for all four, but I can’t confirm there aren’t more.”
Mason tapped his confirmation.
It wouldn’t be long before the men discovered his deception.
He slipped off his right glove and threw it across the room, between the two men.
Shots rang out from both directions at once and he marked his hunters’ positions by the twin flares of discharge.
He pulled himself up onto the dead man’s back, wrapped his legs around his midsection, and clung to him around the neck. The smell was nauseating. As was the feeling of the dead man’s flesh shifting on his bones. The added weight minimized the squealing of the chain.
The echo of gunfire faded.
Mason pulled off his other glove with his teeth, quietly drew his Sigma with his left hand, and extended both of his arms so they crossed in front of the dead man’s chin. Flexed his biceps against the victim’s jaw to brace himself. Focused on where he’d seen the two simultaneous bursts of muzzle flare. Aligned the Infinity in his right hand with the man to his left. The Sigma in his left with the man to his right.
A loud cracking sound and he dropped half an inch. Maybe the hook was up to the task, but the dead man’s bones weren’t.
The footsteps immediately ceased.
It was now or never.
“Don’t shoot!” he shouted.
The men fired at the exact same time.
Mason aimed at the flashes of discharge and pulled both triggers.
Bullets struck the dead man’s gut. The force of the impact knocked Mason from his perch. He hit the ground a heartbeat before the corpse landed on top of him. Rolled out from underneath it. Rose to a crouch, with both pistols aimed into the room.
Listened.
Silence and darkness.
No sound. No movement.
Nothing but the thudding of his heartbeat.
Then a sound he didn’t recognize. Not at first. A chuckling, gurgling sound.
He allowed himself to breathe.
It was the sound of fluid trickling into a floor drain.
Mason turned on the under-barrel light and swept it across the ground, below the suspended feet. He’d hit the man to his left with a lucky shot high to the forehead. His body was propped against the wall, a stream of blood rolling toward the drain between his boots. He wore a half-mask respirator. His eyes were blue, but not the shade Mason was looking for.
“Tap if you’re alive,” Gunnar said.
He tapped twice and walked toward the precooler.
“All communication on the channels I’m monitoring has ceased, which means I can no longer confirm the location of the fourth man.”
Mason tuned Gunnar out and focused on tracking the man to his right.
The skeletal remains dangling from the chains cast shadows reminiscent of a forest in the dead of winter. There was a smear of blood on the floor. He followed it between the rows until it led him to a man lying facedown on the floor, dragging himself forward with his left hand and right elbow. Rich black arterial blood flowed from somewhere underneath him, only to be smudged by his exertions. Mason stepped over him and stood on his right wrist. He didn’t have to grind his heel very hard to convince the man to drop his gun. He kicked it away into the darkness.
“Roll over,” Mason said.
The man made a gasping sound and flopped over onto his back. Blood positively gushed from the inside of his right hip, near his groin, where the builet had clipped his femoral artery. He put his trembling hand over the wound, but it just vanished into the blood. His wide eyes above his respirator confirmed that he understood the nature of his injury and the gravity of his situation.
“The man with the blue eyes. The one who calls himself the Hoyl. Where is he?”
The man mumbled something incomprehensible through the respirator. Mason tore off the mask and revealed the rictus of pain on his face.
“Tell me where he is!”
He looked up and to his right and Mason had his answer.
This was where the Fischer bloodline ended.
Right here. Right now.
Mason turned his back on the dying man and headed deeper into the building.
“You guys ready to do this, Gunnar?”
“Everything’s set.”
“And we’re still on schedule?”
“Close enough.”
“Then let’s torch this place.”
He kicked open the swinging doors to the killing floor and went through with both guns raised.