Page 100 of Lone Wolf

The guard reached the end of the hall and turned to head back. A fall of light limned the outer edge of his face, sculpting it, making it specific. A human face. Evan thought about him being born decades ago. Someone had held him in his mewling newness and carried thoughts for his future. He’d had tiny triumphs—a first step, a good grade on a quiz, the first time the right girl smiled at him. He’d had failures. He’d wept and hurt and hardened and driven himself into a hell of bad decisions, until they’d hijacked him, taken him over and turned him into someone who caged other human beings for profit.

Someone who deserved to die.

Pressed to the side of the narrow window, Evan felt the totality of the man walking toward him, walking toward the end of everything he ever was, everything he’d ever known and would ever be. The fullness swelled in his chest, a tangle of thorns, and then he stepped through the door and shot him twice in the chest, and he walked forward with the pistol aimed the whole time and stood over him, stood over this man whose life he had taken.

A whiff of nitrocellulose made stronger from the suppressor buildup, brass rolling on the floor, and the dampness of the air held the next moment in a suspended haze of sensation.

And then the hive hissed back to life, snatches of words flying from the darkness around him. The whispered voices terrified him.

“—God bless you. God in heaven bless you—”

“—you killed him. You finally killed—”

“—so awful, you can’t imagine what they do to—”

“Wait. Don’t go. Don’t go. Where are you—”

“—back, please just come—”

He was irised open, too close to Joey, and he shrank his connection to her into two dimensions and filed it away for later review. Leaving the corpse, he walked back to the stairwell.

The voices kept on and were just as horrific. But they didn’t scare him anymore.

As he neared the third floor, the stairwell door opened above, the guard jogged down right at Evan, and Evan shot him in the throat before the guy had an instant to think. The guard slumped over and then scudded down the steps, and Evan shot him once more as he slid past.

Up another flight and then Evan stepped out onto the roof. The last guard was about ten meters away, his back to Evan, standing in place with his head cocked and his hips dipping and his arms slung out, fingers snapping.

Dancing.

His headphones were turned up so loud that Evan could hear their tinny echo despite the distance.

He raised the ARES, thought about the left seventh rib, guarding the heart from behind. If he put the bullet at a slight angle he could dodge the scapula and blow a tunnel through the left lung and heart. But the guy looked young and strong, and heart shots weren’t a guarantee of instantaneous incapacitation. Evan adjusted, aiming at the brain stem.

The guy kept on grooving, bobbing on Charleston-wobbly knees.

Evan hesitated.

He didn’t like to shoot anyone in the back unless he was outnumbered. And besides, how do you shoot a guy who’s dancing?

He rolled his shoulders forward. Sighed. No longer bothering to set his feet down quietly, he walked over to the man. The guard kept rocking, adding a bit of air guitar now.

Evan stepped in front of him, but the man’s eyes were closed and he did a spin move, crossing his feet and whipping around to face in the other direction.

Aggravated, Evan tried to move around him, but now he was making airplane arms and tilt-rocking his way toward the rear edge of the roof.

“Hey,” Evan said. Then: “Hey!”

What the hell was he doing? Trying to politely interrupt a guy so he could assassinate him?

He raised the ARES. Muzzle two inches from the back of the C2 vertebra.

Now chicken-dance flappy arms. The guy was killing Evan.

He had to talk to him first. Look him in the eye. Maybe Evan could do the whole “Do I look scared?” speech to elicit a first move.

He lowered his pistol.

The guy swung around in a graceful dance move, feet leading, shoulders trailing his hips. He finished the half pivot and spotted Evan, and his arms flew up in a ridiculous fear display. He gave a high-pitched shriek and then toppled off the edge of the roof.