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“What in the hell just happened?” Bree hollered. She could barely hear herself.
Huxx stood beside her, both of them gaping at Smith’s dead body. They’d just witnessed a man’s head get crushed like a grape, but without any external force. When the terrorist had crawled away from Benson, all three of them should have lit him up like a Christmas tree, but they hadn’t.
They’d been too amazed by what they were watching.
Even Huxx, who had seen things that would horrify the average person, had been transfixed by it. As Lloyd moved to his friend on the floor, the two of them kept staring at Smith’s body.
Huxx said something.
“What?” Bree looked at him. “I can’t hear anything.”
He just shook his head, finally peeling his eyes from the man’s mangled head. He quickly pointed at Benson and Lloyd and then gestured at the ceiling. Bree took that to mean they had to hit the road.
She concurred.
They’d found Benson and killed Smith. Or something had killed Smith, anyway. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around what she’d seen. Regardless, they had to book it out of there if they had any chance of getting out of Woodsland alive.
Bree knelt beside Lloyd and inspected the man they’d come to rescue. Blood covered his head, torso, and most of his arms. Small, circular wounds bled by his temples. His shoulder was leaking as well, a small pool forming under him on the floor. Popped blisters oozed on the back of his legs, the burns surrounded by angry, red flesh.
He reeked of sweat and piss and blood.
Not to mention the fact that he was stark naked.
“What did they do to him?” she asked.
“I can’t imagine,” Lloyd said loud enough for her to hear. He undid his belt and pulled it through the loops around his waist. Hooking it under Benson’s arm, he pulled it tight over the wound.
Huxx guarded the door, watching the hallway for more visitors.
After digging a finger into her damaged ear, Bree managed to remove a glob of drying blood. While the ringing in her head didn’t dissipate, other sounds finally managed to get through. She couldn’t hear well, but it was a damn sight better than it had been.
“Help me get him up.” Lloyd grabbed Benson under his armpits and hoisted him to a seated position. The detective’s face contorted from the strain. “Heavy bastard.”
Seeing Benson’s thick shoulders and chest, she knew there was no chance one of them could carry the big man out of there unaided. She reached down and lifted one of his meaty arms over her shoulders while Lloyd did the same.
After a three count, the two of them stood, heaving against Benson’s dead weight. The pain in Bree’s ear magnified under the strain. Her aching chest pounded as her heart and lungs kicked into another gear as the three of them slowly stood up.
The idea of carrying Benson up a flight of stairs and through the woods horrified her. Three seasonal changes would occur before they got him to the evac point.
As they turned toward the door, the big man stirred against her.
His head rose.
He looked around, confusion lining his brow.
“We gotcha, Ashley,” Lloyd said. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“Blood loss,” Benson muttered.
“I’ve got your shoulder tied off. You’ll be okay.”
“And cold.”
“What?”
“Shrinkage. Too much blood loss. And I’m cold.”
Lloyd winced as they took a tentative step toward the door. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Rather than address the detective, Benson turned his head toward Bree. “It’s bigger than that, I swear.”