“You destroyed my family,” Nick said. “Now I’m going to make you suffer agony like you’ve never known.”
The gunfire in the hall continued in deafening bursts. Horn was starting to push himself upright, but the big operator looked dizzy, like he had suffered a traumatic concussion.
“Do you know how that feels?” Nick asked, leaning down toward Timothy. He spit in his face. “Losing everything?!”
Timothy struggled to breathe, but he managed a nod.
He pictured his father’s body on Peak’s Island and the faces of Donna and Bo, before they had died in the bat attack in Portland. He imagined his mother and the rest of his family who had been killed in the first war.
Nick had suffered his own share of misery, too. Now he was crazy, driven insane by the death of those he had loved. The true embodiment of evil. A twisted Chimera, fighting and killing for the New Gods.
Timothy felt the wooden beads of Tasha’s bracelet against his wrist. He still had something left to fight for.
“Do you know what it feels like?!” Nick roared again, demanding an answer.
Timothy stretched one hand toward his hip, toward the holster there, fighting against the pain coursing through his nerves. He tore his pistol out and pushed it against Nick’s stomach. He pulled the trigger once, twice, three times.
The Chimera staggered backward.
Timothy got up and fired again, but Nick still managed to pull his cutlass from his back and started to swing it down. A hand grabbed the Chimera’s wrist.
“Don’t fuck with the mountain’s future son in-law,” Horn said.
Before the beast could turn toward Horn, Timothy leveled the gun into Nick’s face and pulled the trigger.
He crumpled to the ground, right in front of Horn. The big man ducked down to pick up a rifle. Three remaining Chimeras were distracted and firing down the hallway, holding back Beckham and Ruckley.
Horn took them down in three bursts.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Horn shouted. He wobbled, uneven on his feet.
“Clear!” Timothy called out. He leaned on a lab bench, trying to catch his breath. Every gasp felt like someone was twisting a knife in his side. Blood dribbled down his face as he finally limped toward the scientists and engineers.
Kate was kneeling beside one of her injured scientists. Her eyes were wet with tears. Another researcher was already dead, beheaded by the abominations.
“You okay, Kate?” Horn asked.
Timothy bent down next to her.
She nodded and rose as Beckham rushed into the lab. They met each other in a deep embrace while Timothy moved to stand sentry with Ruckley.
“Jesus, you all right, Temper?” she asked.
“My ribs…” He grimaced in pain.
“You guys did good,” Ruckley said to Horn.
“Wasn’t me,” Horn said. “It was all Temper.”
Beckham and Kate parted. She glanced down at the headless corpse and closed her eyes.
“We need to get the rest of you to safety,” Beckham said.
“There’s no time,” Kate said. “The Prophet was here. He’s headed for President Ringgold now. You’ve got to stop him.”
“I will.” Beckham looked at Horn. “Ruckley and Timothy, you stay with them.”
“I can help,” Timothy said.
“No, you can’t,” Kate said. “I’m sorry, Timothy, but you might have a broken rib or worse after that. You push yourself, you’ll die.”
“She’s right,” Beckham said. “Timothy, protect the science team. Big Horn, you okay?”
“Got a concussion probably, but it’s not my first. Had plenty in my football days. I can manage, boss.”
Beckham measured up Horn with an uncertain look, but Timothy knew that like Ruckley, Horn was going to fight whether he could or not.
“Ruckley, take the science team to shelter in the basement of the hospital,” Beckham said. “There’s a storage facility near the morgue you can lock down and hide in until this is over.” He clasped a hand over Timothy’s shoulder. “You did good. Made me and your dad proud.”
“I did what I had to,” Timothy said. “Now go kill that bastard for me and my dad.”
***
Dohi awoke on the stage in the throne room, blinking until his vision cleared. He felt the warm grasp of webbing tendrils over his chest, holding him in place.
On either side of the stage were the masterminds. Both of them moved lethargically from their injuries. At the front of the stage, Rico and Fitz were pinned down by webbing and guarded by a pair of Chimeras.
Crunching and ripping came from the seats bordering the stage where three juveniles feasted on Esparza’s remains.
“Ah, you’re awake,” came a voice.
Elijah jumped onto the stage, striding over while holding a cutlass.
Dohi fought against his constraints, anger warming his entire body.
“Bring in Murphy,” Elijah said.
Rico and Fitz squirmed as a side door opened and three collaborators in rubber aprons pushed out a surgical cart. An old doctor with a bent back followed them onto the stage, shuffling along.
The chatter of gunfire reverberated in from outside the building, and the four Chimeras guarding the throne room shifted about, almost as if they were nervous, keeping their weapons aimed at the entrance.
“Call off your dying dogs, Fitzpatrick,” Elijah said. He bent down and poked a hole in the glue over Fitz’s mouth with a claw so he could talk. “Tell the heretics outside that this battle is over, or we will transform her right now, right in front of you.” He angled his sword toward Rico. “Right, Murphy?”
“Without painkillers of any kind,” the doctor said.
Rico thrashed, her voice muffled by the glue over her mouth.
Elijah snapped his claws. One of the damaged masterminds lifted a tremoring hand to pull on the red webbing. A few vines dangled from the ceiling, descending toward Rico and shedding damaged pieces from the attack.
The intact pulsating red tendrils wrapped around Rico’s wrists and legs. Then they pulled her up, snapping her free of the other restraints and yanking her into an X-shape. Thinner strands snaked into her nostrils.
Dohi could almost feel the sensation himself. Dark memories of his time in the tunnels returned. He knew the pain and horror. He remembered the voices that would
