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Bullets tore into Bigfoot’s chest, ricocheted off the hide of a sea serpent, and shattered the glass protecting certain artifacts, artifacts from wild creatures of lore. Abby ducked and fired. She’d nailed down the location of both of her attackers, and gratefully played the long game, hoping for a lucky shot, or a slip-up by one of the guards.
Coleman knelt behind Beatty’s wheelchair, using him as somewhat of a shield. In calmer times, Abby might have objected, but Beatty’s bobbing head made her worry that he wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter. He’d begun to fight towards wakefulness, but even if he got there, he’d be no use in a gunfight. Not in his condition.
The shots slowed, then stopped entirely. Neither side had made any headway. Abby’s ammo wouldn’t hold out for many more shots.
“There’s no other way out?” she whispered to Coleman.
Coleman only shook her head, her tight bun having started to unravel from the commotion. Abby needed a solution, and she needed it yesterday.
“Listen,” she yelled around the corner. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t care what Radley told you, I’m not a threat. I just want to take my... friend... and go.”
Neither of the guards answered, undoubtedly afraid to give away their locations.
“No one else needs to die,” she pleaded. “I didn’t come here to kill anyone. I came here to save someone.”
Still no answer.
The hard way it would be, then.
Abby peeked around the corner. The crown of one guard’s head rose just above a shattered display case, one containing the preserved specimen of a strange beetle. Abby hated all of this so much now. Each and every bizarre creature, whether she’d hunted it or not, represented a life—an industry—that should have never existed. She wondered the reasons that others had chosen her same path. Retribution? Vindication? Or maybe some of them for pure greed.
Radley Furey had paid her for years, and she never questioned any of it. She felt foolish.
She pulled up her gun and fired at the strange beetle. It splintered into a myriad of pieces, a priceless relic instantly destroyed, possibly to never be found in the world again. The bullet cut through the chitin and lodged itself in the wall on the other side. The man below shot up, took quick aim and fired. Abby hadn’t returned to hiding, though. If she meant to end this thing, she needed brash action. Bravery or stupidity, or some mix of both.
The bullet hit her in the left shoulder. Pain exploded up her arm as she lost the ability to steady her own gun. But she’d prepared herself for that, instead holding firmly with her good arm and firing. Her aim hit true, hitting the guard in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Possibly dead, possibly maimed. She didn’t have the luxury of caring. She ducked back into the hallway.
One down. One to go.
Coleman crawled from her hiding place behind Beatty’s wheelchair. She hissed as she looked at the bullet wound on Abby’s shoulder. After inspection, Coleman reported back.
“It went straight through. That’s good. But we should get you back to the infirmary.”
“That’s a negative,” Abby replied, trying to ignore how her labored breathing strained her voice. “There’s only one direction to go from here.”
Abby couldn’t really tell how much she hurt. The pain of the bullet hardly seemed any worse than all the other pain she already felt, both physically and emotionally. She wanted to believe that, if they could just make it out, this would all be over, and that (possibly false) belief drove her forward.
“Stay here,” Abby said.
She looked across the trophy room to the foyer on the other side. A wall would protect her if she could make it that far. She took the chance.
Stood up.
Ran.
As erratically as possible.
Bullets peppered the wall behind her, none of them nearly close enough to hit her. Even the best marksman had a tough time with a moving target, and Abby intended to make herself as elusive as possible. Unfortunately, her body disagreed with her intent. Her feet tangled up with each other and sent her tumbling within sight of her destination, enough that she was able to roll behind the wall of the foyer. She’d managed no new injuries, had wasted dozens of her opponent’s bullets, and knew exactly where he hid.
She reached around and fired a blind shot, hoping to smoke him out or force a mistake. A short, orange bigfoot-looking thing toppled down towards the guard. Abby took the opportunity, spun out, aimed and fired. She’d tracked him true, but he dove behind another display case just before her bullet met its target. Abby sighed. This was getting tiresome.
She stepped out entirely from her hiding place, surged forward, and dove behind a display case of her own just as a bullet whizzed by overhead. Her opponent only sat a few feet away now. Less room for error. Less time for hiding. One of them would die soon. Abby only hoped she could keep her wits about her.
“Last chance,” she yelled.
“You’re hit,” he said, finally deciding to respond. “Just give up.”
“Then what?”
“That’s for the director to decide.”
“I’m not sure I trust his decision making skills.”
The guard actually laughed. “No?”
“Are you really willing to die for a guy who doesn’t give two shits about you? Look at your friend over there.”
She could hear the guard’s breathing, track his micro-movements. The conversation went silent.
“You just want to take your friend?” the guard finally asked.
“That’s all,” Abby replied. “And a car. To get us to Seattle.”
“Ya know, I used to have a family,” the guard said unexpectedly. “Wife left me. Took the kids. She even convinced the courts to strip my parental rights. I was never home. Kids barely knew what I looked like.”
“That’s a damn shame,” Abby said, not managing to infuse her reply with much sympathy.
“I’ll never get that back,” he replied wistfully.
“No. Maybe not. But you can find something new. Just help me out of here. Get yourself out of here. Find a new path.”
Silence again. Abby held firm to her gun, certain the guard meant to use the conversation as a way to sneak up on her.
Then: “The director took everything from me. And staying seemed like the only choice I had. The only way to make it all worth it.”
“Hey, what’s your name?” Abby asked.
“Devon.”
