The Beretta slipped between the bodies and out of sight. Petrovitch rolled back as the pipe descended again. It hit him on the shoulder, rather than on the forehead, and it hurt like hell. He looked up through the bright mist of pain and crazed glass, and brought his foot up as fast as he could manage.

The prophet’s eyes bulged as an ex-army boot connected with his groin. His face contorted and he clutched himself, all thoughts of attack gone.

Petrovitch struck out again, kicking at a bent knee-cap. The prophet twisted and collapsed with a ragged, drawn-out groan.

Everyone was down. Petrovitch dragged himself toward Madeleine. Something was grating inside his shoulder. Every movement of it made him hiss what little breath he had left out through his clenched teeth.

“Sam? Sam!”

“Right here.”

“What happened?”

“I could ask you the same question, except we don’t have time.” Petrovitch closed his eyes and gasped as he moved to sitting. “The phone.”

“Whose phone?”

“The prophet’s phone.” He tried to stand, nearly vomited, and instead shuffled forward on his knees.

“Get away from me.” The prophet tried to hold Petrovitch off with one hand. Petrovitch just knelt on his legs and patted the man’s many-pocketed trousers, checking their contents.

“Got it.” He tried to wriggle it free, but the prophet was doing his own wriggling.

“I need that,” gasped the prophet. “I need the Machine!”

“Yeah. We have way too much Machine right now. Hey, Maddy: some help here.”

She lumbered to her feet, blood still dripping down her face, staining her front. She looked terrifying, a goddess of war. She put her foot on the prophet’s chest and slowly put her weight on it.

After that, the phone came free quickly, and Petrovitch held it aloft like it was first prize.

Madeleine scooped up the discarded length of pipe in one hand, and Petrovitch in the other.

He tottered like a new-born and leaned against her, light-headed and nauseous.

“Where’re the others?” she asked. She put her arm around his waist and carried him over the slowly reanimating ring of bodies.

“You don’t know? What’s the last thing you remember?” Petrovitch squinted at the phone’s screen. The battery was almost flat.

“I went to close the doors. Then something hit me. In the back.” She rubbed the back of her hand against her nose, streaking it with deep red blood.

“That would be Chain shooting you, dumping you on your ass in the street and driving off with Sonja.” He looked around. “The mudak. We have to get to the Oshicora Tower before they do, or Chain’s going to screw everything up.”

“Sam, they have an armored car. We have half a scaffolding pole.”

“We also have this phone.” He slipped it in his pocket and concentrated on walking. “I think I broke my shoulder.”

“I think I broke my nose.”