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Jock lay on his back in the middle of the street, and the entire left side of his face from nose to ear had been obliterated. Chunks of skull and hair clung together, but his brain was splattered all over the car behind him, and a puddle of red haloed his final resting place.
Someone let out a groan, and four of his men crumpled to the sidewalk like they had turned into marionettes and now their strings were cut. Jock had been so powerful he’d had the risen among his own troops, and I hadn’t even realized it. Keaty, too, slumped down, his eyes
closing and the new spark of life flickering out.
The remaining three men were now facing grossly uneven odds, and they knew it. I removed a spare clip from my jacket pocket and replaced the one in my gun, leveling the weapon at them.
“Tell me where the others are.”
“Fuck y—”
Bang.
“I’ve got plenty of bullets, and I only need one of you. Now tell me where the others are.”
The other men stared at the fallen bodies of their former colleagues, risen and human side by side, motionless. They glanced at one another and in a silent form of agreement, gave a mutual nod.
One of them lifted his weapon and shot himself in the head.
Jesus.
And then there was one. He raised his gun, intent on going out the same way, but I was faster. I shot him in the wrist, and he howled in pain, dropping the weapon.
“Tell. Me. Where. They. Are,” I snarled. He was young, much younger than the others, and he shook with fear after realizing I wasn’t going to let him take the easy way out.
“I-I-I…” He seemed to contemplate diving for his weapon, like the suicide path was still preferable to talking. I suspected they’d been told it was their only course of action if they were captured. What, no cyanide caplet in their back tooth?
“They won’t bring you back, you know,” Holden said, suddenly beside me. He placed his hand at the base of my neck, and his touch soothed me. Between him and Desmond, I became myself again, and the former rage that had ruled me calmed to a dull roar. I would still have blood for vengeance, but at least now I might be able to function.
“What?” the kid asked.
“They told you if you kill yourself, they’d bring you back, didn’t they? That was the promise, and why the others were willing to take their own lives. But they won’t bring you back. You don’t matter to them. And if they do resurrect you, you won’t know. You’ll be long dead by then, and your body will be nothing more than a hand puppet with an automatic weapon.”
“No, that’s not true. They said—”
“They lied,” Holden concluded coolly. “Just tell the lady what she wants to know, and you can go on wasting your life, but I’d recommend wasting it outside the city.”
“There’s…” He paused, uncertain whether he ought to go on or if it was better to eat one of his own bullets. “There’s a bar. In Hell’s Kitchen. It’s called The Dirt Hog. I don’t know how many of them are still there, but that’s where they set up shop.”
“How many were there to start with?” I asked.
“Twenty-two.”
Twenty-fucking-two?
I didn’t know there were that many active necros alive in the world, let alone clustered together in one group. No wonder they’d been able to raise so many dead. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to collect my thoughts.
“Guess there are only twenty-one now.” I sneered at Jock’s body, wanting to empty a few more clips into him. “Like to see him raise the dead now.” I spit on the concrete near his feet.
“All right, kid. Thanks.” Holden glanced at me, about to say something, and then—
Bang.
The young man fell next to the others.
I faced the rest of the group and lowered my weapon, the muzzle still smoking.
“From here on out, there’s no fucking mercy.”
