“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Ty said.
“What wouldn’t work?” I asked.
“Ain’t nobody else offering another plan, so why not?” Fidel said. “Where did you get that magic, Raymundo? Hey? How did you get so well protected? Who hooked you up?”
Damn. He wanted a closed-way spell to protect him from the drape. “It won’t work, believe me.”
Fidel sighed and turned to Summer. “He don’t know how to answer a question.”
Summer glared at me. “Maybe we should raise our voices.”
“Guys, these creatures are in your mouths and down your—”
“I got a better idea,” Fidel said, raising his voice to talk over me. “Ray might be bulletproof, but we can all see he’ll still take a beating, hey?” He stepped over to the table and picked up a hammer.
Oh, shit. He snatched a screwdriver off the workbench and tossed it to Summer. She caught it, and they both vanished.
Ty gave me a helpless look, and he vanished, too.
I grabbed a tool from the wall behind me—it was a curved metal piece at the end of a twenty-foot wooden handle—and swung it. The metal tip struck something soft, and I backed along the wall. I swung the handle again, this time not hitting anything except wall.
The radio at the far end of the room suddenly switched off.
In the silence, I listened for footsteps. Nothing. I moved toward the middle of the floor, which maybe wasn’t a good idea, but it was the only way to get to the Hummer.
I swung the handle again. They were keeping their distance. Good. I glanced at the metal piece and realized it was used to open and close the transom windows at the top of the wall.
Not that it mattered. I swung again, struck something at two o’clock, then swung overhand at that spot.
I hit nothing but concrete, breaking off the metal tip. The splintered wood and metal end flipped up and over my shoulder—too high to hit me, but I ducked away from it just as something struck the outside edge of my ear.
I snapped my head to the side; it felt like my ear had been torn off. I didn’t pause to check it, though. I swung the broken handle, and it moved much faster now that it was shorter. I struck something and heard Fidel grunt in pain.
Then something dull scraped against my shoulder blade.
I stabbed backward with the splintered end of the wood, but I missed whoever it was behind me—Summer? Which was a good thing, since we weren’t even close to the red circle yet.
I sidestepped, swinging the handle low in a full circle. Summer hissed when I hit her shin. Contact. I charged at her, my arms wide to make sure I caught her.
I did, by her hair. She yelped in pain and I felt a sudden rush of shame. I had to kill her, but I didn’t want to hurt her. Was this how Wally felt?
Whatever. I caught her around the neck and knocked her to the floor. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel that she was facing away from me. I guessed she had the screwdriver in her right hand and grappled for it blindly. It clattered to the floor.
Scuffling footsteps approached from behind. I wrenched Summer off the floor and spun to put her between me and whoever was getting close. Nothing bashed my skull open.
Sweat stung my eyes as I backed toward the red circle. If I could get her inside, I could use my ghost knife on her. The drape would kill her, quickly, and that would be that. It would almost be like mercy.
But she was struggling furiously, and even though I was stronger and heavier, I couldn’t contain her. She was fighting for her life, and in my heart I wanted her to win.
Ty became visible in the middle of the room; his expression had so much sorrow in it that it stole my energy away and I stopped fighting.
Summer tore free of my grip. “Fuck!” she shouted, letting herself become visible. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” Fidel said from just behind her. He became visible, too. “Let’s try shooting some more.”
Summer moved her hand toward her lower back. I grabbed her and half lifted, half shoved her into Fidel. We were too far from the red circle for me to try to wrestle her inside, not if people were drawing guns.
I sprinted toward the open door. The Hummer was right there, but there was no time to get in, start the engine, and pull away.
A barrel beside the door suddenly toppled on its side, and a wash of dirty black oil flowed toward me. I jumped, clearing it before it spread too far, and landed in the doorway.
I went through the doorway and turned the corner out of sight. A gunshot went off, but I didn’t feel any sudden, crippling pain, and I didn’t fall over dead.
At the corner of the building, I crouched behind the digger. No one came out of the building—not that I could see, anyway—but if someone did, the machine would give me some cover.
Who had tipped over that barrel? I hadn’t seen anyone, but Ty had been at the other end of the room, by the toolbench, and I’d just left Summer and Fidel behind me.
It had to be Arne. If it wasn’t, there was another person running around with a drape, and I didn’t want to think about that. Had he turned off the radio, too?
Was he helping me?
