Hellifax (21 page)

Vick’s eyes were on Amy. “So, what do you think we should do?”

At that precise moment, men could be heard approaching the room.

“Depends on him,” Amy said simply, focusing on Scott sitting in his office chair. No sooner did the words rasp from her mouth when Buckle entered the room.

Behind him stood a tall man wearing a thick black winter coat with a hood fringed with fur.

A man with his hair tied off in a fox’s tail, which draped over one shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Buckle asked gruffly, taking in the sour faces in the room. He finally nodded at Scott. “Someone shit in an MRE?”

“Just talking to the new guy,” Vick said.

“New guy, huh?” the tall man said. He stepped around Buckle and held out his hand. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, and he bared his teeth in what he no doubt thought passed for a smile, making Scott freeze. “How you doing? Name’s Tenner.”

Name’s Tenner.

My name’s Tenner.

Don’t shoot me, okay? I have a gun, see? My name’s Tenner.

He heard the screams of Lea and Teddy in his head as Tenner took their lives, as if he were back in that terrible house of death and undead, floating in the black of unconsciousness.

Tenner remained beaming at him with that toothy expression meant to convey friendship, extending a hand. The silver in his bound hair gleamed like exposed wires. The smile dissipated from Tenner’s eyes and he frowned a little, noticing Scott wasn’t going for his hand like he should have, perhaps even sensing the swelling silence in the room. He offered his hand again as if completing a magic trick.

Scott stared into his black eyes. The eyes of a predator. “What was your name again?”

The corners of his grin wilted altogether. “Tenner. You gonna shake my hand or what?”

Scott got to his feet, eye-to-eye with Tenner, the killer of Lea and Teddy and God above only knew how many more. He had never really wondered what he would do once he caught up with the murderer. Perhaps he’d secretly known that the odds against actually finding Tenner were so incredibly high that he would just search and search until Moe finally caught him, or he ran out of supplies, or any other unforeseen thing caught and killed him. But he would never
really
catch him.

But here he was. Standing right in front of him. Smiling as if he shat gold and pissed silver.

Scott pursed his lips, anger welling inside him.

Life had a funny way of working things out.

He grabbed for his Ruger and caught his hand on the lip of his boot. His fingers scrabbled over the butt of the weapon. Tenner’s eyes went wide. A heavy boot came up, snapped out, and kicked Scott square in the chest, sending him flying over the office chair. As Scott tumbled over, Tenner lifted up the back of his coat and yanked free something tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

“Gun!” Buckle roared, knocking the weapon toward the ceiling and breaking the paralysis of the onlookers. Tenner snarled and belted a plastic padded elbow into Buckle’s nose, breaking it instantly. Blood spurted out of both nostrils as the Newfoundlander crashed against a nearby wall.

“Holy shit!” Sam yelled out, incredulous.

Vick jumped off the couch. “Tenner, wai––”

But Tenner didn’t wait. He opened fire instead, spraying the room. A loud burp of shells from the Glock 18 drove most of them to the floor. The blaze ripped into and exploded Sam Koffer’s head, blasting brain matter out the back of his skull and dousing the window behind him with pulp as dark and viscous as spilled pudding. Sam’s body crunched up against the window, abruptly faceless, and slid down, revealing the gruesome, spidery punches the bullets left in the pane.

Tenner paused to aim at Scott.

A chair flew at the gunman. It struck him across the body, spurting a killing chatter from the Glock that violently stitched a line across another pane of glass. Tenner fell back toward the open doorway. Vick rose up from the ground, and Amy darted to one side.

“Ease up goddammit, Joe!” Vick shouted, bringing up a length of pipe. Scott got himself free of the chair, lifting the Ruger.

Another gush of Glock fire tore into the room, driving everyone to the floor. Scott fired back. The Ruger coughed and at least six rounds sizzled through the doorway, two ripping out puffs of dusty debris from the frame after Tenner disappeared outside.

Scott lay still for a moment, keeping his gun trained on the doorway.

“Fucker jacked up me nose,” Buckle raged.

“Stay down!” Vick ordered, crouching near the door and holding a length of steel pipe like a katana.

“Like fuck!” Shaffer said, slamming into the other side of the doorframe. “The bastard killed Sammy!”

He brought up a bat and held it to his chest.

