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The other guard was unaffected and stepped forward onto the dock. His eyes squinted against the spotlight.
"They're all over the place!" yelled the first one, trampling the ground. The panicked man pointed his automatic weapon at his feet and fired. Lead thunked into dirt and stirred blades of grass into the air.
The other guard swung around with his gun, ready for an ambush. All he saw was his partner emptying a magazine into the lawn.
He stood on the dock, bewildered, until Pim launched out of the water below and grabbed his legs from behind, tugging hard. The gunman slipped on the dock and fell to his knees, a short burst of bullets releasing into the sky.
I stretched my jaw in anticipation. Stealth was overrated. Now that the whole neighborhood had woken from the automatic reports, the only thing left to do was to finish this. I swung around the spotlight, stepped on the gunwale, and hopped to the dock. My metal boots landed heavy.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
I marched forward, eyes on the house. The faint light on the first floor went dark. A television, likely.
Pim swung his machete. It glanced off the gun of the guard, who had resisted being dragged into the water. Now he was kicking the obeah man away to keep the blade from doing damage. At the same time, his gun hand struggled against Pim's grip, trying to shake loose so he could pump a few rounds into his attacker.
The gun yanked up and away from Pim, who lacked leverage. The guard smiled as his arm was loosed, reaching for the sky.
I slashed viciously as I passed, staying focused on the house. The man's forearm sliced clean off, gun and hand alike bouncing into the bay. His eyes widened as he took in his stump. He screamed loudly until a machete buried itself into his head like it was a coconut.
Pim tugged his blade into the water and pulled the corpse down with it.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
My metal boots rang out on the dock. The back door of the house opened. A woman with short blond curls and purple eyeliner emerged onto the patio. She locked eyes with me.
Stomp. Stomp. Swiff. Swiff.
I didn't hurry my pace as I hit the grass. I didn't stutter. My steps evenly and consistently pressed ahead, savoring the challenge.
"They're all over me!" yelled the remaining guard. He'd dropped his weapon and was clawing at his skin, his back to me as I passed. This time I used my left hand and swung the blade downward, rending his back open along the spine. All the while, I kept my eyes on the woman at the door.
Swiff. Swiff. Swiff.
Purple eyeliner tightened into shrewd slits. The woman barked orders inside. Two mercenaries rushed out to stand beside her, waiting for her command. When she called them idiots and pointed at me, a light-skinned man ran at me with his weapon up and fired.
In a blur of motion, I dropped down on a knee spike and swung both blades ahead of me. The trail in their wake formed a protective shell. The bullets ricocheted against sharpened steel.
The man was stuck for a moment with his jaw open. When he hurried to reload, a machete lobbed through the air plunged into his gut.
Pim came up on my right to recover his weapon. Jaja was already advancing through the trees on my left.
And me? I didn't run. I didn't hurry. I rose steadily to my feet and made a straight line for the blond woman and her second mercenary.
Swiff. Swiff. Swiff.
The pair traded a worried glance and retreated into the house. The dead bolt clicked loudly. I made my way across the yard and Jaja slipped around to the front. Behind me, Pim's machete chopped at bone.
Two left, at least. South American ex-military and Florida trailer trash. Interesting that she was leading them. Hadn't even seen a gun. This led me to a single conclusion: she was an animist, like Marco.
I marched onto the cement patio, past the hot tub and wicker furniture. The back door was made of heavy wood. A solid piece of carpentry.
Stomp. Stomp. Thunk.
My hooked blades bit deep into the old wood. With a grunt, I heaved the door off its hinges.
The deafening blast surprised me. A solid blow punched me in the side of the gut, just beneath my breastplate. I didn't have time to inspect the damage because the South American was hiding in the laundry room, gun ready.
As he pulled the trigger, I swung the door
