THE JET OF FLAME, dripping beads of golden fire all along its magical length, struck the center of the ruined swamp-wag, playing over it, instantly igniting the hundreds of gallons of napalm.
Finn jumped to one side, releasing the main control of the flamer, burying his face in his hands at the cataclysmic explosion. Jak Lauren and his group stopped in their tracks, shrinking back from the inferno that raged outside the motel. The sec guards were destroyed in the blink of an eye, converted from fighting men to dancing puppets, tugged by strings of fire. Their thin, helpless screams were drowned by the ferocious roar of the flames. The entire front of the building caught fire, and lakes of smoking crimson spread inside through shattered windows and doors. In less than one minute, the whole place was ablaze.
The men with Ryan and J.B. stood and gaped. Night became dazzling day. The shooting stopped for a few moments, replaced by the noise of the fire and the screeching of hundreds of wild birds, erupting from the trees all around. Ryan saw a great slim-necked white bird with an enormous wingspan flying majestically away over the burning motel.
“Now,” he said, breaking the others from their shocked contemplation. “Come on. To the back.”
BARON TOURMENT HAD been sleeping, his arm resting across the hips of a slim Cajun girl. Her tanned body was covered with bites and scratches, and she had slithered into a merciful, drugged sleep.
Mephisto burst into the room, his clothes crumpled, a blaster in his hand.
“They’re here! For fuck’s sake, Baron, get up and fight, or run!”
“Who? The one-eyed man?”
“Don’t know. Move this slut outta the way.” He pulled the girl to the floor; moaning, she resumed her slumber. “Bombs. Fire-sprays. Blasters. It’s a fucking war out there.”
Tourment reached for his braces and buckled them on while Mephisto outlined what had been happening.
“Whole place is burning. Must be twenty dead. Could be more. It’s bad. Real bad, Baron.”
Tourment hitched on his belt, with the twin pistols in it. Stub-gripped Ruger GP-11Os, a matched pair of silver-plated revolvers that had been taken from one of the gun stores in downtown Lafayette years back.
“How many out there?”
Mephisto shook his head. His own customized M-16, with its ornate cockerel’s head, dangled from his right hand, almost as if he’d forgotten he was still holding it. “Don’t know. Plenty. Thought I saw the snow wolf.”
“And the man with one eye?”
“Who?”
Tourment reached for his trembling sec boss and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. “You heard me, offal! Was there a man there with only one-eye? He’s the one to be feared. I know it. I’ve seen it.”
“Didn’t didn’t see him. Time’s racing, Baron. The place is lost. Got to get out.”
“Side way, canoes,” said the giant black, striding to the door of his suite. “Get the two women and bring ’em.”
“Too late for that,” said Mephisto, his voice rising until, it was almost a hysterical scream. “Don’t you it’s fucking over. We lost. One fucking bang and a damburst of fire, and we’re done.”
KRYSTY LAY STILL, resting, harvesting the layers of calmness. Knowing that if the motel was under attack by Ryan, then it would not be long before Baron Tourment, or one of his sec men, remembered them and came looking for them. That could be the moment when her special powers might be most needed. Lori, at her side, lay still, whistling to herself to keep her spirits up.
HALF A DOZEN SWAMPWAGS were already rolling around the back of the blazing building, with sec men still clambering into them, ready to run. Exchanging fire with Ryan’s party, all of them fell dead, with only a single casualty in the attackers group.
“Blow the buggies?” asked one of Jak’s men.
“No. You’ll need ’em after this is done.”
“You figure we’re winning?” asked another of them as they neared a large rear entrance.
“Yeah. Leah gave us better than we’d hoped for. When this is finished, you ought to build her a bitching great statue and bring your children to look at it every fucking anniversary.”