“Well, Devon. Ever heard of the sunk-cost fallacy?”
A chuckle. “Yeah.”
“Well I think maybe you’re guilty of it.”
“Maybe.”
A distinctive click raised Abby’s hackles. Then, the sliding of metal against the marble floor as a gun whizzed past her.
“Go. Just go,” the guard said.
“Thanks, Devon.”
Abby didn’t wait for a response. She stood, scooping up Devon’s gun, then nodded towards Coleman.
“You made the right choice, Devon. Good luck.”
Out of her periphery she saw him stand. He smiled at her with crooked white teeth. He had a nose that’d been broken one too many times, and piercing green eyes that stood out against his close-cropped black hair. Abby had killed a lot of beautiful creatures. A handful of human beings. But not Devon.
Abby’s heart dropped suddenly. Shoes clomped from somewhere else in the house. Two, three. She couldn’t be sure. More guards. She sighed as three men came around the corner. Fresh suits. Fresh guns. Fresh stamina.
She cursed under her breath.
Beatty better damn well appreciate this.
They started firing before Abby could react. Coleman went down. Devon went down. They fired indiscriminately, peppering the trophy room with bullets, not even minding the sanctity of Radley’s collection.
Not a single bullet hit Abby. She’d dropped to the floor without thinking, protecting herself at the expense of the only friends she had in the mansion. Beatty? Had they hit Beatty?
In a rage, Abby stood and fired back. One hit. Two hits. She spun the odds in her favor in only a blink of an eye, driven by years of self-loathing. She hated everything that Radley stood for. She’d always assumed this had all been her choice, and maybe, nominally it had been, but Radley had taken advantage of her weakness. Of her sorrow. Of her thirst for revenge. And as culpable as she was in all the horrible things that she’d done, she believed in that moment that Radley was just as much to blame.
The last guard managed to evade her third shot, closing the distance himself while providing his own cover fire. Abby had no choice but to retreat. His polished dress shoes scuffled across the floor towards her. She tried to anticipate which direction he came from, but she calculated wrong, and before she could react, there was the muzzle of a gun pointed at her face.
“Drop it,” he said in an accent she couldn’t place.
She complied. All that bravery. All that hatred. All for nothing.
“Stand up,” he demanded.
“No,” a strained voice came from behind. “Stay down.”
A gunshot.
A perfect shot.
Blood oozed from the guard’s forehead as he slumped to the floor. Abby gasped for breath, then turned to see Devon smiling at her with his crooked blood-stained teeth. He’d managed to crawl to another gun.
“Where was that aim when you were fighting me?” Abby asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Devon didn’t answer, rolling onto his back. His green eyes stared up at the ceiling, unmoving and glassy. She moved to him as quickly as she could, but she knew deep down that she’d be too late. His own team had shot him without regard. That’s the sort of person Devon worked for. That’s the sort of person Abby worked for. That’s the sort of person who couldn’t be allowed to profit from their hard work.
“I’m gonna burn this place down, Devon.”
She stood and rushed to Beatty. His eyes shot open. She searched his body for bullet wounds and found none. Coleman lay on the floor nearby. Abby attended her with a half-hearted attempt to find a pulse, but like Devon, this lady had risked everything to end Radley’s tyranny. It didn’t seem fair that Abby would be the one to survive.
“You’re a lot of work,” Abby said, as she started pushing Beatty toward the door.
He let out a sharp laugh, which brought a glimmer of hope to Abby’s heart.
“You love me,” he managed to get out.
“Yeah,” is all she could manage in response.
She met no more resistance. With only a little searching, she pushed up a rolling door to reveal a collection of cars the likes of which she’d never seen. A board nearby held all the keys, perfectly labeled. Abby couldn’t contain the tears of joy. She chose a van that would allow Beatty the room to lay down, if necessary, and loaded him up.
Starting the engine, she checked the dials... only to see that she’d need gas.
No matter, she’d seen the pumps outside. She could fill up in just a matter of minutes.
Pulling the van alongside the pumps, her mind started putting together one last plan. One last bit of revenge.
She peeked inside. “Hey, Beatty. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
He attempted a nod.
Nearby, she found plastic gas containers. She filled every last one of them. Two at a time, she carried them to the house. The minutes she promised Beatty turned into a handful more. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know where Radley was or when he would return, but she wanted to make sure that he had nothing to return to. She wanted to make sure he would have to start every hunt over again. She wanted to take away the one thing she knew he coveted more than anything in the world.
She emptied most of the gasoline into the trophy room, taking one last look at the wonders within. If she couldn’t make sure Radley burned in hell, then she could make sure every last one of these dead, soulless creatures did.
She started the fire on Bigfoot’s chest, his hulking eight-foot form having been knocked over in the fight. The sasquatch went up in an instant, the blaze growing and growing, until it started to engulf every last piece of evidence. Sea serpents, bigfoots, giant thunderbirds. Abby didn’t really know what they all were, and she didn’t care. She just cared that they melted back into the legend from whence they came.
By the time she walked out the door of the mansion, more of it burned. When she got to the van, she turned to admire her handiwork. She doubted the entire thing would come down, but the trophy room would certainly leave nothing to recover, and she cared the very most about that. From inside the van, Beatty stared out, a stupid grin on his face.
She climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Guess you’re retiring?” Beatty asked, his voice stronger than before.
“We both are.”
“Together?”
She looked at him and smiled.
“Together.”
