I shut the security-center door, stepped over the giant's body, and went on my merry, murderous way.
* * *
I moved through the museum halls as quickly and quietly as possible. Since the evening's festivities had been centered in the rotunda area, most of the other lights had been turned down low, casting many of the hallways in darkness. Fine by me. The lack of light gave me more shadows to skulk through.
Three times I passed rooms that Clementine's men were busy looting, the exhibit halls I'd heard her mention before on her walkie-talkie. The giants had switched the lights on in those areas, the better with which to see the art they were stealing. I repeatedly thought about storming inside and taking out the giants, but there were six men in each room, which was about four too many for me to kill with anything resembling quiet. Besides, I needed to get out of the museum before the bodies were discovered, so I tiptoed across the open doorways when the robbers' backs were turned and hurried on.
Finally, I reached a door that led outside. It was locked, but my stolen key card changed that. In the hushed quiet of the museum, the metallic snick the door made seemed to reverberate from one hallway to the next, like a locator beacon pinging and giving away my position. The giants were probably too busy rolling up paintings and hefting sculptures around to notice the noise, but I still needed to move. So, knife in hand, I slipped outside and pulled the door shut behind me, wincing once more at the unwanted sound it made.
A series of rhododendron bushes had been planted on either side of the entrance, and I wormed my way in between them and the marble wall of the museum, ignoring the tickles and faint scratches of leaves and stems along my bare arms and the soft, loose soil working its way between my toes. Crouching down, I stared out into the night.
I was on the left side of the museum, facing west toward the river. A series of lush gardens rolled across the landscape in front of me. A gray stone path zoomed from the door straight to the gardens before splitting into three separate branches that plunged even deeper into the dark foliage, like a pitchfork stabbing into the shadows. Whitewashed benches and gazebos stood here and there among the manicured beds of roses and pansies, while weeping willows towered over them all, their tendrils kissing the soft petals below. Magnolia and mimosa trees had also been planted in the gardens, right next to sunflowers that drooped under the heavy weight of their own seed-laden heads. Old-fashioned iron streetlights placed along the paths provided a soft golden glow, filtered by the wash of bugs dancing around the globes. Once again, the aroma of honeysuckle saturated the air, although now the scent seemed sickly sweet, as though it were the funeral-home stench of perfumed, floral death.
I didn't see or hear anyone, but I stayed low, hugged the marble wall, and followed the path of the rhododendrons all the way around to the front corner of the building. It was just as quiet here as it had been in the back, and only the annoying hum of the mosquitoes broke the silence. I started to ease across one of the side lawns so I could slip into the parking lot when a small beep sounded, and a door hissed open to my left. I hunkered back down into the bushes.
Two giants carrying a couple of cardboard boxes each stepped out into the night air, along with Dixon, who was speaking into his walkie-talkie. I'd turned the volume down on the one I'd swiped from the first giant I'd killed so it wouldn't crackle and give me away at the wrong time, but Dixon wasn't even trying to be quiet, so I was able to hear his words loud and clear.
"We're outside. I'm going with Leroy and Keith to load up one of the trucks, then checking on Hannah and Anton down by the bridge."
"Good." Clementine's voice sounded through his walkie-talkie. "Tell Hannah and Anton to make sure the job is done right. I don't want any mistakes. If the bridge goes too soon, we're screwed."
The bridge? What were they doing at the bridge?
"Understood." Dixon clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt, then gestured at the giants. "Well, you heard her. Let's get going."
Dixon led the two giants toward the museum's main entrance. I stayed behind the bushes and followed them. Four large moving trucks were now parked in front of the building. The back of one truck was open, revealing long, skinny tubes and odd shapes covered with thick sheets of bubble wrap - all the art the giants had grabbed so far.
"All right, let's get what's in these boxes loaded up," Dixon said.
The other two giants climbed up into the back of the truck and started unloading the contents of the boxes they'd been carrying, carefully stacking up more tubes and rearranging the padded sculptures so they could have as much room as possible inside for their stolen loot.
Dixon stayed on the ground and watched the other men work. While they were distracted, he casually bent down as though he was going to tie his boot. Instead, he slipped a small cell phone out of his pants pocket and hit a button on it. A faint beep sounded. Dixon nodded to himself and slid the phone into his pocket again before smoothly getting back to his feet.
My eyes narrowed. What was Dixon up to? And why didn't he want his comrades to know about it?
The giants finished unloading their latest haul and hopped out of the back of the truck with their now-empty boxes. Dixon waved them toward the museum.
"You two go back inside and get the next load," he said. "I'm going down to the bridge to check on the others."
The giants nodded, walked up the main steps, and disappeared into the museum. Dixon set off in the other direction, heading away from the truck and the museum. Curious, I crept after him.
Dixon followed the main road down the sloping hill to the covered bridge. Luckily, the gardens ran alongside the pavement, so I was able to slide from tree to tree and bush to bush and move parallel to him. My bare feet didn't make a sound on the soft, dew-covered grass, but Dixon didn't even think to look around and see if someone might be following him. He thought everyone was secure inside the museum.
He'd realize how wrong he was soon enough - when I killed him.
Finally, Dixon reached the bridge. I stopped in the gardens and hunkered down behind a holly bush, about twenty feet from him. Two of the old-fashioned iron streetlights were planted in the pavement on either side of the bridge, although their golden glow did little to dissipate the shadows spilling out from the mouth of the structure.
Two other giants - a man and a woman - were crouched right inside the bridge entrance. The woman was shining a flashlight at the wooden boards while the man rummaged through a duffel bag on the ground next to him. I thought he might have another welder's torch stuffed inside, like the men in the vault had, but instead, the giant drew out a crowbar and a roll of duct tape.