air, alighting on the van’s roof and dropping facedown within half a second of passing beneath the door.
Flyers, was she good.
Already she was feeling it, feeling them. The too-familiar prickling along her skin and, deep inside her skull, a watery murmuring, like the caress of waves upon a distant shore. The van, at reduced speed, was moving through a tunnel. Ahead she saw a second door. The driver beeped the horn; the door rose to let them through. Another three seconds: the van drew to a halt.
They were in a wide, open space, fifty feet on a side. Peeking over the top of the windshield, Alicia counted eight men. Six were armed with rifles; the other two wore heavy backpacks with tanks and long steel wands. At the far end of the room was a third door, different from the others: a heavy steel contraption with thick crossbars set into the frame.
One of the men sauntered toward the van, holding a clipboard; she pressed herself as flat against the roof as she could.
“How many you got?”
“The usual.”
“Are we supposed to do them as a group?”
“Hell if I know. What does the order say?”
A shuffling of paper. “Well, it doesn’t,” the second man answered. “A group, I suppose.”
“Is the betting pool still open?”
“If you want.”
“Give me seven seconds.”
“Sod has seven. You’ll have to pick something else.”
“Six, then.” The driver’s door creaked opened; Alicia heard his feet hit the concrete floor. “I like the cows better. It takes longer.”
“You are one sick bastard, you know that?” There was a pause. “You’re right, though. It is pretty cool.” He directed his voice away from the van. “Okay, everybody, showtime! Let’s dim the lights!”
With a thunk the lights extinguished, replaced by a twilight-blue glow emanating from caged bulbs along the ceiling. All the men were backing away from the door at the far end of the room. There could be no doubt what lay on the other side; Alicia sensed it in her bones. A metal gate began to drop from the ceiling, then jolted to a stop. The men with the backpacks had taken up positions on the near side of the gate, wicks of flame dancing at the tips of their wands. The driver strode to the rear of the van and opened it.
“Come on, out with you.”
“Please,” a man’s voice pleaded, “you don’t have to do this! You’re not like them!”
“It’s okay, it’s not what you think. Be a good fellow now.”
A woman this time: “We haven’t done anything! I’m only thirty-eight!”
“Really? I could have sworn you were older.” The click of a cocking revolver. “All of you, let’s move.”
One by one they were hauled from the van, six men and four women, shackled at the wrists and ankles. They were sobbing, pleading for their lives. Some could barely stand. While two men kept their rifles trained, the driver moved among them with a ring of keys, unlocking the chains.
“What are you unshackling them for?” one of the other guards asked.
“Please, don’t do this!” the woman cried. “I’m begging you! I have children!”
The driver backhanded the woman, knocking her to the ground. “Did I tell you to shut up?” Then, holding up a pair of shackles to the guard: “You want to clean these things later? I sure don’t.”
Do not engage the inhabitants, Alicia told herself. Do not engage the inhabitants. Do not engage the inhabitants.
“Sod?” the driver called. “Are we ready over there?”
A piggish-looking man stood off to the side at some kind of control panel. He moved a lever, and the gate gave a little twitch. “Hang on a second, it’s jammed.”
Do not engage, do not engage, do not engage …
“There, that’s got it.”
The hell with it.
Alicia rolled off the roof to find herself standing face-to-face with the driver. “Howdy.”
“Son of a … bitch?”
She drew her blade and shoved it under his ribs. With a sharp exhalation he staggered backward.
“All of you,” Alicia yelled, “hit the floor!”
Alicia unholstered the Browning and moved forward into the room, the weapon cupped in her hands, firing methodically. The guards seemed too stunned to react: one by one she began to pick them off in rusty spurts of blood. The head. The heart. The head again. Behind her, the prisoners had erupted in a torrent of wild screaming. Her mind was focused, clear as glass. The air grew suffused with a sweet intoxication of blood. She popped them off their feet. She lit them up like lightning. Nine bullets in her magazine; she’d