His gaze flits across my face as if he’s searching for something. Whatever it is, I doubt he’ll find it.
“I’m assuming the person who claimed to be from the museum is either incapacitated or dead,” he continues after a moment.
“The former, unfortunately,” I confirm. “Oh, and I’m fairly certain he’s a Nazi.”
He gives no sign that he’s shaken by this revelation except to fold his arms across his chest. “What gave you that idea?”
I point at the back of my neck. “He had a circled swastika tattoo.”
His eyes narrow. “Circled? You’re certain?”
I regard him seriously as sweat begins to pop up on my forehead from standing in the sun-soaked heat for so long. “I know what I saw.”
Bes pinches his nose beneath the bridge of his glasses. “They’re not Nazis, exactly; they’re a part of a cult named the Thule Society, an organization on the fringes of the German Third Reich, who call themselves the God Men.”
“The Thule Society?” I ask, barely believing my own ears. “Like the fictional land supposedly founded by ancient geographers in the far north as the proverbial edge of the known world, where the mythical Hyperboreans lived? That Thule Society?”
Bes scores his face. “Impressive. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to discuss it here. There’s no telling when—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Fuck.
Heart in my throat, Bes and I both spin in the direction of a voice I now know too well. Claude stands between us and the temple, pointing his old Luger at me once again. My backpack sits open at his feet, half the contents tossed out onto the sand.Dammit, I should’ve kept a better eye on that.
Surprise and panic force me to take an unfortunate step back, and I stumble over Williams’s foot. My backside once again meets with the ground. Bes has already walked back a few paces more, closer to the car.He had better not be leaving me here.
I manage to keep my attention on Claude, the much larger threat. His wrinkled and dirty suit hangs awkwardly across his shoulders, his combover of black hair askew. Despite the dire situation I’m in, I allow a half-smile at the sight of a nasty bruise forming on his jaw from when I clocked him. It’s my only solace as I stare down the barrel of his gun once again.
Claude’s gun flicks to my right. “Don’t even think about it.”
I glance over at Bes as he slowly removes his hand from the gun in his holster.
“If you hand over the amulet now,” Claude says to me now, eyes manic as they flick down to where the amulet peeks out from my button-up, “we can forget any of this happened.”
Doubtful.Now I’m past the initial dread of seeing him again, I scramble to form a plan. And then I remember: Bes and Claude aren’t the only ones with guns.
I lean forward, closer to the soldier. “You said it yourself, Claude: we’re well past these pleasantries. You’ve already shown your delusional, fascist hand.”
While he thinks on this, I keep my eyes on Claude’s gun and slowly, carefully, reach into the soldier’s holster, extricating the weapon from it. Tightening my grasp around the handle, I blindly locate the hammer and hold my trembling thumb overit. I slowly bring it down, glad for the incessant droning of the locusts as it clicks.
Smoothing out my expression, I focus on Claude’s gun trembling in his hand. He’s either never shot anyone before, or his body is still recovering from being knocked unconscious.
Having considered my words, Claude smiles. “Then I’ll kill your friend first.”
“He’s not my friend, so go right ahead,” I goad him.
Bes’s head snaps in my direction, but I can’t spare him a glance. With Claude’s trembling worsening, he’s likely to miss Bes completely, if he pulls the trigger at all.
Claude grimaces, not giving me a second to form another thought before he points the gun at Bes and pulls the trigger.
I duck instinctively as the bullet zings over my head, the sound of the gunshot ringing out across the desert. It hits flesh—Bes cries out.
Shit.My heart pummels inside my chest, sweat breaking out across my brow. I may have just killed Bes with my recklessness. I want to help him, to make sure he’s not dead, but I only have a second to react—to try and save us both.
Allowing very little consideration for my next move, I point the soldier’s gun at Claude and fire.
The bullet finds its mark—I flinch.
