KRYSTY SWAM beneath the surface of the pond, trying not to leave a ripple in her wake, struggling not to imagine what might be in the water with them. Jak had her by the arm, and she had no choice but to trust his instinct for direction; the water was too murky to see through.
Just when she thought her lungs were going to burst from lack of oxygen, her hand encountered thick mud that felt greasy and cold. Jak guided them up a moment later.
“Breathe easy,” he whispered in her ear as he gently guided her out of the water. “Hard not breathing fast, but got to. Otherwise get chilled.”
Krysty started to turn her head, taking in her surroundings. Jak had brought them up in a nest of reeds and cattails. Some of them were broken off, stabbing uncomfortably into her neck and chin. At least, she hoped it was broken stems and not an insect or water creature. The pond was big, deep and cold, nestled into land that had been bermed at some point. One side of it still held chunks of pavement from a street, a stop sign and the rusted remains of a once colorfully painted trash container.
Jak put his hand on her head from behind. “Be still. They watch for us.”
Krysty froze into position, noting the horses and their riders winding through the trees. All of the men had guns. Only a few of them carried bull’s-eye lanterns, shining light across the surface of the pond and turning it almost mirror bright.
“What does that thermographic sight show?” they heard one of the riders demand.
“Nothing,” another rider replied. “Bunch of water. What’d you expect?”
“What about the Mirage?” the first rider asked.
“Hard to say. The lower two stories are pretty much blazing. That much heat, hard to get any kind of reading at all.”
“Did anyone see them jump into the pond?”
A chorus of negatives came back.
“There’s a possibility they made it to the Mirage,” someone said.
“Mebbe,” the first rider agreed. “Let’s stick it out here and see if we can turn up anything in the water. Beats the hell out of going up there and getting your nuts toasted.”
Krysty freed her .38 from the soaked leather holster and set herself to move.
“Wait,” Jak cautioned. “I go first. I kill silent. When shit hits fan, you move.”
“Okay,” she replied.
Jak reached into the shallow water and lifted up a fistful of black mud, which he smeared over his face, through his hair, then over his arms. When he finished, he was no longer as pale as milk. He looked like a black, wild-haired demon sprung whole from the night’s shadows.
Jak crept out of the water as the riders went into motion, staying just outside the tall reeds and cattails. In less than a dozen steps, he’d disappeared soundlessly from Krysty’s sight.
The riders split into two groups and went around the pond in both directions. The group to Krysty’s left would reach her first. She kept the .38 in her hand, certain her skin was turning blue enough to match the water. Her sentient hair clung to her head.
Less than two minutes later, one of the riders directed his horse through the cattails and reeds toward where Krysty was hiding. His mount didn’t like stepping through the mud and the water, shying away and nickering.
Krysty held the blaster, waiting, her heart thumping.
“Hey, Lloyd, what the hell’s wrong with you?” someone demanded.
There was no answer.
The man in front of Krysty halted his horse and looked back over his shoulder, less than ten feet from her position. “You want to stop shouting like that?” the man asked.
Behind him a rider suddenly toppled to the ground, clawing at his throat.
“Hey!” the man in front of Krysty shouted. “Somebody just chilled Harris and Lloyd! Both of them are laying on the ground over there with knives through their throats!”
“I see him!” another man cried out.
Gunshots rang out.
Coming up out of the water just as the man in front of her tried to bring his mount around, Krysty grabbed the bridle.