“He still out there?” Vick asked Shaffer.

“Can’t see him from this angle.”

Tentatively, Shaffer peeked around the corner. Next to Scott, Sammy’s right leg did a little reflexive jerk at the knee. Blood pooled around the body, as bright as paint.

“Bastard’s gone,” Shaffer announced.

That wasn’t good enough for Scott. He sprinted out the door, gun at the ready, and headed down the corridor. Cries of
“Wait!”
followed him, but he wasn’t listening. They were only just discovering what Tenner could do. Scott, however, fully understood what the killer was capable of.

He bolted to the opposite wall and hurried along it, his shoulder rasping against the drywall. Some of the doors he passed were open and Scott gave each a quick peek, but he thought Tenner was trying to escape. He’d exposed the murderer for what he was, and the man was trying to get away, like an uncovered spider.

Up ahead, the dead exit sign above the stairwell came into view. Scott ran for it and didn’t realize that the door was still open until it slammed into his helmet. He bounced off the frame. A hand came down over his wrist, sending his gun flying.

“The fuck are you, huh?” a savage voice hissed at him. Hands gripped Scott and pulled him into the stairwell before tossing him down a flight of steps. Scott landed hard on his back, sliding down the metal edges of the stairs and rattling toward the next landing.

His hand snapped out and held onto the railing a second before he stopped. He spun on his back, got to his knees, and looked––

Tenner’s foot landed squarely on his chest, knocking Scott against the wall and robbing him of his wind. Tenner closed in, snarling and punching, slamming fist after fist into Scott’s midsection. He cracked elbows across the motorcycle helmet, going for Scott’s eyes. Scott was jolted left and right with each connection, his head flopping. Then hands gripped the sides of his helmet.

“How’d you know?” Tenner seethed. “Tell me that before I––”

Scott punched him in the gut, buckling the man. That crazy fox tail came into view and Scott grabbed it, yanking it and the owner to one side and sending him crashing into the concrete wall. Scott threw his own mass into Tenner’s and squashed him into a corner. He punched the man’s back, his kidneys, and the back of his head, causing Tenner to bunch up. He kneed him with a furious energy. The killer shuddered in the trap before unexpectedly standing up, trying to shove Scott back. Scott wouldn’t allow it. He heaved him back once more. Both men tried to knee the other at the same time, knocking their padded joints off each other.

Tenner dropped down, threw his arms around Scott’s waist, and lifted him off his feet, propelling him forward to crash into the far wall. The air in Scott’s lungs left him in a rush. He gasped, throwing up his arms to defend himself, only half-aware of just how vulnerable he’d become.

Instead of taking advantage of the situation, Tenner snarled in frustration, turned, and bolted down the steps.

Then Scott heard the voices.

Faces crowded around him.

“Where’d he go?” someone asked.

Then Amy was there, pulling him to his feet. “Get him back to the office. Help me, Donny.”

“My gun,” Scott gasped and felt it pushed into his hand a moment later.

They brought him halfway up the steps before Scott’s senses returned. Amy and Buckle let him walk on his own power, and soon he was rushing back to the office with the others behind him.

“Tenner’s outside by now,” Scott said as he went through the door.

“And probably away,” Vick muttered behind him.

Cold air came into the office from the bullet holes in the windows. Sam Koffer’s corpse littered the floor, all bled out. Scott went by the body to an untouched window. He looked down into the street, just before the pedway and the wall of overturned buses. Nothing. He looked toward the historical section. The Ruger might make the shot if––

Tenner came into view, running away from the building and heading toward downtown. A rush of adrenaline took Scott, and he aimed with both hands. Tenner whirled about uncannily and sprayed the windows to Scott’s left with bullets, puncturing the glass in a connect-the-dots line and driving him to the floor.

“Fucking hand cannon he’s got there!” Shaffer said, staying low.

“Jesus, Jesus,
Jesus
,” Buckle growled from nearby, holding tissues bright with blood to his nose.

“Thought you were a cop once upon a time?” Shaffer threw at Buckle.

“Was––got the gun up and away, didn’t I?” Buckle replied testily. “Never really liked that one.”

“Me neither,” Shaffer said. “He still out there?”

Vick and Scott raised their heads above the windowsill and peeked outside. The street was empty.

“Gone,” Vick informed them. “Like a baby’s fart in a thunderstorm.”

