Part 40 (2/2)

”Don't you f.u.c.king touch her, you son of a b.i.t.c.h!” he roared, rus.h.i.+ng at Aguilar. ”You killed her once! Isn't that enough?!”

A big hand grabbed his arm, holding him back, and Zeke whipped around to see that Vickers had finally woken from the fog of his grief. Vickers shook his head, eyes pleading with Zeke to say nothing more. But Zeke knew nothing he did would make a difference in the end.

”Enough?” Aguilar said. ”I guess not.”

Zeke screamed as Aguilar shot Savannah in the chest and belly. As she crumpled to the ground, he tore free of Vickers's grasp and lunged. Aguilar turned and the gun barked again, three or four rounds st.i.tching across Zeke's chest; the pain searing through him was nothing compared to the anguish in his soul. He fell face-first, kicking up dust as he skidded in the dirt on his stomach. The smell of his own blood filled his nostrils, his vision already dimming.

Unable to do more than twitch and loll his head to one side, he watched as Aguilar backed out of the gap among his prisoners. The rest of the cartel killers tightened the circle, wolves finally drawing near at the scent of blood.

”f.u.c.k it,” Aguilar said. ”Kill them all.”

The gunfire seemed almost quiet compared to the screams.

9 Zeke drew a long, gasping breath, eyelids dragging open. He could feel the chilly night air on his face but nothing else, save for a dreadful heaviness, as if his body had been submerged in fresh cement. His breaths came at long intervals, wet and ragged, each of them a ch.o.r.e. His mouth opened and closed and he forced himself to take a single breath through his nose.

The copper stink of blood filled his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his vision, only to discover that the blurriness and the blackness that seeped in at the corners of his eyes would not go away.The stars above him were dimming, the moonlight fading. A rush of sound filled his ears and he felt himself flinch, but when he took another breath, he realized the barrage of thunder was nothing but the memory of gunfire, that the bullets were now only ghosts, their voices echoing across the desert.

Dying, he thought, the cold weight on his chest heavier. Zeke strained to move and succeeded in s.h.i.+fting his body just enough to feel things tearing inside him. He didn't have the strength to scream.

Savannah, he thought. My baby girl. I'm sorry. I hope you're with your mother now.

The cold weight of his flesh began to lift and he felt a lightness spread through him. His head lolled to one side, the shadows that veiled his eyes deepening.Yet he saw the bodies that lay around him and recognized the long bone pipe clutched in one ruined hand.The blood smears originally painted onto the pipe had been obscured by a new flow of blood, and the hand-carved pipe seemed to soak it in.

So much for the hoodoo man.

But then the b.l.o.o.d.y hand twitched. Enoch had been torn apart by bullets, body a blood-soaked mess, but now his fingers gripped the pipe and he sat up.Through darkening vision, Zeke watched Enoch bring the pipe to his lips.A portion of the little man's skull had been obliterated, but his eyes glowed with bright golden light as he began to play a variation on those same ugly, powerful notes.

Zeke felt nothing.

He forgot to breathe.

He did not close his eyes, but they went dark, nevertheless.

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