"Help!" I shout. "I need a knife!"
A massive hand appears, wielding a huge folding knife that looks like a toy in the giant paw. The blade flicks through the plastic zip ties like butter, and Jakob's hands flop to the sides.
"Oh, nice," he mumbles. "I like my hands."
"He's delirious," I mutter to Chance.
"Lost a lot of blood. We gotta move him. He needs a transfusion." The mammoth man scoops Jakob's limp bulk in his arms as if he weighs nothing.
"P-Poo?" Jakob mumbles. "Pool?"
"I dunno, Boss. You're safe, that's what matters. We’ll getcha fixed up."
"Nicolae."
A grunt of pain. "Here, Boss. I'm alive."
"Pugli?"
"Got away. He is badly…" a pause, a grunt. "Badly wounded. I stabbed him several times, and something was crushed by the press."
"How…get away?"
The beams of lights swipe and sweep in disorienting, coruscating patterns, but I can't see anything.
A hand grabs my elbow. "It's Silas," a quiet voice says, close by. "This way."
"Not the tunnel of terror," I whisper. "Please. I can't do that again."
Something bangs loudly, off to my left—a tiny square of light appears. A door?
"There he goes, the slippery bastard," someone growls.
"Nico, no."
"Let go—Pugli—I have to—"
"You've been fucking stabbedfour goddamn times, Nic. You need medical attention. We'll get him. And you got him good, Nic. He's bleeding worse than you are."
"Missed…organs. May bleed out, but…" he trails off. "Fuck!" It's quiet but viciously intense.
"I can go after him," another voice says—I do not know these people well enough to ID them by voice.
"No, Sax. Nic is fucked up, the Boss is fucked up, and the women are home with only Fonz and Toro to keep watch. I don't trust Pugli not to send more of his fucking army after them while we're out here. We have to regroup and try again."
"Fucking goddammit."
We form a bizarre parade, then, trooping across another vast, echoing space, with only the light from half a dozen gun barrels to illuminate our way. We reach the farthest end after a ridiculously long walk.
“Heavy goddamn doors," someone—Rev?—says.
"Here, lemme set Boss down," comes Chance's gravelly rumble.
Jakob groans, and I shake Silas’ hand off my elbow and shuffle toward the sound of his voice. I find a foot, follow it up, and kneel beside him.
"Jakob?"
His hand finds my thigh. "Brys. Thought about you a lot."
