Ghostfinders 02 - Ghost of a Smile

control as he ever was. Melody looked briefly at her instruments but stuck with Happy, for the moment. Every time she saw him wince, she knew he was hearing someone die.
    There was a burst of gunfire from the lobby. Chattering bullets, shouted orders, jagged screams suddenly cut off. The security people tensed but held their positions. Everyone strained their eyes, but none of them could see what was happening in the lobby. All the glass had suddenly become opaque. And then, suddenly, all the windows were spattered with crimson, thick blood sliding down their insides. The gunfire died away and stopped. Latimer looked at Happy, who shook his head sickly. Latimer beckoned to the commander, and he hurried over.
    “Send half your people to join the established perimeter,” she said crisply. “Tell them no-one gets in or out until I say otherwise, in person. And no—I don’t care who they are, or who they say they are. I want this whole area sealed off until we know for sure what we’re dealing with. Contact Institute Headquarters, and have them send every special force and field agent they can find. They’re to reinforce the perimeter, but not come in until I say so. When you’ve done that, take the rest of your people and secure the situation inside that lobby. You are authorised to shoot the shit out of anything you see. Go.”
    The commander nodded quickly, and moved off to follow Latimer’s orders quietly and efficiently. JC and his people stood close together, shivering in the cold, gusting wind. They all watched silently at the commander led his people towards the now-entirely-quiet lobby. Latimer glared at Happy.
    “Happy Jack Palmer! Look at me!”
    Happy looked at her. His face was still slack with shock. “You don’t have to shout. I’m not deaf.”
    “I need to know what you’re hearing,” said Latimer. “What’s going on in the lobby, right now? Who or what is killing my people?”
    “They’re all dead now,” Happy said dully. “Everyone in the building. Bullets couldn’t stop him. They never stood a chance, any of them.”
    “What about the other field team? Can you reach their telepath?”
    “You’re not listening to me! They’re all dead, all of them! Including your precious Jeremy Diego, Monica Odini, and Ivar ap Owen! Your legendary A team, the best you had, your most experienced field team, were nothing to him! He killed them as easily as you would swat a fly. All their power, all their weapons, all their legendary experience, didn’t make a damned bit of difference. I heard Monica crying out to me with her mind, trying to reach me . . . but he wouldn’t let her. He . . . walked right over them. They didn’t even slow him down.”
    Latimer actually looked shocked, for the first time. “But . . . Diego was one of my best! I would have trusted him to deal with anything! What the hell is going on in there . . .”
    “All the training in the world won’t help,” said Happy, almost dreamily. “Something bad has come here, to teach us a lesson. To teach us our proper place in the scheme of things.”
    “You’re still listening in, aren’t you, Happy?” JC said quietly. “Is it the New People? Are they back?”
    “No,” said Happy. “It’s not them. Look. There he is.”
    He gestured at the lobby door with a shaking hand, and they all turned to look. The commander held up one hand as the door opened, and his men froze in place, guns trained on the door. The door swung open, and a man stepped out into the night. One man, walking unsteadily because most of his bones were broken, because he was dead. Robert Patterson. His once-splendid clothes were tattered and torn, and soaked with blood. It dripped thickly from him, leaving a messy trail back into the lobby. It was far too much blood for it to have been only his—too much, and too fresh. He carried the marks of his murders on him. Some of it fell in thick drips from his clenched fists.
    His body had been broken and shattered by the long fall and sudden impact that had killed him. Every time he moved, the sound of splintered bones scraping against each other came clearly across the quiet. Broken limbs and broken back, broken neck and smashed head. His right eye had been pushed forward, straining half out of its socket, so that he seemed to stare at them all with a fierce, manic gaze. He was grinning widely.
    “Robert Patterson,” said Happy. “He died and came back from the dead. And he’s brought something back