Lou’s grip on the handrail was tight. His feet were well spaced and his knees wedged up against the sidewall.

Make your move, Stone … make your move … make your move.…

Sweat slickened Lou’s grip. He wanted to wipe his hands dry to strengthen his hold, but feared letting go of the handrail for even a moment. Below him, he watched the bugs scamper about. He imagined their jaws sinking into his flesh—digesting him one small piece at a time.

Come on.…

One second … two … three …

Maybe I’m wrong about the man, Lou found himself thinking.

The loss of concentration was only momentary, but it was enough.

Stone grabbed Lou by the back of the shirt and slammed the muzzle across the back of his head. Lou was still prepared enough to twist away, reducing the force of the blow. Still, his vision blurred and his knees buckled. He would have gone down had he not been wedged against the sidewall.

“You should have stayed out of Kings Ridge,” Stone said, raising his gun for another blow.

Lou released his grip on the railing, ducked as if he were avoiding a vicious right hook, and brought the pencil up behind his shoulder. Still bleary, he approximated where Stone’s neck would be and stabbed at it with a broad, sweeping motion. The pencil sank into the muscle beside the man’s throat. Lou hoped to tear into the jugular vein, but sensed right away that hadn’t happened. Stone cried out and stumbled backwards, raising his gun.

Lou parried the pistol with his left forearm and rammed his fist into Stone’s abdomen with as much force as he had ever hit a man. Stone splayed backwards, crashing into the railing and teetering perilously over the edge for a moment before righting himself. The pencil stuck out from his neck like a bloodied yellow dart.

Bellowing like an enraged bull, Stone hunched over and drove his head into the center of Lou’s chest. Intense pain exploded from the spot, and Lou’s initial fear was that the bone had shattered. His vision dimmed, then went dark. Moments later, when he regained his senses, he was kneeling on the catwalk. Stone was looming above him, clawing at the pencil.

As the pencil came free, followed by a jet of blood, Lou dived for the man’s ankles, got ahold of the right one, and twisted it sharply. Stone fell backwards, landing with a force that shook the entire catwalk. Lou straddled him, grabbed his head on each side, and slammed it onto the catwalk—once, then again, and again. Stone grunted with each blow, and finally went limp. Lou, gasping for breath and feeling as if his sternum might have been broken, slumped over onto the catwalk, then painfully pulled himself to his feet.