The Living End (15 page)

“It’s a through-and-through,” Leroy said, nodding down to his wound. “Hurts like a motherfucker, but I’m still breathin’. Be all right.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be brave for his own benefit or ours, but given how much blood he was leaving on the concrete, he was anything but all right. His clock was running down.

The last living mercenary looked from me to Eric to Leroy, and to the rifles in their laps.

“You wanna stay down,” I told him. “Eric, if this prick moves, shoot him in both hands and then kneecap him. I need him alive.”

“Done deal,” Eric said, looking like he meant it.

A walkie-talkie clipped to one of the dead men’s belts squawked to life.

“Containment team report,” Angus Caine’s voice snapped over a bed of static. “We heard gunshots. Report in.”

I pushed myself to my feet, still feeling lightheaded and sick to my stomach from the gas. I coughed wetly into my sleeve and unhooked the walkie-talkie.

“Sorry,” I said. “They can’t come to the phone right now. Well, three of them can’t, unless you know a good necromancer. Still got a live one here, though. Want to talk about a trade?”

Angus’s voice rumbled like motor oil poured over fine gravel. “Prove it.”

I held out the walkie-talkie toward the merc on the floor. “Here, say hi to your boss.”

“Sir!” the merc said. “I knew the risks when I went in, sir! Do not negotiate with terrorists—”

That was all I needed. I mustered what little strength I had and kicked him square in the gut. He went fetal, groaning.

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” I said into the walkie-talkie, “but ‘terrorist’ is a new one. Here’s the deal, Major. I’m pretty good at reading people, and I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who callously throws his men’s lives away. I think you
will
negotiate, especially if getting soldier-boy back doesn’t cost you a thing.”

The other end went silent for a minute. I hoped he wasn’t getting ready to lead a full-on charge, because we wouldn’t survive another fight.

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come up to the lobby.”

I handed the walkie-talkie to Eric and said, “You two stay here. I’ll see if I can swing us safe passage.”

“Hey,” Eric said as I walked away. I looked back, and he gestured to one of the fallen rifles. “Aren’t you gonna take a gun?”

I shook my head, showing him my empty palms.

“No guns,” I said. “Trust me. I’m scarier without one.”

Truth was, I was still red-eyed and throat-burned from the tear gas, and I felt like I’d been used for a punching bag. My joints ached, and it was all I could do to keep from heaving up what little was left in my stomach. I could probably pull off a cantrip or two, but right now serious sorcery was as far out of my league as a French supermodel. I’d have to fall back on the most powerful weapon I had.

Bluffing.

The doors at the end of the hall, leading into the lobby, caught my eye. I stopped just short of setting my hand against the glossy metal push plate, my palm hovering an inch away. It was wet. They’d painted the steel with a heaping helping of the Missionary’s happy juice. Cute move.

I took a deep breath, pushed my shoulders back, and lifted my chin. Then I kicked the door open and strode out like a gunslinger.

Angus wasn’t alone, standing in the middle of the lobby. He had a six-man squad at his back, and every one of their barrels dropped a bead on me, ready to turn me into confetti on his command. Nedry and the Missionary stood off to the side in their white lab coats. Nedry clutched his fractured hand and glared, while the Missionary looked too confident for his own good.

“Hey there, buddy!” the Missionary said with a bright smile. I could feel his aura probing at mine, trying to find a way into my mind. I scrounged up a spark of magic and gave him a wall of psychic iron in return. His eyes went wide and he flinched, drawing a curious look from Nedry.

“Now what?” Angus growled. “Did you think I was just going to let you walk out, free as a mockingbird? I don’t see a hostage with you.”

I shook my head. “Nope. The hostage is back in the cell, with my friends. My friends who got that zombie shit out of their systems by starving themselves for three days straight. They’re really hungry now, and they’re
really
pissed off. If I’m not back there in ten minutes, I can’t promise your soldier’s safety. Go ahead, call back there.”

He nodded to the mercenary at his side, who took a walkie-talkie from his belt and held it up for Angus.

“This is Major Caine,” he said. “Who’s back there with my man? Report!”

Eric’s chuckle crackled over the static. “Nobody here but us chickens,” he said.

I nodded. “See? Not alone. Not by a long shot. And if I die, your man dies, so let’s drop the posturing and talk business.”