“You should’ve grabbed him instead,” Shaffer hissed at Buckle.

“Fuck off.” Amy crouched over Sam’s corpse, a sad expression on her features. The leg slowed its jerky twitching. She stepped back from the growing pool of blood.

“Might be time to go,” Shaffer said to the rest. “I don’t know about you guys, but I sure as hell don’t want to be around when he decides to come back.”

“Seconded, Jesus, seconded,” Buckle said, a nasal tone to his words. One hand kept the bloody tissue pressed to his face, while his other hand hefted the Halligan tool.

“Third,” Shaffer said.

“Amy?” Vick asked her.

“Yeah. Let’s boot.”

“Scott?”

“Huh?”

“You coming with us?”

Scott stepped away from the window, mindful of where Sam lay, and regarded them all. Tenner was out there. He should be going after him. He studied the now-still body of Sam Koffer and wondered if he was responsible for his death. He probably was. In his rush to punish the murderer, he’d gotten Sam killed.

“For a bit. Just in case,” he muttered.

“Just in case of what?” Shaffer demanded, gripping his bat with both hands.

“He comes after you.”

That made them stop and stare.

“You think he will?” Amy asked.

“I don’t know. But I do know he’s crazy. You really think he killed off one of your guys?”

“After this?” Amy asked in shock.

“Yeah, me too,” Scott agreed. “And he was going to go somewhere with you tomorrow?”

Shaffer nodded, a distasteful expression on his rough features.

“Yeah,” Scott said, reading his thoughts. “I think you were next on the menu.”

“While you were looking for an armory. Or anything,” Amy added.

“Fucking pig-sucking bastard,” Shaffer seethed.

“Afterward, he’d probably make up another story,” Scott continued on. “Waited a few more days and who knows. Maybe one more. Or maybe something else.”

“You make it sound like he’s drawing out the fun,” Vick said, rubbing his chin.

“Yeah. Sounds like that, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s get to the van and boot,” Shaffer said. “Hell with him.”

“One thing,” Buckle said, gesturing in the direction Tenner had gone. “He was
goin’
in the direction of the van.”

“Well, shit,” Shaffer said. “And hey, wait, where are you going like that?”

Over the heap of scarlet tissue held to his face, Buckle’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Wha?” he asked innocently enough.

“You’re fucking
bleeding
all over the place!” Shaffer roared.

“I’m all right.”

Shaffer looked to Vick for support, but before the older man could say anything, Shaffer went off again. “You’re not fucking all right, you moron! You’re gushing like a tied-off foreskin, for Christ’s sake. Why don’t you just go out there and ring a fucking dinner bell while you’re at it? It’ll take Moe off our backs, anyway.”

Buckle took the wad of sopping tissue from his face and inspected it thoughtfully. Bloody strands clung to his silver-streaked beard.

“I’ll slice up a blanket,” he finally said.

“A goddamn piece of blanket ain’t going to make it better. Vick, come
on
.”

“Buckle’ll be okay with the blanket,” Vick said, throwing his support into his friend’s corner. “Not like Moe’s right outside anyway.”

“Should’ve known better saying anything to you,” Shaffer fumed. Even as the words came out, Buckle went over to a grey blanket on the desk and drew a survival knife. In seconds, he’d cut out lengthy wads. He fitted a black hood over his face, growling when he pulled the mask down over his nose, and stuffed the wads of blanket underneath and around his nostrils. The mask bulged from the blanket, but seemed to do the trick.

“That doesn’t look good,” Vick said.

“Who gives a shit if it looks good or not?” Shaffer said, and pointed a finger at Buckle. “You just make sure that you keep it there.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“
What
did you say to me?” Shaffer stepped toward Buckle, and for a moment Scott thought the two men would actually go at each other, as incredible as it seemed.

“Ease off,” Vick said, halting Shaffer in his tracks. “We got other things to do. You okay with the blanket, Buckle?”

“I’m okay.”

“Then, that’s it,” Vick concluded. “Let’s get a move on.”

They left the room, not bothering to cover themselves in any camouflage gear. Down through the stairwell they pounded, carrying their weapons and sprinting across the lower floor to the open door. Outside, the sky was the color of concrete. Their exertions armored them against the cold, and they rushed through a narrow street between two historic stone buildings.