“And we’re your best chance of keeping it,” Blaine said, and started to reach inside the closet for the rifles.
“They’re not loaded,” the old man told him.
“Where are the bullets?”
“I … have none.”
Tessen and McCracken exchanged glances, Tessen through the plastic lenses covering his eyes. The two of them drew their pistols.
“They won’t be expecting a fight,” Blaine said hopefully, pulling his mask over his head.
“If they know you’re here, they will.”
The door to the workshop fragmented inward. A small grenadelike thing fluttered through the air and shattered on impact with the floor.
Ssssssssssssss …
It sounded like a snake to Blaine. The deadly droplets of the White Death were filling the room. Screaming, the old man staggered toward the closet with one arm covering his closed eyes. He banged into a pair of display tables en route, and their fragile contents tumbled to the floor. A third table nearest the closet pitched over entirely on impact. McCracken spun toward the door, Tessen hanging back.
The first of two figures whirled into the room, as the hissing wound down and the White Death filled the air. Blaine instantly noticed the shiny black steel extremities that they had for hands. Some sort of razor-sharp prostheses, he realized. So that’s how they had pulled it off, not just now but forty-five years ago as well….
Tessen opened fire an instant ahead of McCracken.
“Head shots!” Blaine screamed his way as the Nazi’s first three shots plunked into the bulletproof vests that the invaders wore.
Blaine had no sooner shouted the words than he got off a trio of bullets into the lagging figure’s face. The third bullet snapped his head back, and then he went limp. Tessen’s misjudgment had cost him the luxury of space and surprise; the killer was almost upon him when he at last put a bullet dead center in his forehead.
Blaine and the Nazi met halfway across the floor and slid toward the doorway. McCracken reached it first. The house beyond had grown deadly quiet. How many more of them might there be in the house? Whatever the number, they would have heard the gunshots and might be approaching even now.
“Scream!” Blaine said loudly through his gas mask back to Tessen.
“What?”
“You heard me. Scream. Like they were killing us now.” His eyes fell on one of the corpses, at the deadly black weapons that had been pulled over their hands. “Scream!”
Tessen lifted his mask up to expose his mouth and screamed. Blaine followed, joining him. When they finished, a deathly quiet returned to the house. The overpowering scent of gunpowder had made its way to the second floor. McCracken peered outside into the hallway.
“Empty,” he whispered.
“Not for long,” Tessen warned. “They’ll be coming.”
“I think if we—”
“Not ‘we,’ McCracken. I don’t matter anymore. It is only you.” He pointed to the opposite end of the hallway. “You can get out through that window. Climb down and escape while their forces are still concentrated in the front.”
“While you …”
“Hold them off for as long as I can.”
“Might not be long enough, Tessen.”
“You will make it long enough. Once you are over the wall, you will be safe.”
“Unless they see me.”
“The mask will still protect you. Go! Now! Before it is too late!”
Blaine handed his gun to Tessen. “Thank you,” he said, and started off.
“It is I who must thank you, for what you are doing for us. Get out. Hurry. Stop them. Destroy them.”
McCracken charged off. He had to swing right at the end of the corridor to find the window that held his route of escape. He had it up and was halfway outside when the horrible screams reached him from well back down the hall, real screams this time.
Tessen …
From the window, Blaine dropped onto a branch and then climbed down the tree adjacent to the window as quickly as he could. He hit the ground running. Footsteps thumped behind him, closing the gap. He didn’t bother looking back. A pair, a trio perhaps, of the killers were giving pursuit, and more were sure to join them.
Blaine could see the brick wall enclosing the grounds just ahead. Ten feet high and nearly impossible to scale, unless he could grasp one of the vines wrapped upon it and pull himself up. He hit the wall climbing, razor-sharp death about to swipe at his heels. He grasped a vine and propelled himself upward, not stopping when he reached the top. He let himself tumble over and dropped onto a thick bush that cushioned his drop, but tore off his gas mask in the process. Impact on the ground was soft enough to let him have his feet back instantly.
McCracken was dazed, though, and the utter blackness of the night added to his disorientation. He could hear the pursuers behind him scaling the wall. More dark figures poured out from the mansion’s gate and charged toward him like a storm in the night.
A car was speeding down Schwogenstrasse. McCracken bolted into the street directly into the spill of its headlights. He intended to make the vehicle stop so that he might commandeer it. The car skidded to a halt just in front of him.
“Get in!” a woman’s voice ordered through the driver’s window, rear door thrown open.
Blaine stood there for a long moment.
“For God’s sake, do as I say. Now!”
McCracken lunged into the back seat, struggling to get the door closed as the car tore away.
Chapter 27
“I understand now,” said Wareagle after the Israeli commando leader had completed his explanation of what they were facing.
He tightened the strap of the goggles that had been handed to him behind his head. They had been fitted with infrared lenses, but donning them had reduced even further a view that was already restricted thanks to the black bayou night. He was alone now in the shielded clearing with the leader and the burly man named Joseph. The others had silently retaken their positions, eight commandos in all.
“And these will protect us?” he asked.
“They should,” the leader told him. “They haven’t been tested.”
Johnny’s mind strayed briefly to Joe Rainwater. He had died horribly, unable to even see his killers, much less fight them. The dishonor of it sickened him. The soul and spirit of his warrior friend had been done a terrible disservice. Johnny tightened his grip on the Splat-loaded Sterling SMG.
“You don’t know who those in possession of this weapon are,” he said, feeling his own warrior blood heating up against his flesh.
“Only that this is a return engagement for them. We knock out what we can here and hope for clues that lead us back to the nest.”
Wareagle tensed suddenly, the spirits alive in his ears. The night had turned rancid, ranker than even the hellfire’s. He moved forward until he was dangerously close to being visible.
“What are you doing?” the leader barked, as the man named Joseph started after Wareagle.
Johnny stood there motionless, his spine arched and whole body rigid. Joseph touched his shoulder and pulled his hand away instantly, a feeling like heat and an electric shock surging through it.
“What is it?” the Israeli asked.
“Pull your men back,” Wareagle told the leader.
“What?”
“Get your men out of here, Commander, get them out now!”
Inside the house Heydan Larroux sat in a chair facing a window with drawn blinds. Beyond them the night sounds spoke to her, and she tried to listen for their message. She heard the Old One ruffling stones through her aged hands, the sound curiously like that of a shooter at a craps table. The thought had her almost smiling until the familiar sound of a stone hitting water came, louder and flatter than normal.