“Just shoot him,” Nedry said, petulant. “Clark and I can get your man back.”

I glanced over at them. “Clark? That’s your name? I was calling you the Missionary all this time.”

He flashed his perfect white teeth. “Gosh, thanks, buddy! That’s quite the bold moniker, and don’t think I don’t appreciate—”

“Now shut the fuck up,” I said. “Both of you. Grown-ups are talking.”

“Who
are
you?” Angus said. He rested his hands on his belt.

“Daniel Faust. And if you don’t know my name, there’s one hell of a hole in your intel.”

“Oh, yes,” Angus said. “Your name came up in the briefing. Ms. Carmichael didn’t think you’d be a problem, though. Not this degree of problem.”

“She has a habit of downplaying trouble. I don’t suppose she told you about Tony Vance or Sheldon Kaufman? They were a couple of sorcerers in her
last
crew.”

Angus shook his head. “Not a word. What happened to ’em?”

“I did. Now, in this room I’m counting six guns, plus the sidearm on your hip, and your two lab-rat magicians. Tell me something, Major. Do I look worried?”

I hoped to hell I didn’t, because if any single one of them decided to test me, I was as good as dead. When you’re all out of options, sometimes you can get through trouble with nothing but raw confidence.

Sometimes.

“No,” Angus said, “you don’t. So how do you see this playing out, son?”

“Simple. You take your troops and pull out. Once you’re gone, I lead everyone else out of here and drop your boy off, safe and sound, on a street corner about a mile away.”

“You think we’re going to let those people go?” Nedry said. “After what they’ve seen?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I’m pretty sure every computer in this building’s been scrubbed with a magnet and there isn’t a damn thing that can connect you or Xerxes to the property. You made a smart play with your choice of victims, too. Nobody listens to the homeless anyway, and once they start telling the cops they saw monsters here?
Nobody’s
going to listen. The only thing that’ll get you in trouble is if you’re caught here, red-handed. Which is about to happen.”

“How do you figure that?” Angus said.

“The FBI knows all about the little drugged goodies Clark’s been handing out on the street, and they’re about to swoop in and raid this place. I asked for a grace window so I could poke around first, but my time’s almost up. If you don’t want to walk out of here in cuffs, it’s time to pull up stakes and go. New Life is finished.”

“It’s not our
only
clinic,” Nedry scoffed.

Clark reached over, all smiles, and patted Nedry’s back. The other man stiffened as Clark’s hand slid higher, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Clark said softly, “you’re all tense and angry, and I think it’d be a really good idea if you didn’t talk right now, okay? Maybe just not say another word.”

Nedry nodded his head, suddenly mute. His eyes glazed over.

“Thank you,” Angus said to Clark. He turned back toward me and gave me a hard look. He gestured for his men to hang back as he crossed the lobby floor, standing so close I could count the bristles on his chin. He smelled like Old Spice and gunpowder.

“You killed three of my lads,” he said. Crow’s-feet bristled at the corners of his squinting eyes.

“Four,” I said. “You forgot the one outside Nedry’s lab.”

“Right. Understand something, Daniel Faust. I’ll do you for that. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I’ll do you for that. I’m going to cut your heart straight out of your bloody chest, and I’m going to eat it with a dollop of steak sauce. You wanted me to know your name? Well, now I know it. And I never forget.”

L
ooking into the steel flints of Angus Caine’s eyes felt like staring down the business end of a double-barreled shotgun.

“Guess I’ll see you on the battlefield then, Major,” I said. “But if you want a piece of advice? Get out of town. Lauren Carmichael likes surrounding herself with cannon fodder. She also likes feeding her friends into the meat grinder while she skips away free. Whatever she told you, whatever she promised you, that’s all you are to her.”

“We aren’t her
friends
,” Angus growled. “We’re private contractors, the best of the best, and the only thing she’s promised us is cold hard cash. There’s no sentiment here, boy. Don’t think you can play me against her. Long as her checks keep clearing, we’re not going anywhere.”

I tilted my head, leaning in just a little. Showing him I wasn’t intimidated, no matter how hard my heart was pounding.

“Well then. You’d better get moving, unless you want to spend those nice fat checks on cigarettes in the prison commissary.”

