Myrmidon

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Chapel managed to pull the trigger of his pistol before Charlie got to him. He heard Belcher shout in pain, but then thick arms squeezed around Chapel’s shoulders, and Chapel felt like his head was going to pop off as all the blood rushed up into his brain.

He tried to resist, tried ducking and squirting out from Charlie’s arms like a pumpkin seed between two fingers. Charlie was ready for that and brought his knee up into Chapel’s groin. Pain leapt up Chapel’s spine, and he groaned with it, even as he kept struggling, trying to wriggle free. His good hand seized up, and he couldn’t hold the pistol. It fell to the wooden floor with a clatter.

Charlie twisted around and ran forward, dragging Chapel with him, smashing him face-first into the sloped wall of the igloo. A joist hit Chapel hard in his good shoulder, and his arm went numb. Charlie released him for a second, just long enough to grab his head and smash his face into the wall again.

Chapel’s vision swam with black dots, and his head rang like a poorly made bell. One more hit like that, and he would lose consciousness, and it would be all over. He twisted around to face Charlie just as the neo-Nazi started reaching for Chapel’s neck. Chapel ducked under the attack and slid free of the follow-through, but Charlie just whirled around and punched Chapel in the ribs instead. One of those ribs definitely cracked—Chapel could hear it like a gunshot going off in his chest.

Chapel swung his good arm as best he could, unable to feel whether it connected or not. Even if it did, Charlie didn’t seem to notice.

Then Charlie picked him up and slammed him into one of the shelves. All the breath went out of Chapel’s body, and he couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Gas shells wobbled and rocked and fell to bounce off the floor, shells that had probably been sitting there for twenty years gathering dust. None of them went off—they weren’t designed to explode on impact, not until they were armed. They rolled around on the floor, clattering as they bumped into each other.

Chapel, dazed and weak, struggled to stay on his feet as he started slipping down the face of the wooden shelving unit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belcher slot in the SIM card and press the phone’s power button. Belcher was smart enough not to want to talk before he set off the bombs. In a second, there would be a great flash of light and heat, then—

Chapel saw Charlie’s fist ball up, saw it come up in the air. He was going to punch Chapel’s lights out, that much was clear. Tattooed across Charlie’s knuckles were the letters S-K-I-N.

A few feet away, Belcher swiped the screen of the cell phone to start it up.

A shell rolled against Chapel’s shoe. He saw Charlie coming toward him, taking a step toward him with his fist whistling through the air, looking to put him down for good.

Chapel kicked the shell straight at Charlie. The giant’s foot came down on top of it, and it rolled underneath his combat boot, throwing him off balance. It wouldn’t take long for the big neo-Nazi to recover his equilibrium, but, for a split second, he was half-falling.

Chapel dropped his head and rushed forward, reaching down with his good hand. He grabbed Charlie under the knee and pulled up with all the strength he had left, just like they’d taught him at Ranger school.

The giant went over backward, his arms spinning out at his sides, trying desperately not to fall. Chapel jumped on top of him, one of his shoes coming down on Charlie’s throat. You could kill someone that way. You could crush their trachea without too much trouble.

Chapel didn’t have time to think about whether he wanted Charlie to die or not. As soon as the giant was down, his face already turning purple, Chapel whirled to face Belcher.

The leader of the neo-Nazis was already tapping in his text message. All he had to do was hit SEND, and it would trigger the bombs.

Chapel threw himself forward, launching himself airborne so he would collide with Belcher and knock him down. All Belcher would have had to do was roll to the side, even just shuffle over a little, and Chapel’s lunge would be useless.

But Belcher was too absorbed in the screen of the phone.

Chapel smashed into him hard enough to make them both gasp in pain. The phone went flying. Kneeling on top of Belcher, Chapel grabbed it when it clattered on the floor. He looked at the screen.

remember my name

cancel send

Chapel wheezed for breath. He pressed cancel, then tore the battery out of the phone, throwing it through the door of the igloo, into the desert sun.

Belcher stared up at him, eyes ablaze. “You aren’t ATF, are you?” he asked.