Aghajari Oil Refinery
Iran
June 16, 6:29 a.m.
Maybe it was that Ghost could sense me teetering on the edge of the abyss.
Maybe it was the sound of vulnerability in the knight’s shrieks of pain.
Maybe Ghost just plain had enough.
Whatever the reason, my dog had clawed his way back from helpless terror. His eyes blazed with bottomless animal hate, and his teeth flashed as he bore the King of Thorns backward into the darkness.
I think that’s when my heart started beating again.
The Upierczi howled in mingled shock and horror as their master went down with a white dog tearing at him. They hesitated at the edges of inaction, stepping forward but not attacking. My pistol lay on the floor and I wormed my way toward it. My chest was on fire and I knew that something inside was broken, but I stretched bloody fingers toward the gun.
Grigor tried to fend Ghost off, slapping and punching at him, but there was no art or skill in his defenses. He was absolutely terrified of Ghost. Of the fetch dog who had suddenly become the thing he and his kind truly feared.
Ghost tore at Grigor’s flailing hands, slashing with his fangs, biting. I saw a couple of fingers arc through the air trailing streamers of blood. Grigor screamed for the Upierczi to help him and suddenly they were moving, rushing forward, converging on Ghost.
I clawed the pistol butt into my hand, racked the slide, rolled over, aimed.
Sudden thunder filled the chamber. The whole line of Upierczi closest to me went down but I hadn’t fired a shot.
The Upierczi spun and looked up.
And more of them died as bullets tore through faces and chests.
I heard a voice, leathery and deep-chested, bellowing one word over and over again.
“Echo! Echo! Echo!”
And the slaughter began.