“Deacon, is Bug online? Can he hack this system and shut it down remotely?”
Bug was right there. “Accessing it now, Cowboy.”
“Tell me something good.”
“Jesus, Cowboy,” said Bug, “they’ve got a lot of anti-intrusion software in here. I mean… this is cutting-edge stuff. Wow. Nice code. This is sweet.”
“Bug, do you see the timer?”
“Oh… crap. Yeah.”
“Tell me you can stop this countdown.”
He didn’t tell me anything for ten seconds. Felt like ten years. My heart was rattling like machine-gun fire.
“No,” Bug said. “There’s a firewall that’s going to take time to break through.”
“How much time?”
His voice was weak. “Too much. Three, four hours. Joe, you’re going to need to find Santoro or someone who knows how to turn the God Machine off.”
“What would happen if I blew the goddamn thing up?”
“How would I know? But if it comes down to the wire, Cowboy, go for it. By then we’d have nothing to lose.”
“Deacon,” I said, “if I can’t switch it off, I need you to back my play.”
There was the slightest pause. “I have two of our Apaches on station, but understand this — you’re too far underground. I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Shit,” I said. I holstered my gas gun and drew my Sig Sauer. There are times for subtlety and there are times to put hair on the walls. “Harry, how do we get to the damn Playroom?”
He spun and ran. I followed, setting my Scout glasses to show me the countdown. We ran as fast as we could.
And hell seemed to follow us all.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN
Toys tried to crawl away, but Junie ran after him, chopping at him with the screwdriver. He stabbed back with kicks, knocking her off balance, knocking her down, but each time she got back up and charged again.
Her eyes were dead and empty, but her lips were pulled back from her white teeth. Drool swung in pendulous lines from her lips, and she was muttering a guttural, wordless noise.
“Gah… gah… gah… gah…”
The screwdriver rose and fell, rose and fell.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
We ran down a series of halls, through multiple rooms. Wine cellar, bulk storage, a woodworking shop, another for metalwork, two laboratories.
We found two Closers in the fifth room. Neither was Santoro. I pushed Harry behind.
“Ghost,” I yelled. “Hit! Hit! Hit!”
He was a white missile. Fangs and claws and rage. It had been a long time since Ghost had been in a real fight. He was filled with nervous energy and the power that came with it. Speed born of fury and bloodlust. If you are on the receiving end of it, that is a nightmare beyond imagining. Ghost hit the nearest Closer and there was blood in the air before they struck the ground. Reinforced protective undergarments be damned. Ghost went for the throat. I shot the other Closer through the bridge of the nose. Protective undergarment, my hairy white ass.
I jumped over his body as he crashed down. Ghost straddled the flopping body of the first man. The Closer hadn’t been able to so much as scream.
I didn’t even look back to see if Harry was following. In the lens of my Scout glasses the digital numbers went from 10:45 to 10:44.
Ticking down to darkness.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN
The wall beside Top burst outward in a fireball of burning plaster and brick, showering him, driving him back, burning his hands and face and arms. Montana lay on the floor where she’d fallen, but she rolled onto her belly and aimed her pistol, firing, firing, firing. The ankle of one of the Closers exploded into a red mess as the heavy slugs destroyed bone and ligaments. He screamed as he toppled sideways, and his timing was tragic. He fell directly into the path of his partner’s next shot.
Tok!
The entire upper torso of the wounded Closer burst apart, hurling flaming meat everywhere. The flames slapped against the second Closer’s thighs and his pants caught fire. Montana changed her angle and shot him in the mouth, blowing out the back of his head.
Top slapped at the flames on his own clothes, stepped on a piece of debris, lost his balance, and fell heavily against the opposite wall. A bullet burned past him, missing his neck by an inch. Top whirled to see Brian Botley, his eyes glazed as he raised his pistol and pointed it and fired. Top was moving, ducking, rushing. And then Brian was falling, and Top saw that the fork he’d dropped was now buried into the instep of Brian’s foot. Brian kept firing as he fell…
… and he fell on the bucking gun. His body twitched once and then there was silence as a pool of dark red spread out beneath him.
Sam Imura, dazed and bleeding, lay there, his arm stretched for the long reach and stab. He reached over, rolled Brian onto his side, and took the gun. The weapon was smeared with blood, but Sam raised it anyway. His eyes were beginning to glaze over. Sam pointed the gun and had time to force out two strangled words.
“Top… Run…”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
07:19
We reached the stairway down to the subbasement. There was another steel door, another keypad. And four more guards.
They were ready for us. No way they hadn’t heard the shots and yells. Four Closers, four pulse pistols. Me and a dog.
Short version.
They died.
I took a keycard from a dead hand and swiped it. The door opened. Ghost and I, both of us covered in blood, rushed inside. It burned me to know that the clock was ticking. It burned that I had no idea if there was even a way to stop this.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
SEPTEMBER 10, 2:44 P.M.
Sam’s shots were wild, hitting walls and floor and missing Top by inches.
Top dove, rolled, and came up with a pulse pistol, pivoted on his knees, fired. The wall beside Sam exploded, barraging the wounded sniper with burning chunks of sheetrock and shattered pieces of wooden studs. The force picked Sam up and flung him against the wall so hard that the sound of breaking bones was horribly sharp.
Then the air above Top sizzled as another Closer fired on him. He flattened out and rolled like a log, trying not to die, trying to bring the pulse pistol to bear. Nearby, Montana Parker crouched, the slide locked back on her weapon. She wasted precious seconds to swap out a dead magazine for one that might keep her alive.
Top saw the blast hit her.
One moment his friend and fellow warrior was there, raising her gun, ready to fight and kill, and the next she was gone.
Just gone.
The blast caught her dead center and exploded her. She never had time to even scream. Superheated blood and pieces of meat slapped against Top, getting in his mouth, burning his skin.