'You need me
'Not like this. We both go or neither of us does.'
He saw in her eyes she was serious.
She uncoiled her arm and took his hands. She moved them to the bumper. 'Hold on,' she said. Then she rolled away, back around the side of the station wagon.
'Wait—!'
He peered through the windowless back. Through cantaloupe-sized holes in the windshield, he watched Atropos approach, slowly, with confidence. He saw Julia's hand come up by the steering wheel and grab the shifter. She yanked it down. The engine gunned, and the station wagon fishtailed and shot forward.
The tires slung mud into Stephen's face, blinding him. He pinched his eyes closed, held his breath, and tightened his grip on the bumper. The road played out under him, jostling him over ruts and potholes. A hundred tiny fists beat his chest, stomach, legs. Their speed seemed tremendous, and the ride went on and on. The hidden edge of the bumper cut into his fingers. Mud pushed under his grip, slick as soap. He turned his hands to stone, but he couldn't hold on much longer.
The wagon crashed into something. His body lifted and his head cracked against the tailgate. He released the bumper. His face dropped into a puddle. He used it to splash the mud out of his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He rolled onto his back, raised his head, and looked. They had traveled only about three blocks.
Atropos was back there, not as far away as Stephen would have thought . . . or wished. Red mud coated the killer's right side, as though he had hit the road to avoid the station wagon. The rain was washing him clean again, as it was Stephen.
Julia appeared at his side, a fresh gash in her forehead.
'I'm all right,' she said before he could ask. 'Come on.'
She tugged on him, and they both rose. They passed the station wagon, which had struck a large wooden cart. Crates of oranges had tumbled onto the hood and road.
At the first street, they turned right. Stephen looked back, slipped in the mud, and fell hard. Julia pulled him up. Stephen wiped his eyes and peered around.
They were on a street mixed with storefronts and small houses that appeared to be cobbled together from old signs and corrugated metal. The rain and false dusk cut visibility to roughly two blocks; any direction could lead to a dead end or to the relative safety of a crowded indoor market—there was no way of knowing.
'This way,' she said, heading up the street.
Stephen took the lead. They sloshed through rust-red torrents, blinking at the pelting rain. The water was cold; Stephen's toes went from frigid to sore to numb. At each cross street, they scanned for signs of people or police or shelter. Stephen continually veered to one side of the street, then the other, rattling door handles, rapping at doors. Pedro Juan Caballero could have been a ghost town.
At an intersection, a cutting wind hurled beads of water at them with the force of a shotgun blast. They stepped out of the crosscurrent, and Julia stopped so fast her feet slipped out from under her. She clung to Stephen's arm, managing to stay up only after planting one knee in the mud.
Atropos was coming toward them. Somehow he had overtaken them, or they had gotten turned around in the storm. Julia kept her eyes on the killer as she regained her footing. The wind had caught the man's long coat, causing the sides to flap behind him like leathery wings. She saw a flicker of red dancing at his side: his pistol like an extension of his arm.
Lightning burst across the sky, illuminating a million raindrops as if they were tiny mirrors. It blinded Stephen for a sheer moment. In that time, Atropos halved the distance between them. Clear, now, was the look of grim determination on his face. His right arm rose stiffly, pivoting at the shoulder. The laser drew a glittering arc toward them.
'Move!' Julia yelled. She shoved her weight into Stephen. The two splashed down in a stream of rushing water at a point in the street where a curb would have been, had these back roads possessed them.
He didn't hear the spit of the silenced gun, but a nearby window shattered like a melodic counterpoint to the rain's ceaseless pounding.
'Move! Move!' she screamed. They tumbled over each other, gaining their feet. He pulled her up and pushed her forward, back the way they'd come. She stumbled again, splashing down in the mud. He leaped over her, his momentum making a sudden stop impossible. He turned and was blinded by Atropos's red laser. He snapped his head away and felt the hot-piercing impact of a bullet.
eighty-three
The red dot of Atropos's gun flickered through the beads of falling water and touched Stephen's face like the finger of fate. He flew back, crashing through the door of a shop, its glass pane bursting into slivers, for a second becoming indistinguishable from the rain.
'Stephen!' A drenched rope of hair fell into her face. She swatted at it, flipping it away. 'Stephen!'
She rose from the mud and swung around toward Atropos. He stood dark and solid in the center of the road, fifty feet away. The gun was at his side again, and he was simply watching. Slowly, watching him, but anxious for Stephen, she stepped to the shop door. The Warrior made no advance, no move intended to stop her. He seemed to be communicating his understanding of the situation: she and Stephen were his to kill at his leisure; nothing they did could prevent him from acquiring his trophies.
Stephen was lying inside the store, his feet protruding over the bottom wood slat of the door. His head was thrown back so only his hairy chin and neck were visible beyond his chest. Did she really want to see his face, the damage a 9mm could do to it? But if he were alive, could she deny him the chance to behold a friendly face before dying?
Then his chest heaved, and he raised his head. His eyes found her and his lips tried to form a smile, but settled on a grimace.
'Stephen?' She felt disoriented, dreamy.
'I think he shot me.' He crossed his right arm over his chest and gripped his shoulder. She saw where the jacket was torn and soaked in blood.
She stepped through the broken door and crouched at his side. 'I thought . . .' She smiled and he took it in; the healing touch of an angel—or a shot of morphine—could not have effected such a positive change to his expression. He grinned, reminding her of when they met, only a few days ago; she'd felt an instant kinship with him and had hoped she wasn't being naive. Her chest tightened as she realized now he was one of the few genuine good guys—as Goody had been. Her heart ached to see him hurt.
She stuck her finger in the bullet hole in his jacket and felt for the wound. He winced.
'High on the shoulder,' she said. 'Not too bad.'
His eyes widened. 'Where is he?'
She looked out through the destroyed door. 'He's just standing there, watching. I think he's toying with us.'
At that moment Atropos's rain-blurred figure took a step toward them, then another.
'Stephen, you have to get up.' She got her arms under him and helped him up. Atropos was forty feet away and closing in fast. They stumbled around displays of pottery and handmade ceramic picture frames, heading for the back of the store. They plowed through a closed door into a living room, where a family huddled together on a threadbare sofa. The mother, a teenage daughter, and two school-age boys were making an admirable attempt to disappear into the father's embrace. They all looked healthy and loving. And utterly terrified, Julia thought.
'I'm sorry,' she said. She pointed toward another door that was ajar and seemed to lead to more rooms. 'Go in there,
'They don't understand,' Stephen said.
'Go! Go!' she yelled, waving the way. The family dislodged themselves and started to comply. Julia shot to a third door, this one metal and heavily bolted. She opened it. 'Alley,' she announced. They heard the crunch of glass from the store. 'Come on.'
The passage was narrow and dark. Slate clouds swirled in the strip of sky overhead. The rain pelted the side of one of the buildings that formed the alley and cascaded down; a fine mist descended upon them. They sprinted left. She heard Stephen's splashing footfalls and labored breathing behind her—sounds the tight alley magnified.
