the stool was already flying through the air toward them. They dodged it as I jumped, rolling over the counter on my back and landing, on my fingertips and the balls of my feet, on the kitchen floor.
The woman shrieked, and the crack of a pistol came at the same moment the countertop I'd been on burst apart. A bullet made a sound as it passed over me, a little exhalation of death.
The woman came around the corner, and as if I'd been expecting her, I launched forward, my shoulder slamming against the side of her knee. I felt something in her joint give, but her hands came down on me like thrown bricks. We struggled on the floor. I couldn't tell if she was screaming or I was, but seconds later, we were both on our feet. She had Midian's cutting knife in her hand. I could still see where the onion juice had dried on the blade.
"Who are you?" she said. She had a Slavic accent. Her eyes were the blue of gas flame. Her face was written like a Chinese scroll, columns of esoteric characters from her hairline to her neck.
I didn't know I intended to move until the skillet was in my hand. She leapt forward, the knifepoint moving for my body. I caught the blade with the skillet and spun, more gracefully than I had ever moved before, throwing the woman to one side, and then coming around to land the skillet hard on the back of her head. I heard the report of a pistol again and the refrigerator door over my shoulder puckered. I dropped and rolled, pressing my back against the cabinet, where I could neither see the front room nor be seen from it.
The woman groaned. Blood pooled beneath her head.
"Drop your guns," I shouted. "Do it now."
It was an idiotic thing to say, but I felt them hesitate. I jumped forward, grabbing a drawer at random, and, twisting from my belly, pulled. It broke free, silverware arcing through the air toward my attackers. They fired, but the shots weren't aimed. I dove out toward them.
The fear vanished. I moved as if my body simply knew what to do. I just had to stand back and let things follow their course. I rose to my feet, pushing the coffee table hard into one man's shins as I did. As he stumbled, I stepped onto the table. His descending head met my rising knee, and he spun back.
"Stop!"
The last man stood across the room from me, his legs braced, both hands on his gun, steadying it. His eyes were wide. There was no way I could get to him before he pulled the trigger. No way I could get to cover before the bullet hit me. To my surprise, I smiled.
The pistol shot startled me, and I waited for the pain. Nothing came. Shock, I thought. It's the shock. I'll die in a minute here. But then a second bullet slammed into the man, and he slumped. Blood flushed the thick pale cloth of his gi, making it look like skinned meat. Midian stood in the hallway leading to the bedroom, what looked like a World War I Lugar in his hand.
He looked at me. His expression was cool and appraising.
"You're pretty good at that," he said. "Close the door, kid."
For the space of a long breath, I didn't understand what he meant. When the trembling came, I felt like I was perfectly steady and the building was rattling. I crossed the four steps to the apartment's door and pushed it closed. The wood was splintered and white where they'd kicked it in. The earthquake in my body got worse. I felt it in the soles of my feet, like the floor was tapping on my shoes. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to remain standing.
When I turned back to the room, the woman had risen to her hands and knees. Midian, behind her, leveled his Lugar at the back of her head.
"No!" I screamed.
He looked up as he pulled the trigger. The woman pitched forward, her skull split open. I dropped to my knees.
"You don't need to look at me like that," Midian said as he stepped over her body and toward the small man crumpled in the middle of the floor. The attacker had shards of the plate in his hair, his legs bent under him. His eyes were closed. I could see him breathing. "These aren't