“—are compromised.” Fatma finished. She related the current situation.
“The entire brain machinery?” Onsi whispered in disbelief. “Covered by ghuls?”
“We’re on our own,” she told them. “We have to protect the vault!”
“The door to Amir’s office won’t hold,” Hamed warned. “A lot of people in there are secretaries and clerks. They’re not armed. If the ghuls get in, it won’t be much of a fight. Two of us going it alone wasn’t looking so good. Four stand a better chance.”
Fatma looked to the stairs longingly. Every minute they spent here gave the imposter more time. But more banging came, followed by cries from Amir’s office. For a moment she was ready to abandon those cries to their fate. She’d hate herself, but she’d do it. A hand fell on her arm, and she looked up to see Hadia’s dark brown gaze reading the warring notions within her.
“I think we can do both,” the woman said. Her eyes looked to the ceiling, and everyone followed—tracing a series of thin pipes.
“The sprinkler system?” Hamed asked. “That idea that ghuls won’t cross water is a myth.”
“But they hate it,” Hadia countered. “Get that going, and it’ll be enough to distract them—we put them down quick, get everyone out, then make it to the vault.”
Fatma met her partner’s expectant look, then slowly nodded, warming to the idea. She’d seen ghuls struck by water. It sent them into fits. This could work. Then to the vault. “The sprinkler’s run by the building, but there’s a manual crank near the door. Somebody will have to get to it, quiet. When it’s on, we hit them hard.”
“I’ll loose the sprinklers!” Onsi volunteered. “I can be very quiet.”
Fatma eyed him skeptically, but Hamed agreed. “He’s unnaturally good at it, actually.” He paused, his face going grim. “There’s one other thing. The man in the gold mask. Before he left, he said there was a bomb. Though we don’t know where.”
Fatma swallowed down that bit of news. A bomb. Why not? Could this get any worse? “Then we move fast. Onsi, get going!” He actually gave her a salute, of all things, eyes stern behind his spectacles, then made off. The banging came again. “You two ready?” Hamed and Hadia gave firm nods and thankfully didn’t salute. “Then I’m going up top. Take your shots when you can!” Drawing a deep breath, she rose up, her free hand gripping the table’s edge, and hurled herself over it. She landed with her pistol already raised and let out a shrill whistle.
The ghuls turned as one to regard her with sightless faces. A dozen lips peeled back to bare black gums and teeth that snapped, wrinkling the pale gray skin that sat where eyes did not. The one that had been banging on the door stood in their center, and it stretched a long neck, jaws unhinging to emit a high-pitched shriek. The sound cut off abruptly as a bullet lodged square in its forehead. A croak escaped its throat, before it flopped to the ground, going still.
And that made eleven.
Fatma peered around the smoking pistol barrel to appraise her shot. First rule of dealing with a ghul pack. Establish the leader and take it out. That usually enraged the rest. As expected, they were working themselves up now—snarling and snapping—to do some truly murderous violence. But enraged was better than coordinated. Still, as they launched at her, she wondered what was taking Onsi so damn long!
A deluge of water came in answer as the sprinklers above hissed to life. The ghuls broke their charge, some tripping and sliding on the slick floor, others beating at their heads to deflect the downpour and screeching in panic. One just whimpered and ran about in a circle. They really did hate water!
Fatma took aim and fired into the disarray, counting as she went. Ten now. Nine. New gunshots rang out beside her. Hamed. Eight. Seven. Six. They were down to half. But a few of the creatures collected what sense they had, breaking from their companions and galloping in a mad rush. They zigged and zagged in their run, and Fatma cursed as her bullets glanced off shoulders or went wide. Damn, the things were fast!
In seconds, one of them was in front of her, teeth snapping. She didn’t have time to get off a shot, so she kicked the thing in its chest. The blow would have sent a regular man to his back. But ghuls were strong enough for two men. It only stumbled, snaking out an arm and reaching elongated fingers for her face—when a knife suddenly slashed, severing the limb clean at the elbow. The appendage fell away, smacking the wet floor and transmuting to ash. The ghul turned its head to this new threat and was rewarded with a janbiya—Fatma’s janbiya—pushing straight through where a left eye should have been. Its body dropped like an automaton with an off switch. Hadia pulled the knife free and spun in one motion to slice right through the leg of another ghul, sending it sprawling. She didn’t give it time to get back up, burying the janbiya into the base of its skull up to the hilt.
Fatma looked on appreciatively. Guns were definitely wasted on the woman. No more ghuls were standing. What was left of them lined the floor in still heaps. For reasons never understood, appendages separated from their bodies always turned to ash—but never the bodies. Those were always left for cleanup.
“Think we got them all,” Hamed panted. “I count twelve here.”
“Good work.” Fatma moved to put her pistol away. “Now let’s—”
A snarl came before she could finish, and she looked up in time to see the ghul on the ceiling—that they’d completely forgotten about. It landed in front of Hamed. He lifted his gun, but the thing swatted the weapon away before knocking the man aside. It turned to Fatma, reaching her in a bounding leap. She squeezed the trigger of her
