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Colt saw the idiots from earlier, gathered around his car and looking up at the motel.

“Hey,” said Colt, a bag in each hand. “Get the fuck away from my car.”

They all turned at once. Their expressions were utterly vacant and lifeless. “Aha,” said the one on the right. “You look different, Mr. Colt.”

This was, abruptly, much too familiar. Colt remembered these expressions from that night in the Rofal mansion, the faces of mindless puppets. And of the few people who knew his name, only two called him ‘Mr. Colt.’ The first was Geoffrey, and the second was Hector. And this was most definitely not Hector.

Colt scowled. “You look much more different than I do,” he said.

An unnatural smile crossed the puppet’s lips. “Just wait there for me,” said Geoffrey. “We will have a proper reunion in a few minutes.”

Colt slowly set his bags down on the wet pavement. There were three of them. Reaching his gun would require two swift motions--unzipping his coat and pulling the weapon out of its holster. This was why he didn’t like underarm carrying, but these days, he couldn’t very well keep it holstered at his hip for everyone to see.

He unzipped his coat, and they all lunged for him. He rolled to his right. The gun came free. The safety switched off.

One of them had Colt’s leg. “Go ahead and try to run!” he said for Geoffrey. “It’ll be more fun for me that way!”

Colt smashed his face in with the butt of his gun. The other two fell to a bullet each, one in the neck, one in the forehead.

He stood. There were buildings all around. No way to tell who--or what--had seen that just now. He threw the baby supplies in the back of his car and ran for the motel.