The ganger shook his head, pointed back to the street. Eve motioned toward the spire. The big man put his hand on her chest, gave her a hard shove backward. Ezekiel saw a flash of fire in her eyes, her face twisting in sudden anger. And quick as silver, Eve grabbed the ganger by the wrist, and drawing back her free hand, she punched him full in the face.
Ezekiel could see the rage in that blow. The pent-up fury and frustration of the past few days, the lies she’d been told, the heartbreak she’d suffered, all crystallized in the tight ball of her fist. She threw the punch as hard as she could, twisting her hips, teeth gritted, putting all her weight behind it. And if Eve were a normal girl, the KillKillDoll might have ended up with a split lip or a swollen eye, or if her aim was good enough, maybe even a broken nose.
Instead, he was lifted off his feet like he’d been hit with a truck. His head snapped all the way back between his shoulder blades, and Ezekiel heard a sodden crunch as the man was sent flying, crashing into the wall behind him hard enough to smash the concrete to gray dust. The ganger’s body crumpled to the ground, bleeding from the ears and eyes, his head lolling atop his broken neck.
Oh god…
A moment’s shock. A ragged cry. The KillKillDolls raised their weapons. And fast as the beats of a blowfly’s wings, the other lifelikes drew pistols from beneath those dusty cloaks and gunned down the gangers in seconds.
A scream went up from the crowd, folks scattering as the bullets sang beneath the noonday sun. Patience fired a dozen shots into the air above the mob’s head, sending them scattering, tripping, tumbling. A handful of bullyboys emerged from the Gnosis spire to see what the fuss was, dropped in a few heartbeats by the lifelike’s bullets. But through it all, Ezekiel’s eyes were fixed on Eve.
She stood there in the middle of the carnage. Her right hand was still curled into a white-knuckled fist. Her eyes were fixed on the man she’d struck down. She wore the strangest expression—somewhere between horror and joy, shock and awe. As if she couldn’t quite believe that…she killed him.
More gunfire. Figures falling in the crowd as the lifelikes continued to shoot, until the street was entirely empty save for the people who’d never leave it again.
She actually killed him….
“Remind me what you see in this girl, again?” the Preacher asked.
Ezekiel said nothing. Uriel spoke to Eve, and the girl seemed to remember herself. Looking down at her hand, she opened her fingers, peered at the blood gleaming on her knuckles. Turning her hand this way and that, as if studying the sunlight glinting in the red. And finally, with one last glance at the man she’d just murdered, Eve spun on her heel and strode into the spire as if nothing were amiss.
Gabriel and the others followed her inside, only bodies in their wake.
Ezekiel couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t process what he’d just seen, or believe Eve was the one to have done it.
She just killed a man in cold blood.
Something must have happened to her, he reasoned. They must have done something to her. Myriad, maybe, or the Libertas virus, he had no idea what. But he knew the girl he loved could never hurt someone like that. He had to get to the bottom of this. He had to save her, the way he couldn’t save Ana all those years ago. And so, gritting his teeth, Ezekiel stole out from the alley, past the shell-shocked citizens, toward the old Gnosis spire.
“Snowflake.”
“Shut up.”
“Goddammit, boy,” the bounty hunter growled. “A bleedin’ heart can only bleed so long before it kills you. Will you stop and listen for one goddamn second?”
Ezekiel crouched behind the shell of an old auto, listening to the sound of faint gunfire and screams coming from inside the spire.
“Spit it out, then,” he hissed.
“I can’t help but notice we seem to be charging face-first toward a fracas with half a dozen superhumans with a fondness for murderin’ anything that looks at them cross-eyed. I hope you appreciate I’m wastin’ exactly zero time trying to talk you out of this nonsense, but I’m thinkin’ you might be needin’ my help.”
“You’ve got no legs,” Ezekiel said. “Your augs are all fried.”
The Preacher wiggled the fingers on his good hand. “Still got some meat on my bones, Snowflake. Just need something to shoot with.”
“I’m not giving you a gun,” Zeke scoffed. “You think I’m stupid?”
“…You honestly want me to answer that?”
Ezekiel shook his head, rose up from cover, ready to run.
“Look, look, I still got a bounty to collect on that missy,” the Preacher said. “And while theoretically, givin’ me a shooter could result in my blowing your so-called brains out of your oh-so-pretty head, how exactly does that help me? I got one working limb, here. Am I gonna bring her in walkin’ on my fingertips?”
Ezekiel said nothing, eyes still fixed on the ganger Eve had just murdered.
God, what have they done to her?
“Face it, Snowflake,” the Preacher was saying. “We need each other.”
Zeke grit his teeth. The thing of it was, he knew the Preacher was talking sense. Arming this lunatic was every kind of stupid, but fighting five against one was stupider still. And if he was going to help Eve now—and god knew she needed it—he’d need all the allies he could get.
Reaching into his weapons satchel, he drew out a heavy pistol, slapped it into the Preacher’s palm. He wiggled his middle finger, the wire connected to the grenades still strapped on the bounty hunter’s back.
“Just a reminder. Insurance policy.”
“You got a real distrusting nature, you know that?”
Ezekiel shouldered the satchel again, checked the straps holding the Preacher in place were tight. The man’s useless cyberarm was draped over Zeke’s shoulder, his good hand clutching his pistol.
“Okay, you ready?” Zeke asked.
“No, wait…hold this a second….”
Ezekiel took the pistol back as the Preacher reached inside his coat, produced the bottle of whiskey they’d bought at Rosie’s. The lifelike heaved a weary sigh as the bounty hunter took a long pull, then smashed the bottle on the sidewalk.
“Okay, ready,” he nodded.
“You sure?” Zeke growled. “Don’t want to stop for another bottle?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say no,” the Preacher replied.
Sirens began blaring across the street as Ezekiel dashed toward the Gnosis spire, dark curls hanging in his eyes. Alarm bells were ringing, too, distant shouts—whatever passed for the Law in this hole was on its way. Ezekiel leapt over the fallen bodies, trying not to stare at the man Eve had killed. Trying not to think of her parting words to him in Babel.