Marcus barely had time to see the gun before it discharged. The roar deafened in the confines of little daycare center. His ears rang even as smoke bellied out from the antique gun’s barrel. Children screamed and scattered like frightened ants. The construction worker closest to them, the one holding a gun on Harriet Banks, jerked just once, then fell like a man whose legs have been abruptly jerked out from beneath him. The hole through the back of his skull was far smaller than the one through his face, where the bullet had plowed through on its way out. Shock caught Marcus like a fist against the side of his head—then the black-powder pistol discharged again and the man holding Artemisia’s wrist plowed into the floor, obscenely dead.
Marcus snapped out of shock with the grotesque thud as the second body landed on the daycare center’s floor. He flung himself toward his screaming children. “Hush . . . it’s all right, Daddy’s here . . .”
He gathered the girls close, hugged them, wept against their hair.
“Marcus! Come on, man! More of the bastards are headed this way!”
Marcus had no time to say anything to Harriet Banks, who was trying to get the other children out through the back door, away from the carnage in the playroom. He simply scooped up his daughters and ran with them, following his unknown benefactor into the chaos on Commons. There were, indeed, more construction workers racing toward them, with weapons clutched in their hands as tourists screamed and scattered.
His benefactor’s voice cut through shock and terror. “Do you know any better way to reach the Neo Edo Hotel? They’re between us and any safety we’ve got on this station.”