He could hope, though. There was a chance—the very slimmest of chances. And really, the most important thing was for Kitty to escape this nightmare. In separating, he had traded his safety for hers, and he didn’t want it to be for nothing.

Xander shuffled closer. His squat, limping form was thrown into mad silhouette by the stuttering ground lights.

“You’re here somewhere,” he growled. “I can smell you.”

Luke held his breath. Stillness. Silence. Shadow. He stifled his myriad pains, embodied the role—just a rock—and then heard a rattling sound six or seven feet to his left. Luke was no expert, but he knew a rattlesnake when he heard one. He recalled the Mojave green he’d seen gliding across the tiles in the lobby—one of the most venomous snakes in the world. There was every chance this rattler was from the same family.

Luke breathed through his teeth, trying to remain as still as possible. He was covered in blood and sweat, though, and the smell of dog. Even without moving, how threatening was this to the snake? He imagined its tongue flicking in and out, sampling the air between them, readying itself to strike.

“My fucking fingers,” Xander gasped. His flashlight probed the depths of the empty pool. He was twenty feet away, shuffling closer. “Bitch took my fingers.”

The snake rattled louder, closer. Luke had no choice, he had to move. He slowly unfolded from his hiding spot and inched away from one threat, but toward another. He clutched the belt tightly in his right hand, remembering what Kitty had said: as weapons went, it wasn’t as good as an ax or a gun, but it was better than nothing.

He kept to the darkness, edging along the wall. It wasn’t that he didn’t breathe, more that he couldn’t. His internal organs had turned to ice. The snake rattled again, but quieter, less defensively. That was good, but Xander was now only ten feet away. His flashlight swept from side to side, and Luke had no flora to tuck himself behind. He was exposed.

Strike first, he thought. Be the snake.

“Rip you open. Fucking riiiiip you.”

Xander had a gun, but he was injured, bleeding from just about everywhere. He couldn’t have much fight left in him, even for a berserker. If Luke attacked suddenly, from the shadows . . .

The snake issued its dreadful, percussive warning once again. At the same time, Xander’s flashlight illuminated the wall to Luke’s right, scrolling steadily his way. That old movie line recurred one more time: When you don’t got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose. Luke swore that if he made it out of here alive, he’d get this tattooed across his chest.