He backed away slowly, keeping me fixed in his sight as he waved his men out of the building. He was the last to leave, and he didn’t turn his back on me until he was five steps out the door.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Another gun barrel jabbed me in the cheek as I returned to the cell, but it was only Eric. He had the Xerxes goon kneeling on the floor with his elbows up and fingers woven behind his neck. Leroy didn’t look so good. He was still sitting where I’d left him, head lolled back and eyes heavy-lidded. There was a lot more of him on the floor now, pooling out in a sticky red puddle.

“It’s cool,” I said, and Eric lowered his rifle. “They’re gone. We need to roll. Leroy? Talk to me, buddy. Can you walk?”

“Do what I gotta do,” he mumbled. He tried to stand up, and I gave him my arm.

“Your lucky day,” I told the mercenary. “Your boss likes you after all. Eric, get this guy walking and cover him.”

Eric pointed to the zombies sitting in the cell, watching us with listless, blank eyes.

“What about the others?” he said.

“They can wait for the FBI to show up,” I said. “Until the drugs wear off, they’re safer here than they would be out on the streets, wandering into traffic.”

I helped Leroy all the way to the front door. That was where I left them. I ran for my car in a dead sprint. By the time I reached the lot, my shirt was soaked through with sweat and my throat burned like I’d gotten a second dose of tear gas, but I didn’t have time to catch my breath. The Barracuda’s chassis jolted as I swung into the office park and over a curb, tires squealing to a stop outside the New Life building. We hustled Leroy into the backseat, making him as comfortable as we could. Eric got in beside him, keeping his rifle trained on the mercenary in the passenger seat.

We went four blocks before I stomped on the brakes again. The car squealed to a stop outside a run-down gas station.

“Out,” I said.

The merc stared at me blankly.

“Eric,” I said, “if he doesn’t get out of this car in the next five seconds, shoot him in the head, and I’ll kick his body to the curb.”

That got him moving. The second the door shut we took off again, leaving him in our dust.

“This isn’t the way to the hospital,” Eric said. “Take a left up here, it’s faster.”

“We’re not going to the hospital,” I told him.

Hospitals were messy. Hospitals meant questions. If you showed up in the ER with a bullet wound, they were legally obligated to call the cops. Leroy’s story led back to a hallway filled with corpses, and that wasn’t weight he needed to carry. Even if the cops called it self-defense, that’d be enough to put his and Eric’s names on Angus Caine’s hit list right next to mine.

I leaned over and grabbed my phone out of the glove compartment, driving with one eye on the road while I pulled up the entry labeled Doc on my contact list.

“It’s Faust,” I said. “You working today? Good. Got one patient, coming in hot. Gunshot, and he’s lost a lot of blood. No, I think it came out the other side. All right. Yeah, I’m vouching for him and a guest. Seven minutes.”

“Who was that?” Eric asked as I hung up the phone.

“My family physician,” I said.

We rumbled into the parking lot of the Rosewood Funeral Home. It sat on a lonely corner in East Vegas across the street from a boarded-up strip mall and right next door to a lonely discount furniture outlet that had been advertising the same “two days only, everything must go” sale since 1998. Doc Savoy appeared in the front door, mopping sweat from his dusky liver-spotted scalp, and waved for me to drive around back. He wore an old pair of wire-framed glasses and a faded linen butcher’s smock. All ready for surgery.

I pulled the Barracuda around the building, parking behind the shelter of a vinyl fence, and the old man came jogging out to meet us. He fiddled with his glasses and squinted at Leroy as we helped him out of the backseat.

“Oh, that’s not good, that’s not good at all,” the doc rasped. I didn’t pay it any mind—he’d say the same thing if you came in with a broken fingernail. He ushered us through the service entrance and into the morgue. The steel embalming table glowed under hot lights, all hosed down and ready for the patient.

“Go and scrub up,” he said, pointing Eric and me toward the big steel sink next to a row of refrigeration lockers. “Marjoline’s out getting her hair done, so you two are honorary nurses today. You’re all puffy looking. What’d you get into?”

“Tear gas,” I said.

“
Cold
water, then. Faces and hands, cold as you can stand it. Hot water’ll just bring the sting back.” He looked to Leroy. “Do you know your blood type, son?”