Lifting my Heckler and Koch, I was intent on firing. My damaged hand rebelled against me, though, and my twitching finger couldn’t exert the required pressure. It was well that it failed to do so.

The silhouetted figure at the head of the stairs materialized into my friend, Harvey Lucas.

He came down the stairs, the sheen of perspiration on his bald head reflecting the light behind him as if he wore a halo.

“Jesus, Hunter, you look like crap.”

Harvey grabbed hold of me, supporting me under an elbow. I didn’t realize that I’d almost gone to my knees until he hauled me upright and held me against the passage wall.

“Believe me,” I croaked. “I feel much worse than I look.”

“Damn.”

Swaying, I took a quick glance down at myself. My clothing was shredded in places, covered in dust, and I was plastered with blood. Not all of it belonged to me, thankfully. There was even a chunk of shrapnel embedded in the toe of my right boot. Another half inch higher and it would have taken off my toes. I reached down to tug it loose and almost fell on my face, but Harvey took control of me and pulled me toward the stairs.

“Gotta get outa here, Hunter, this place is a goddamn hellhole.”

I wasn’t arguing. Harvey hauled me up the stairs and I don’t think that I got a steady foot on one of them. At the top he propped me against a wall while he checked that the way was clear. Then I was being hustled along again.

My friend questioned me as we went. But I was concussed and not a little out of it. His questions were rapid-fire, but I had only one answer for him.

“Rickard got away.”

Harvey stopped and looked at me.

“He was here?”

“Got away.”

We both glanced around, expecting the killer to jump out from hiding. Then I shook my head. “He thinks I’m dead. Thinks the grenade got me.”

“He’s damn right it got you.”

I laughed. It sounded a little insane.

Harvey cursed under his breath and then pulled me on.

Rink materialized out of a doorway beside us. When he saw me his face said it all.

“I’m okay, buddy,” I reassured him.

“Hunter, my great uncle Jim looks better than you an’ he’s been buried for fifteen years.”

Transferring his H&K to his left arm, he grabbed me under my other elbow. Now I had the support of my two best friends and it was a good feeling. Made me want to sing that old brotherly song by the Hollies, but I guessed that I’d probably get a slap from Rink. So I kept the words to myself.

Distantly there came the crack of a rifle followed by silence. Sounded like the battle was over with, but whoever turned out the victors here, they were still our enemies.