Myrmidon

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Chapel tried to move his left arm, but the prosthesis just hung there at his side, limp and useless. He could move the fingers a little, but as he tried flexing them to test how well they would grip, he must have pulled a wire loose because they froze up before he could make a fist.

It didn’t matter. He had his good arm still, and he could walk.

The door of the igloo stood before him, black as pitch. It would take a second for his eyes to adjust from the light of the desert to the gloom inside. He might not have a full second before he was attacked.

It didn’t matter.

He was wounded, badly, and shock could only block out so much of the pain.

It didn’t matter.

He stepped inside the igloo and raised the pistol.

Between the rows of shelves holding the gas shells, Belcher was down on the floor, rooting around in a duffel bag. In his injured hand, between his index finger and thumb, he held something small and square and dark. Chapel squinted, trying to make out details.

In the split second it took him to realize what was going on, Belcher pulled a fresh cell phone out of the bag. He slid a catch on one end of the phone and a thin, square piece of plastic jumped out. It was identical to the one he held in his other hand.

A SIM card. Of course. All the phone numbers that triggered the bombs were stored on the card from the phone Chapel had shot with the hunting rifle. Belcher must have recovered the SIM card from that phone—it looked intact—and was planning on inserting it into the new phone. As soon as he did, he could start up the new phone, send his text message, and unleash the full stockpile of gas. Just like he’d planned on doing all along.

“Drop it,” Chapel said, as if he intended for Belcher to just surrender. He lifted his pistol and pointed it at the madman. He was going to shoot Belcher in the heart as soon as he looked up. Belcher was just too dangerous to try to take into custody.

That was the plan.

Of course, Chapel had forgotten that Charlie was down here, too. And that in the dim interior of the igloo, even a tattooed giant could hide easily.

Charlie came at him from between two rows of shelves, his arms up to grab Chapel in a bear hug. All Chapel could see was the skull tattooed on Charlie’s face, his eyes glowing with reflected light inside those inked sockets.