Veilleur seemed unfazed. He'd given the monk's quartered and eviscerated body barely a glance before moving on. He was now picking through a pile of scrolls in the corner, unrolling them a little and shining his flashlight on them.
After looking at three or four he turned to Jack. "Would you get me one of the oil lamps from the hall?"
Jack checked the hall. Voices drifted down from the other end. He stepped out, unhooked the nearest lamp from the ceiling, and ducked back inside.
Veilleur took the lamp and tossed it onto the scrolls.
"This should have been done centuries ago."
"Why?"
"They tell how to create the Kuroikaze—the Black Wind."
Slater had mentioned the same thing.
"What the hell is it?"
"No time to explain here. Suffice to say it's vile and evil. There's enough evil in the world without the Kuroikaze too."
"I need more than that. What's it do?"
Veilleur looked at him. "It kills. It sucks the life out of everything it touches. You read about that incident a few miles from here, I assume. Where everything—plants, rodents, insects, even bacteria—were found dead?"
"The wilt."
"It's no coincidence that it happened not far from the Kakureta Kao building."
"That was a Black Wind?"
Veilleur nodded. "A miniature example. I suspect they were experimenting."
Then Slater hadn't been crazy.
"What for?"
"My guess is revenge. Or simply because they're all even madder than they seem."
The spilling oil soaked into the old paper, setting the pile ablaze. The room began to fill with smoke.
"Are they the only copies?"
"Who can say? I hope so. But at least we know that no one will be using these."
Jack returned to the hall and started to lead the way toward the other end when he heard a voice on the main stairwell asking for Hank.
He and Veilleur ducked into the next room—free of corpses, thank you—and waited.
Darryl cowered behind the door of the empty room, hands pressed against the sides of his throbbing head, waiting. He'd thought he was home free when he'd ducked in here to escape the shoot-out. A few minutes later he thought he was dead—just about peed his pants—when two of those suited gunmen came in. But they hadn't looked behind the door.
For a while now everything had been pretty quiet—except for the sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the distance. Upstairs maybe?
Did he dare take a peek? Didn't see any alternative. Sure as hell couldn't stay here all night.
He crept to the door on hands and knees and peeked out. Bodies everywhere. He knew some of those dead faces.
No movement anywhere, no sound. He took a deep breath and made a tiptoe dash to the next room.
Oh, shit. He wasn't alone. The lone, sputtering candle revealed the legless monk and the two Kickers he'd stabbed. Except the Kickers had been alive when he'd left them with Menck, and now they were—
Say… where was Menck?
"Darryl?"
He almost screamed when he turned and saw the dead monk rising from his bed. But no—the top of his bedding was moving with him. Menck's bandaged head popped out from under the futon.
"Shit, Menck, you almost gave me a heart attack. What the fuck you doing under there?"
"Hiding. When I saw those Japs going room to room after massacring our guys, I dove under here." He pointed to the two dead Kickers. "They shot them up, then left."
Darryl's stomach knotted. "So it's just you and me out of all those guys?"
Menck nodded. "Seems that way. At least down here. Don't know about Hank upstairs."
"Shit! Hank and his no-guns rule. We didn't stand a chance."
"Hey, nobody figured on hit men."
"You think that's what they are?"
"Sure act like it. Stone killers with silencers. That says hit men to me."
Darryl couldn't argue with that. "But who hired them?"
"The fuck I know?"
"Yeah. Right. Look, we either gotta get outta here—with Hank if he's alive, without him if he ain't."
Menck shook his head and moved to the window. "Fuck Hank. Probably as dead as these guys." He touched his bandaged scalp. "My head's killing me and I feel like I'm gonna puke. I'm outta here."
Darryl followed him, knowing exactly how he felt. They were on the first floor. If they could get the window open, it was only a short drop to the backyard. Real tempting.
As Menck started lifting the sash, Darryl checked out the yard. He froze when he saw the lone black figure standing maybe fifty feet away. Couldn't make out any features.
"Someone's out there."
Menck stopped and stared. "The fuck is he?"