Much as he'd have liked to, he couldn't wait out here through the whole melee. Had to be among them, pretending to lead them. So when half their number had pressed through the entrance, he checked the reassuring bulk of the.38 in his front pocket, then started forward, motioning Darryl and Menck along.
"Come on. Time for some payback."
They flowed into a big center hallway that ran the length of the building. Opposite them, faintly visible in the dim light, a wide set of stairs ran up to the second floor.
Now he knew why the place looked familiar: just like his old high school. Man, he'd hated that place.
But where were the lights? The only illumination came from some sort of oil lamps strung along the center of the ceiling. He found a bank of light switches and started flipping them.
Nothing. The place didn't seem to have electricity. Why wouldn't—?
A Kicker cried out and clutched his face. Hank gasped as he saw something round and pointy jutting from his eye—a throwing star. Another sliced into his throat.
And then came a hail of the things. Hank dropped to his knees as the stars pierced heads and shoulders and raised hands.
The rain stopped, replaced by shrill cries echoing from both sides as black-clad figures charged out of the dark. Sword blades gleamed in the lamplight.
Their blood up now, the Kickers charged right into them. Some fell victim to the swords but their overwhelming numbers inundated the attackers and crushed them.
Hank counted seven Kickers down. Some looked dead, others—like the guy with the star in his eye—were still mobile but out of the fight. Hank couldn't let these minor losses take the steam out of them.
"Listen up! We knew we wouldn't come through this without a scratch. Yeah, we're bloodied, but we're unbowed. If this is the best these gooks have to throw at us, the battle is won! All we've got to do now is find the sword and the girl. So we're gonna split up."
He used his arm to draw an imaginary line through the group, then pointed to the right.
"This half stays down here with Darryl and Menck. Your job is to search every room on the first floor. The rest of you come upstairs with me. We'll do the same on the second. Those of you who are hurt but still able to get around, help get the others outside." He clapped his hands. "All right! Let's move! And fuck up anyone who tries to stop you!"
They let loose a battle roar and divided.
As Hank's group headed for the stairs, a frantic voice shouting in Japanese echoed down from the second floor. But that was instantly drowned out by the sound of someone starting and revving a chainsaw.
Shiro stood watch over the girl and the katana—together, just as the Seer had predicted. Akechi-sensei had used a doku-ippen on her that caused sleep but would not harm the life she carried.
He was dreaming of the glory in the Order's future when he heard a commotion from below. He looked out the window onto the rear of the property but saw nothing. He padded down the hall to one of the narrow stairways at each end of the building and heard cries of rage and pain—the unmistakable sounds of battle—echoing up the well.
Baffled, he hurried down in time to see some of his brothers fall before the onslaught of an invading rabble.
Kickers! It couldn't be anyone else. They'd come for the girl and the katana.
Shiro's hands patted his sash and his pockets—empty. He was unarmed, but he could remedy that.
He dashed back up to the second floor and ran its length, shouting a warning and a call to arms.
He pounded on his sensei's door.
"Akechi-sensei! We're being attacked. They want the katana and the girl!"
The door swung open and Shiro gasped at the sight of his teacher's face. He must have removed his mask and hadn't had time to replace it.
"Arm yourself and guard the katana and the child! Let no one near them! I will guard the sacred scrolls! Hurry!"
Shiro ran to his room and grabbed his katana. He was starting back toward the hall when he spied his bow standing in a corner.
… guard the katana and the child! Let no one near them!
How better to do that than thin the ranks of the attackers?
He grabbed his quiver and ran for the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Darryl let one of the big guys without a headache kick in the doors.
The first room was dark and empty save for some bedding—didn't they call it a futon or something like that?—along with some clothes and not much else.
In the second they found a couple of burning candles and an old, bald-headed guy in a blue robe, cowering on his futon. Looked like some sort of monk—like from a kung-fu movie. Then Darryl noticed with a start that he didn't have any legs.
The monk was wailing in Japanese, motioning them to leave.
"What do we do?" a Kicker said to Menck.
Before Menck could answer, another said, "We do like the boss said. We fuck him up."
The monk's wailing and whimpering grew louder as the two of them stepped forward, one with a two-by-four, one with a crowbar. They raised them when they reached him—and suddenly the monk didn't look afraid anymore, and his wailing and whimpering changed to raging screams as he pulled a long sword from beneath his robe and started swinging.
Darryl cried out in surprise and fell back. He watched in horror as the monk opened the first Kicker's thigh, then backhanded a slice deep into the second's knee. They screamed and went down. Fortunately they fell on him, pinning him. A couple of other Kickers rushed in and turned the old dude's skull to mush.
"Shit!" Darryl shouted. "These guys are crazy!"
Menck knelt next to the futon and started tearing strips from the bedding. As he wrapped one around the bleeding thigh he looked up at Darryl.
"I'll take care of these guys. Keep going. Let's find what we came for and get the hell out of this madhouse. And be careful, damn it."
Don't need to tell me, Darryl thought.
He wished he was staying behind with Menck.
"All right, guys. Let's roll. Stick together and keep your eyes open. You see anyone who ain't us, clobber him first and ask questions later."
As he was rejoining the Kickers in the hall, one of them let out a gurgling cry. Darryl watched him sink to the floor clutching at a black arrow shaft sticking out both sides of his neck.
And then another went down with an arrow sticking out of his head—this one didn't come out the other side.
Suddenly everyone wanted into the room. All but one. This bearded mountain of a Kicker Darryl knew only as Jesse picked up a dead Jap in the hall and charged whoever was shooting at them, holding the corpse in front of him as he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Darryl dropped to his knees and dared a peek down the hall. He saw a skinny guy in black, much like the ones who'd charged him in the Lodge basement, standing by the front entrance and shooting arrow after arrow like a machine. Some of his shots went wide, but a lot of them plowed into the dead monk.
Finally the Jap ran out of arrows. When Jesse saw this, he tossed the monk aside and picked up speed toward the Jap. Now that it was safe to go out, the Kickers around Darryl loosed howls of rage and joined the chase like a pack of baying hounds. Not wanting to be thought of as a coward, Darryl brought up the rear, keeping an eye over his shoulder in case another archer appeared.
Out of arrows and with a mob coming his way, the Jap turned and ran for the far end of the hall. The Kickers were almost even with the entrance when four Japs in suits—suits and ties—stepped into view.
Like it had a single mind, the mob changed course and charged toward the newcomers.