and cautiously lifted himself out. As he did, he came to the fleeting realization that he was inexplicably unarmed.

§

The deuce and a half slammed its brakes and skidded in the snow, clipping a wooden pole and came to a crash, wedging itself between the pole and the main gate. As men leaped from it in every direction, five jerry cans of gasoline were tossed over the fence by its toothy red-haired driver. The men shot through the fence at every lumbering ghoul they could find. Someone shouted and order and moments later the first can exploded as a small swarm of ghouls began to gather around it. Some were felled instantly. Others listlessly walked away, their bodies ablaze. The stench of burnt flesh mixed with that of crisp, fresh snow. Now, row after row, the cans exploded. From the guard tower to the main entrance, the camp was floodlit. Beyond was darkness.

§

“Boch.”

von Boch turned steadily, a cloth mask covered his face. His arms raised. In each hand, a scalpel tipped with amber droplets. He tilted his head curiously to one side. Behind him, a ghoul was strapped to a table. Tubes ran from his carotid artery and thigh, running down the length of the table. Both ends inserted into two pumps, which fed out into two large glass jars that were filling with a brackish sludge.