A wall plank had torn loose from the support post and was dangling at a crazy angle, one end still held by rusty nails. Frantically he jerked at it, first one way then the other, until metal fatigue broke the nails and the board, about four feet long and an inch in thickness, tore free from the post. God, if only it wasn't too late. Pitt raised the board above his head and, drawing on the last of his ebbing strength, brought it down on the back of Darius' neck.

Pitt would never again forget the shock of hopelessness and despair that flooded through his mind at that moment as the rotted plank shattered with all the harmless force of a piece of peanut brittle around the giant's shoulders. Without turning, Darius let loose of Giordino's temples, giving his victim a brief respite, and struck Pitt with a sweeping backhand blow that caught him in the stomach and sent him reeling across the room to fall limply against the doorway and melt slowly down to the floor.

Somehow, clutching the doorknob, Pitt pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying drunkenly, conscious of nothing, not even the pain, the blood that began to seep through the bandages onto his shirt and Giordino's face, now turning blue under the tremendous hands. One more try, he told himself, knowing it would be his last. Pitt's mind slowed down. The forgotten words of a marine drill sergeant he once met in a Honolulu bar returned and pounded into his brain. "The biggest, toughest, meanest sonovabitch in the world will always go down, and go down fast, from a good swift kick in the balls."

Weakly, he staggered behind the crouching Darius, who was too intent on killing Giordino to notice him. Pitt aimed and kicked Darius between the legs. His toe collided with bone and something that was rubbery and soft. Darius released Giordino's head and threw his monstrous hands upward, fingers clawing at the air. Then he rolled over on his side, twisting about the floor in silent agony.

"Welcome to the land of the walking dead," Pitt said, lifting Giordino to a sitting position.

"Did we win?" Giordino asked in a whisper.

"Just barely. How's your head?"

"I won't know till I look for it."

"Don't worry." Pitt grinned. "It's still attached to your neck."

Giordino gently probed his hairline between his fingers. "Christ, my skull feels like it has more cracks than a broken windshield."

Pitt cast a wary look at Darius. The giant, ashen faced and breathing heavily, was stretched out full length on the dusty floor, both hands clutched over his crotch.

"The party's over," Pitt said, helping Giordino to his feet. "Let's disappear before Frankenstein recovers."