“Son of a bitch,” Regan curses, trying to shrug the straps of the flamethrower off his shoulders. “Time to bolt. We’ll take them with us. The Rover’s in the garage.”

“Stay where you are,” Brody says, watching the ceiling like an astronomer trying to decipher unexpected celestial movements. “It’s too late to run anyway.”

“But—”

“Shut up, damn you! Listen.”

CHAPTER 94

HENRY SEXTON FELT like he was trapped in a childhood nightmare, so slowly did his body obey his brain. The gunfight had started in the hall, as soon as Sleepy Johnston tried and failed to respond to a question called by one of the guards to “Lee”—who now lay dead out by the road. Sleepy had already fired half a clip, crossing the hall to another bedroom as he did, trying to get a clean shot at the men at the end of the dark corridor. A man had screamed down there, and Henry hoped he’d been hit, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Henry!” Johnston screamed from across the hall. “Need some help here!”

When Henry finally reached the bedroom door, three shots blasted from the end of the hall, and splinters of Sheetrock stung his eyes. Sleepy let off two quick shots in return, and something fell heavily down the hall.

“Don’t fire!” Sleepy shouted, and then he rushed into the hall, firing as he ran. As Henry peeked out, four shots exploded from the direction of the TV room. Something punched his left shoulder, and wetness ran down the left side of his rib cage. He looked down. Dark blood covered the white plaster of his cast.

Not again, he thought dully.

Henry backed into the bedroom, wobbling as he went, then fell on his ass. From the noise in the hall, Sleepy seemed to be holding his own, but then everything went quiet. That silence filled Henry with dread. If Sleepy was dead, he’d never make it out, either.

He heard footsteps creeping up the hallway.

“I’m empty!” Sleepy shouted, his voice desperate. “Now or never, Henry!”

Swearing to himself, Henry scrabbled to his knees, then knee-walked to the open door, twisted to his right, and fired blindly at a figure only ten feet away.

The shotgun roared, then roared again, lighting the hall with fire. The dark figure hurtled backward and fell heavily to the floor. A forearm rose like a flag of surrender, but then Henry saw a pistol in its hand. He shut his eyes and fired twice more, then began crawling forward.

“Sleepy?” he called. “Where are you?”

Johnston stepped out of a door to Henry’s left, his dark face covered with white dust. “Jesus, man, you sure took your time.” He carefully pulled Henry to his feet. “They got your shoulder, looks like. Hurt bad?”

Henry shook his head. “I can’t really feel it yet. I’ve got a lot of drugs in me.”