“Where’s that monkey? Mathison?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen Fran.”
“We need to—”
Wiley caught a blur in his peripheral vision—someone running past the doorway. Someone in black.
Wiley raced into the hall, saw Santiago pulling off the barricade, yanking open the door.
That big son of a bitch, Ajax, rushed in like a charging linebacker.
Wiley shot slug after slug at him, emptying the Benelli, not missing a single one.
The giant staggered, bleeding from the face and neck, his body armor smoking where the shots hit. But the son of a bitch kept coming.
Wiley dropped the gun and pulled his Glock, backpedaling as he squeezed the trigger, Josh racing to the great room ahead of him.
Ajax got within ten yards.
Wiley aimed for the face, but the huge man was enraged, shaking his big head from side to side like a bull, picking up speed.
Eight yards away, coming on fast. He was going to plow right into Wiley, and the force would no doubt cripple or kill the older man.
Wiley took a different approach. Rather than try to follow the swaying of Ajax’s head, he kept the Glock rock steady. He forced out a breath, sighted down the barrel of his weapon, waiting for the massive forehead to line up with his sights.
Five yards and closing.
Ajax bellowed.
Wiley kept both eyes open and fired.
The bullet entered Ajax’s face just below his right eye, making a small hole. As it left his skull the hole was much larger, blowing out a section of skull big enough to put a fist into.
Ajax dropped to his knees and pitched forward like a felled tree, a mist of red floating to the floor after him.
But it was too late; the other two had gotten into the storage room, and to the guns.
Wiley turned and ran, following Josh into the great room, locking the door behind him.
Duncan went from being very happy to being very scared. Mom brought in Woof, and told him Josh and Wiley were also okay, and just when he started hugging his dog there were gunshots and Josh and Wiley came running in.
“Cover the door,” Wiley said. “They’re coming, and they’re coming armed. Duncan! Where’s that monkey?”
Duncan was too surprised to speak. He pointed to the sofa. Mathison sat on the armrest, looking agitated.
“Duncan, you need to grab his collar. It’s really a special kind of bomb. It has a button. You press it and it will kill the bad guys.”
“How?” Duncan managed.
“They have microchips in their heads. This sends a signal, breaks the chips.”
“Mathison has a chip in his head. Will it hurt him, too?”
Wiley stared at him, and Duncan could tell by his expression that it
“He’s my friend,” Duncan said.
“Duncan, we’re all going to die if we don’t press that button.”
Duncan nodded and swallowed. He walked slowly over to Mathison, the tears making it hard to see.
“I’m sorry, little guy,” Duncan said. “It’s the only way to save everyone.”
Mathison put his tiny paws on his scarred head and screeched. Duncan wondered if he understood what Wiley had said. Duncan held out his hand, trying not to cry too much, and the monkey leapt off the sofa and darted across the room.
Shooting, from the hallway. Duncan turned and saw the door begin to shake. He ran after Mathison, but the monkey screeched at him again and tugged at his collar.
“They’re here!” Wiley yelled.
Duncan looked over at the doorway just as everyone began to fire their guns. The room sounded like bombs were going off, so loud that it hurt Duncan’s head. He knew he should fire back, try to help, but it was so noisy and he was so scared and he was just a kid and what could he do anyway?
The shooting went on and on, and Duncan crouched down with hands pressed to his ears and started to cry, wishing it would end.
Finally Wiley yelled, “Conserve your ammo!” and everyone stopped.
All the gunfire had made the room smoky, and Duncan waved his palm to clear the air and see. Mathison was gone. Josh and Mom were behind the table. Wiley and Sheriff Streng were behind the sofa. Duncan realized he’d dropped his gun somewhere. He scanned the floor but didn’t see it.
“I’m out of bullets!” Josh said. His voice sounded far away. “So is Fran!”
“Where’s the ammo bag?” Wiley called.
“I left it in the kitchen,” Fran said. “Where’s Duncan? Duncan!”
“I’m here, Mom!”
Fran crawled over, hugging him.
“Where’s your gun, baby?”
Duncan was sobbing now, full blown. “I … I dropped it. I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want us all to die.”
“It’s not your fault, baby,” she was crying, too, and she smoothed his hair and touched his cheek and looked so sad. “It’s not your fault.”
Josh scooted over, putting his arms around both of them.
More gunshots, from Wiley. Then he yelled, “I can’t hold them! They’re coming in!”
Duncan closed his eyes. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too bad when they killed him.
And then he heard someone cooing.
The monkey walked up, walked up on two legs just like a little person. He had his collar in his tiny hand and was holding it out for Duncan. He looked so sad.
Duncan took the collar, which was thick and heavy. He ran his fingers over it and found the button under the buckle.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Mathison.
He patted the monkey on the head, right on his scar. Instead of flinching away, Mathison closed his eyes and opened his arms to be held. Duncan embraced him, hugging hard.
“Bye-bye, Mathison.” Duncan told him, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Then he pressed the button and threw the collar at the door.
There was a loud crackling sound, a flash, and the lights went off. The room became darker, but not totally black, because of the candles he and Mom had lit earlier.
“They’re down!” Josh yelled. “The Red-ops are down!”
Everyone cheered but Duncan. He cried, softly stroking the belly of his friend, Mathison, limp in his lap.
He did it,” Wiley said. “Duncan did it.” The words came out more like a rasp, and then he fell to his knees and onto his side.
“Josh!” Ace yelled. “Something happened to my brother!”
Wiley heard people walk over, saw them bringing candles. Josh crouched next to him, pressed his fingers to his carotid.
“Talk to me, Warren,” Josh said. “What happened? Were you shot?”
