He pushed himself into a crouched position, his left hand planted on the ground, his right clasping the belt. He muttered some half-assed prayer under his breath, then pushed himself forward. There was no athleticism involved. He neither charged nor leapt—more lumbered out of the shadows with all the grace of a jacket falling out of a closet. He directed his energy and effort into the belt, which he brought from behind him in a purring loop. It connected crisply with Xander’s shoulder. His gun went off, the bullet sparked off the flagstone around the pool, and Xander yelped in surprise. He turned, most of his weight pitched on one leg, and Luke attacked again—first with the belt, then by grabbing Xander’s arm and swinging him into the shadows.

This latter move was all about the direction, and Luke got it right. In the wavering glow of the flashlight, he saw the rattlesnake attack—two vicious, thudding strikes to Xander’s right leg—his good leg.

“Snakebit!” he cried in a shrill, disbelieving voice. “Christ fuck, I’ve been snakebit, too!”

He fired his gun twice. The second shot hit the rattler and drove it, twisting, against the wall. Luke came up behind Xander and wrapped the belt around his throat. He’d tried this earlier with a frayed strip of gauze and it had broken before he could do any real damage. That wouldn’t happen this time.

He was hurting all over and out on his feet, but he was going to strangle this son of a bitch dead.

Kitty followed the faintly glowing exit lights, from one hallway to the next. She saw a sign for the lobby and headed in the opposite direction—pushed through another door, into another hallway. Was she going in circles?

She might, in her hurt and confusion, have taken a wrong turn and double-backed on herself.

“Don’t get disheartened,” she whispered. “You’ve got this.”

She hastened down the hallway, to where it intersected another. There were exit signs at both ends. She paused, trying to get her bearings, then went left.

Three steps. She froze.

A sound from behind her, as terrifying as it was familiar: Scrreee . . . scrrreeeeeee . . .

Kitty turned, her heart banging in her throat.

Johan was there, at the other end of the hallway, a man-shaped nightmare in the flickering light. He loped toward her, dragging his ax behind him.

Scrreeeeee . . .

“I see you,” he said.

Kitty ran.

29
Valhalla