HARDCORE: Storm MC(105)

As he poked his head around the side of the house, he saw a pair of gleaming eyes over a pointed snout and sharp teeth. The 'possum hissed at him once before retreating under the house with a flick of its wiry, worm-like tail.



Bones sighed, tucking his gun away in his waistband.



A split-second later, a thin, strong wire looped around his throat and constricted from behind.



Bones gagged and struggled, reaching behind him for the gun. Before he could grab it, a rough hand snatched it away and his legs were kicked out from under him. He sank to his knees, clawing at his neck as he felt the wire sink through his flesh. There was a hot spurt beneath his right ear, and he realized that his jugular had been severed. A moment later, he felt a towel wrap around his neck and shoulders to catch the blood.



How could I not have smelled them coming? Bones asked himself, trying to get a look at the men behind him. They wore ski masks, but Bones could see an oily substance smeared around their eyes and lips. It was special forces issue, made to neutralize the skin's natural odors. He recognized it. He'd worn it numerous times when stalking his prey through the desert.



Fuck me, he mused. They really are soldiers after all.



Dark blooms appeared at the corners of his vision, and he felt himself getting light-headed. The world cartwheeled away from him giddily, and all he could think was, No war, I'll never get to have another war, everything just ends here for me on some stupid fucking suburban lawn. And no gunshots or explosions, Christ, everything's so goddamn quiet...



Then the curtains closed over his eyes, and the last thing he ever felt was grass on his cheek before his body was swiftly dragged off into the night.





Chapter 24



Hunter



Hunter stood in the kitchen with a towel around his waist and peered at the smoldering rectangular lump of burned plastic, oozing gloopy-looking gravy and pink chicken-juice onto the bottom of the oven. It smelled like a fire at a chemical factory and he coughed, waving the fumes away from his face with an oven mitt.



He'd been at the Knife for almost forty-eight hours straight, and even though he hated the idea of leaving it, Keith had convinced him to at least head home for a shower and a couple hours' sleep before he went crazy from exhaustion.



“You're no good to us bugged-out an' half dead, Hunter,” Keith had told him, “any more than Cain's any good to us all busted an' drugged-up. You gotta see that, man. Go take care of yourself so you can take care of us.”



Hunter saw the logic of that, even if he didn't want to. He reluctantly agreed and started to ride home, then remembered that there wouldn't be any leftovers waiting for him in the fridge since Missy was at Cain's. He'd been so worried about going up against Gaspar that he hadn't eaten, and now his hunger was gnawing at him.



He stopped at a convenience store and chose a boxed frozen dinner at random—a rubbery-looking chicken breast with a pasty wedge of mashed potatoes and some brown sauce. When he took it home, he turned on the oven, unboxed the tray without bothering to read the directions, cut a slit in the clear plastic film, and left it to cook while he went upstairs for a shower.



When he emerged from the steamy bathroom, he had no idea why the smoke detector was beeping or why the place smelled like a gas station caught fire.



And why would I? he thought grumpily, the acrid smoke of the burned tray filling his nostrils. I've made TV dinners before, and that's all the directions said to do. How the fuck was I supposed to know different ones had different directions, and not all of them have the plastic that can go in the oven?



A blob of potato, still half-frozen, slowly plopped down. It was followed by several charred flakes, still glowing as they drifted down.



Hunter slammed the oven shut, then kicked it for good measure.



He slumped down at the table, rubbing his empty stomach and looking at his cell phone. He hadn't realized how hard it would be to have Missy gone, even for such a short period of time, and he felt like a helpless idiot. He'd always enjoyed having her around to take care of him, but he'd also largely taken her presence for granted and figured he'd be able to do things for himself if it ever came to that.



Well, his first night of it, and he'd damn near set the whole place on fire.



Hunter picked up the phone and dialed Missy. He knew he couldn't tell her to come home—Cain needed her more than he did. But he felt a sudden desire to hear her voice, even if she was breaking his balls or complaining about babysitting Cain. He knew it was dumb for him to feel so sappy, but in that moment, it didn't matter. They'd been almost inseparable since childhood, and it just didn't feel right to be in their house without hearing her voice. Besides, the attempt on her life earlier had shaken him up more than he'd wanted to admit.