| |
Blood has the good sense to undo the buckle on the severely wounded woman’s thin leather belt, wrap it around her stump, and pull it as tight as it will go.
“Find me something to make another hole in her belt,” he insists.
I immediately about-face, and head into Samantha’s office. She’s the second in charge of the prison under Leach. Her full name is Samantha Mathers, and she was once a Florida State Trooper. Her name is embossed on a rectangular nameplate that’s placed at the very front of her desk. There’s a black leather couch situated against a far wall. It’s where we made love many times. I feel my eyes fill with tears as I glance at her desk in a desperate attempt to find something that can punch another hole in her leather belt.
“Hurry it up,” Blood barks.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I shout.
Going around the desk, I open the top drawer. There it is. Exactly what I’m looking for. A stainless-steel letter opener that contains an almost knife-like point.
“Got it,” I say.
With the letter opener in hand, I sprint out of the office and hand it to Blood. He proceeds to make an additional hole in the belt.
“This is gonna smart, young lady,” he says. “But it’s gonna save your life.”
He pulls on the belt and buckles it in place. Samantha screams, then passes out. Good for her. My eyes drift to her amputated leg. It’s the entire lower leg, south of the knee. It looks like a clean cut. Bending, I take hold of it.
“We get this leg on ice and somehow manage to get Samantha out of here,” I say, “I bet she can save her leg.”
“The EMTS are busy with the hurricane,” Blood states. “And how is it you’re on a first-name basis with The Oven’s number two?”
“That’s not important right now,” I say. “Let’s get her up to Leach's office. He’s gonna have to pull some favors to get an EMT here, stat.”
“Okay Steele,” he says while hefting the passed-out woman in a classic, over-the-shoulder, fireman’s hold. “Let’s hope you’re right or she’s not only going to suffer a lost leg, but the shock alone could kill her.”
We head back toward the stairwell and make our way quickly up to the fourth floor. By the looks of the clean floor and undamaged doors, Max Gator doesn’t appear to have made a presence up here. Not yet anyway. That’s a good thing. When we come to Leach’s door, I turn the doorknob. It’s locked. That’s a bad thing considering he could be passed out by now from stress, exhaustion, and all that booze he’s been downing since this crisis began.
I pound on the door with my free hand. Outside the building, a couple of lightning bolts flash and the thunder rattles my bones. The ceiling is leaking badly up here. I can just imagine the bloody swamp that now exists in the gator’s basement lair. It must be a putrid soup blood, body parts, insects, and a killer monster that’s been injured by a grenade.
“Leach, open up,” I shout. “We’ve got a situation here. Leach. You hear me.”
It takes a beat or two but finally, I can make out footsteps that tell me he’s approaching the door. He opens it, spots the girl, and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his neck.
“Samantha,” he says somewhat under his breath. “The gator got to her.” He sees the leg in my hand. “What the hell do you plan on doing with that, Steele?”
“I plan on making sure the young lady gets it reattached,” I say. “But that means you have got to get back on the horn with the governor, threaten to tell the press that he’s been refusing to assist the dead and wounded at the prison unless he frees up one of the EMT teams to assist Samantha.”
He shakes his head.
“I can’t fucking do that,” he insists. “The governor already laid down the law and there’s nothing any of us can do to change it.”
That’s when I feel the blood start to boil inside my brain while it flows through my veins faster than the winds howling outside. With my mini-M16 strapped to my shoulder, I draw the 9mm and press the barrel against his forehead.
“Do it, Leach,” I say while thumbing the hammer back. “Or I’ll paint the door with your brains.”
“Steele,” Blood says. “What are you doin’?
“I’m saving Samantha’s life and her leg,” I say. “And I don’t care if it means I gotta spend the rest of my life inside this overheated hell hole.”
“Okay, bring her leg to the kitchen down the hall, and put it in the refrigerator,” Leach says. “Come in and lay her on the couch. I’ll do my best with the governor if I can get him on the line. And that’s a big if.”
“You have to, Warden,” I say. “And make it fast before Max Gator starts getting hungry again.”