Shay tossed her pistol into her other hand and yanked out her knife, as she walked to the man, pulled his head up, and slit his throat. The other moaner met his end right after. A quick check of the other bodies confirmed no more survivors, but she sliced their throats to be certain.
Stray thoughts about the Rod of Supay filtered into her head, and Shay resisted the urge to head-shoot all the corpses. Not only would it waste ammo, but she wasn’t even sure that worked on zombies in real life.
Keeping her gun ready, the woman crept up the stairs and along the wall—more like a member of the SAS than a field archaeologist. She swept into each room, ready to shoot at any target presenting himself.
Each upstairs room stood empty, except for one containing a dead man with a katana beside him and a huge puncture wound in his throat. Shay stared at a bullet-riddled door lying against the wall opposite the open doorway.
Okay. Brownstone thought someone might be hiding, and he opened up on the door—or maybe he was just trying to see something. Why the knife? Downstairs showed that he’s got good aim. Not a single sloppy shot in the bunch, and he was under fire probably the whole time.
Shay furrowed her brow as she tried to piece the clues together.
Katana guy must have gotten the drop on him, otherwise Brownstone would have put a bullet into his head or chest. Or three bullets.
From the look of things, this guy was high-ranking. Harriken do place a lot of importance in personal ass-kicking ability. Maybe Topknot Boy knocked Brownstone’s gun out of his hand?
She spoke to the corpse. “You probably thought you had him, didn’t you?” Shay snickered.
She crept out of the room, pointing her gun downward as she approached the stairs. There was only one major area left to explore, and that lay behind the reinforced door to what she assumed was the basement. After a trip through the killing fields, she closed on the door.
Someone, presumably Brownstone had fired a shitload of bullets into the door to create a hole where the lock used to be. A huge pile of shell casings lay near the door, and she knelt to inspect them.
Only a few were .45s. Most were 5.45×39mm.
James opened up with what…probably an AK? Did you run in here with two guns, Brownstone, like some VR shooter sim?
No. That’s not right. The fuckers on the stairs all looked like they died from pistol wounds. Probably some Harriken guy showed up with the AK, and Brownstone took him out and used his gun as the world’s bluntest lockpick.
Shay searched around and found the expected rifle, snapped into two pieces shoved under one of the bodies. Brownstone was covering his back.
A full picture of the assault crystalized in her mind. Brownstone hadn’t approached the headquarters with anything resembling stealth. Had never planned to. He’d boldly walked right up, knocked a guy out, and beat his partner to death in the process of using the man as a living battering ram.
Well, semi-living.
Outnumbered and outgunned, the bounty hunter had executed all his enemies while taking only a hit or two.
All because these men had killed his dog.
James Brownstone was a living bulldozer crossed with a tank designed in Hell.
Shay shook her head as she processed it all. The fight against the Warlocks hadn’t demonstrated one-tenth of this lethality. Anyone picking a fight with Brownstone should schedule their funeral ahead of time to save their relatives the trouble.
A couple of thuds sounded from downstairs, and Shay nodded to herself. Brownstone didn’t need her assistance. The death tableau had proved that.
I can still walk away. The Emperor of Destruction here doesn’t need my help. Leeroy has been avenged, and then some.
Shay stared at the basement door and shook her head. “This is stupid.” She sighed and grabbed the handle.
Chapter Eight
Shay crept down the stairs, only to run into more of the aftermath of Hurricane Brownstone. The bottom of the stairwell led to a short corridor that turned to the right before joining a larger hallway. With the cement walls and stairwell, Brownstone would have been fed straight into a kill box.
Except he wasn’t the one who was dead.
A dead Harriken lay against the wall, his face bruised, his eyes closed, and his nose askew. His sword had been driven right through his chest. Another man lay on the floor facedown, a pistol a few feet from his hand. His sword remained in its sheath.
Several flattened bullets littered the floor. Huge chips in the cement walls let her know the man had fired his pistol and missed his target.
Shay began to wonder how these final men could have believed they’d even have a chance against Brownstone. From what she could tell, they’d had fortifications and surprise…but still lost.
Maybe a few rocket launchers or some sort of powerful magic would have helped.
Brownstone’s voice echoed from the other end of the basement, and Shay sidled closer to him. She holstered her gun and peeked around the corner just in time to see the bounty hunter decapitate one man and rant about barbecue to the second before punching him in the stomach.
The only surprising thing about the sight was that Brownstone’s second target didn’t cough up blood and fall to the ground dead.
His survival told Shay that James must have pulled his punch. After everything she’d seen in Peru and in the house that night, she didn’t believe a normal human could survive such a blow. She wasn’t sure what Brownstone was but she refused to believe that he wasn’t relying on some sort of magic. Normal people just weren’t that strong.
James kicked the pistol behind the last man.
“I...apologize to the dog,” the Harriken wheezed. “Please spare me.”
“He wasn’t just ‘the dog.’ He had a name.” Brownstone crossed his arms and glared down at the man. “His fucking
