Edward tucked the chicken carefully under one arm. “Sacrifice…For tail row-tor spirits.” Then he walked toward the trailer. It took the befuddled Trip a second to realize that was where he had been heading to begin with and he followed along.

Lindemann paused by my side. “Your administrative assistant is an odd sort.”

“Chicken theft? That’s totally going on his next evaluation.”

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

While Trip checked the trailer, I investigated the shop. Between the German’s explosive device and Milo’s mad minute, every light in the place had been busted, so I used my flashlight to maneuver. We had really trashed the garage, and everything that could break, had. I poked around behind the tool chests and shined my light down into the oil pit, but the only other spiders I could find were the normal, itty-bitty kind, and even then, chucking a small bomb into an enclosed space did wonders for cleaning out the cobwebs.

The bathroom hadn’t been cleaned for years, but it didn’t matter anyway, since the toilet had been pulverized into porcelain shards by a few 7.62 rounds. The water tube had been severed and was spraying the grimy remains. Through the now broken door, the small convenience store was in even worse shape. It had been a dark little place to begin with, and the only thing left on the shredded walls was a girly calendar from the nineteen-eighties. A rack of engine oil and antifreeze had been completely obliterated, and the nasty puddle filled most of the tiny space. Broken glass crunched under my boots as I circled the counter, where I found the rest of the proprietor.

I had to look away, and considering what I do for a living, that’s saying something.

Something moved in the entrance. Startled, I spun around and lifted Abomination.

It was only a man. I quickly turned Abomination’s muzzle aside. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.” Even with my flashlight pointed to the side, plenty of light bounced back for me to see that he was young, probably in his late teens or early twenties, Asian, fit, with a short, neatly parted haircut, no armor, but dressed in unfamiliar olive drab fatigues. The style of his clothing tipped me off. Some of our rival Hunters had arrived. “Who are you?”

The young man stared at me and didn’t answer. Considering all of the foreign companies Stricken had unleashed on this place, he probably didn’t speak English. I had met a lot of people today, but I didn’t recognize this one. “You speak English? Who are you with?”

“With? I’m with…” He blinked a few times, confused, then rubbed his face, like he was just waking up. “I don’t know. Nobody, I guess. I’ve got to find her.”

His English was fine. “Who are you looking for?”