Germ

She looked quickly and saw Litt running across the field, toward the smoldering hangars. She scanned the ground for her pistol. It was there, among the scuffling feet of Atropos and Stephen.

The killer who'd fallen was up, moving in on Stephen. She leaped up and kicked him. He spun and planted a heel into her sternum. She flew back. Eyes watering from pain, she rolled toward the battle, reaching, feeling for her gun. A booted foot came down on her arm. She screamed and pulled her arm back. She rolled away, rose, cradling her arm.

The Atropos pinned by Stephen's foot writhed in frustration, not quite understanding yet that the weight of his brothers was anchoring Stephen in place. A spiked fist rose from the headlocked Atropos and came down on Stephen's spine.

His eyes slammed shut against the assault. Tears streamed out. He opened his eyes again, found Julia. "Go! Please!"

Litt was nearly at the hangars.

Beside her, Allen struggled to stand. She sensed the tension coiled in his legs and arms, ready to spring at Stephen's attackers. She reached out and touched him. "No, Allen. They'll kill you with one blow."

"I . . . have . . . to!"

Stephen turned a bloody face toward Allen and shook his head. "No, brother. Go. Stop Litt. Don't let this happen again . . ."

The free Atropos took a step for Allen and Julia. Stephen released the neck he had been gripping and seized the collar of the assassin now interested in Allen and Julia, yanking him back. When the man spun to break the grip, Stephen yelled, "You wimp! Just like your punk dead brother!"

Atropos rammed a fist into Stephen's face. The struggling escalated: the movements came faster, the blows harder.

Backing away, Julia saw the Atroposes as something other than individual killers. Though encased in their own skins, they moved in unison, as one creature: one pulling back as another stepped in . . . gripping and releasing like the tentacles of a violently malicious monster. And she realized another thing: they all wanted a piece of Stephen; they all wanted to be part of the kill. In the destruction of their enemies, they were of one mind, one body. They would descend on each of them with a unified, incomprehensible wrath.

She pulled at Allen, aware that she was leaving Stephen to die. They would all perish if they tried to rescue him. And he would die for nothing.

No, she thought. She couldn't leave so easily. She dived for her gun, dodging the kicks, the stomps. Her uninjured hand reached out, grabbed the barrel. She rolled back, back, then up, turning the gun in her hand. She pointed, focused. All three Atroposes stood behind Stephen—a gauntleted arm circling his neck, gloved hands pulling his arms back at horrendous angles, another hand coming from between his legs to grip a thigh. Julia recalled Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction, and Stephen was caught in its many arms. Its necklace of skulls were the faces of the Atroposes, peering wickedly over Stephen's shoulders and around his body. They jostled, shielding themselves.

"Go," Stephen pleaded again, his voice weak and raspy, and her heart ached at the realization that she must obey. It would be crueler not to.

Her fingers, bent grotesquely backward, throbbed and spewed blood. Her forearm felt as though a truck had parked on it, but she pushed the pain down into a black well, where its screams for attention echoed flatly and carried no weight.

She could not get another clear shot. She recognized determination in Stephen's eyes. He wanted everything they'd gone through to matter. Allen's trauma; her efforts and grief; Donnelley's death; the deaths of so many others, ones they knew about and more they didn't; Stephen's own . . . offering now—he wanted it all to make a difference, if not to bring good, then to stop evil. She understood. And she knew hesitating would ruin it all, would make futile the blood and tears. She lowered the pistol and gave him a soft nod. She was biting her lip, reopening the wound, tasting the blood. She felt like a small child trying to be brave.

He attempted a smile, but his quivering lips could not hold it. So he held her eyes a moment longer and nodded back, firm, sure.

Again she pulled at Allen. He stood on shaky legs and let her take some of his weight. Then she started backing away.

"No, wait," Allen pleaded.

"We have to stop Litt," she whispered without taking her eyes off Stephen and his captors. The Atroposes stared, knowing they had won.

"I can't leave him," Allen said. "Not like this."

"It's what he wants, Allen. If we don't go now, we won't stop Litt and Stephen will have—" She restructured the thought. "All of this will be in vain."

"Stephen! I love you!" he cried.