A rough rectangle was framed by seating levels made of stacked office desks, cabinets, and larger hunks of electronic equipment. Sweaty, naked men crowded the tiers. Their one point of fashion was a single long hank of hair sprouting from the top of each otherwise shaved head, braided or beaded or bound at the base and flowing loose like a horse’s tail.

They were mostly solid, thick-necked, sliding toward pudge. Like the two who had died on the dock, so ordinary—lounging, sleeping, drinking, nodding out, or sloppily cheering on the players shoving each other around in the open center. Shouldn’t evil have a more distinctive face? Despite the oppressive heat, I was shivering.

“How many, do you think?” Daniel murmured to Hannah.

“Sixty, seventy. It’s most of them, I’d say. Minus Bright’s upgrades.”

“Good.”

“Sure about this?”

“Never more.”

“Where are the women?” I asked.

Hannah laughed low in her throat. Daniel turned away.

Didn’t they have any? Or were they locked away somewhere? I could believe that. At least I saw nothing like a left-behind Macy. The game held the Adders’ total attention, those who were still conscious. It seemed to be a combo of soccer and basketball. The ball could be kicked or tossed, and metal barrels at either end served as baskets. The beige-tiled floor was a scumble of dark streaks spreading damply underfoot. The players’ pale skin shone with sweat and the same dark streaking. Paint? Maybe team colors? But there didn’t seem to be teams, or anyone cooperating with anyone else. More like every man for himself, a total free-for-all. As they bobbed and jigged around each other, a bright flash from a player’s arm caught my eye, then I saw it everywhere, stared hard, then sucked in breath in disbelief. Each player had a short, curved blade strapped to one wrist, like the spurs on that menace of a rooster back at Unca Joe. Along with owning the ball, it was slash-or-be-slashed, and the dark streaks were a mix of sweat and . . .

Not paint. Blood. Everywhere. I felt Daniel watching me, intense as the Adders at their awful game. How much more of this did he need me to see? And why?

A player found an opening. His arm raked up in an arc as he slung the ball at the nearest basket, right below our hiding place. As the ball tumbled toward us, I got a real look at it. I clamped both hands across my mouth to keep from giving us away.

I jerked away, backward belly-crawling to the landing. Daniel caught me at the door.

“Hold her,” he ordered Hannah.

Hannah shifted her bow to one hand so she could wrap an arm around my waist while I coughed bile onto the floor behind her. Even she looked faintly round-eyed, and she gave him no argument. “Hurry, Dan.”