By the Sword

    "Are they the only copies?"

    "Who can say? I hope so. But at least we know that no one will be using these."

    Jack returned to the hall and started to lead the way toward the other end when he heard a voice on the main stairwell asking for Hank.

    He and Veilleur ducked into the next room—free of corpses, thank you—and waited.

    Darryl cowered behind the door of the empty room, hands pressed against the sides of his throbbing head, waiting. He'd thought he was home free when he'd ducked in here to escape the shoot-out. A few minutes later he thought he was dead—just about peed his pants—when two of those suited gunmen came in. But they hadn't looked behind the door.

    For a while now everything had been pretty quiet—except for the sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the distance. Upstairs maybe?

    Did he dare take a peek? Didn't see any alternative. Sure as hell couldn't stay here all night.

    He crept to the door on hands and knees and peeked out. Bodies everywhere. He knew some of those dead faces.

    No movement anywhere, no sound. He took a deep breath and made a tiptoe dash to the next room.

    Oh, shit. He wasn't alone. The lone, sputtering candle revealed the legless monk and the two Kickers he'd stabbed. Except the Kickers had been alive when he'd left them with Menck, and now they were—

    Say… where was Menck?

    "Darryl?"

    He almost screamed when he turned and saw the dead monk rising from his bed. But no—the top of his bedding was moving with him. Menck's bandaged head popped out from under the futon.

    "Shit, Menck, you almost gave me a heart attack. What the fuck you doing under there?"

    "Hiding. When I saw those Japs going room to room after massacring our guys, I dove under here." He pointed to the two dead Kickers. "They shot them up, then left."

    Darryl's stomach knotted. "So it's just you and me out of all those guys?"

    Menck nodded. "Seems that way. At least down here. Don't know about Hank upstairs."

    "Shit! Hank and his no-guns rule. We didn't stand a chance."

    "Hey, nobody figured on hit men."

    "You think that's what they are?"

    "Sure act like it. Stone killers with silencers. That says hit men to me."

    Darryl couldn't argue with that. "But who hired them?"

    "The fuck I know?"

    "Yeah. Right. Look, we either gotta get outta here—with Hank if he's alive, without him if he ain't."

    Menck shook his head and moved to the window. "Fuck Hank. Probably as dead as these guys." He touched his bandaged scalp. "My head's killing me and I feel like I'm go

    Darryl followed him, knowing exactly how he felt. They were on the first floor. If they could get the window open, it was only a short drop to the backyard. Real tempting.

    As Menck started lifting the sash, Darryl checked out the yard. He froze when he saw the lone black figure standing maybe fifty feet away. Couldn't make out any features.

    "Someone's out there."

    Menck stopped and stared. "The fuck is he?"

    "One of the hit men?" Darryl said, but didn't really believe it.

    Something about the guy sent a deep chill through Darryl. He didn't seem to be holding a weapon or anything. He just stood there with his head thrown back, his legs spread, and his arms angled out from his body. He looked like he was praying, but for some odd reason he made Darryl think of an ante

    He might be lots worse than one of the hit men.

    "Must have put an extra guy outside to make sure no one escapes. They want to kill us all. Shit!"

    "We gotta get Hank."

    Menck turned from the window and headed for the door. "You get Hank while I get out."

    Darryl grabbed his arm. "Hey. We're Kickers, man. We stick together. I'm go

    Menck looked at the ceiling, then said, "Fuck. All right. Let's find him."

    Darryl peeked out the door. Nothing moving. The main staircase was only a few dozen feet down and across the hall.

    But the hall was the last place Darryl wanted to be. He wanted to stay in this tiny room till morning, till he and Menck were the only ones left in the building, then sneak away.

    But Hank was the man, the boss, the primo Kicker. Darryl had to find him.

    "Okay. Let's go!"

    Repressing a whimper of terror, he hurried across the hall in a crouch and into the recess of the stairway.

    Made it.

    With Menck close behind he ran up the first flight but stopped at the bottom of the second. A couple of guys lay sprawled on the stairs. Dead?

    Then one of them said, "Darryl? That you?"

    A Kicker. He hurried up to them. He didn't know their names, but knew they were hurt.

    "Where's Hank?"

    The guy jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Still looking."

    Hank alive. Okay. Now to find him.

    "How is it up there?"

    "I think we got the floor to ourselves now. How's it downstairs?"

    Don't ask, Darryl thought, but said, "Quiet. Hey, I'm go

    "Like we have a choice?"

    He motioned Menck to follow him. They found dead Kickers at the top of the steps and dead monks in the smoky hall, but no sign of Hank. He coughed and looked around. Smoke was pouring from one of the doors down the hall.

    "Hank?" he said softly. A little louder: "Hank?"

    Someone stepped out of a door near the other end of the hall and waved them forward. By the time they got there, Hank and half a dozen other Kickers, including Jantz and his chainsaw—his very bloody chainsaw—were gathered outside the door, waiting.

    "What's burning?" Hank was saying, waving at the smoke as they came up. He smiled at Darryl and Menck. "Hey, guys. We pretty much own the floor, but we need reinforcements."

    Menck shook his head. "We're it, I'm afraid."

    Hank's eyes widened. "What? What happened?"

    Darryl gave him a quick rundown about the killer monks and the arrows and the hit men.

    "Silencers?" Hank said.

    "Yeah." Darryl looked around. "Where're the others?"

    Hank looked at him. "Crazy fucking monks." He shook his head. "Shit."

    "My sentiments exactly," Menck said. "This whole night has turned to shit. Let's get out of here."

    Hank shook his head. "Only two more rooms to search. She's got to be in one of them."

    He started across the hall with everyone following him. He kicked open a door, then stepped back.

    "Finally!" he said.

    Darryl looked over his shoulder and saw Dawn lying on the floor. Four candles burned around her, and on the floor before her lay a Japanese sword. Darryl couldn't tell if it was the sword because it was sheathed in a curved scabbard.

    Hank checked behind the door through the hinge space before stepping in. He went straight to the sword and half pulled it from its scabbard. Darryl saw the moth-eaten metal and knew they'd found it.

    "Bingo," Hank said.

    He slammed it back into the scabbard and tossed it to Menck. He knelt next to Dawn and scooped her up in his arms, then hoisted her over his shoulder where she hung like a rag doll. When he turned to them, his face was grim.

    "They better not have hurt this baby."

    Or what? Darryl thought. They're all dead.

    But he said nothing.

    "We're going home," Hank said when he reached the hall—which was smokier than ever.

    Darryl didn't know if he'd ever heard sweeter words. But they still had to get by the hit men.