Some fucking hero I was turning out to be. Here I was, rushing in with a half-formed plan, hoping my wits would get me through, and now I needed saving myself. Great plan, Caleb.
A whole host of other thoughts raced through my head, most of them concerned with the terrible amount of pain I was in. But some of them were subtler ideas. What had they done to Hannah? What were they going to do to me? I was certain they were going to do something, because my plan, up to this point, had not been going swimmingly. It hadn’t even been treading water. It was more like the plan was sputtering for breath as it sank away into the murky depths. At least that’s what it felt like until the ice packs started to work.
They say something like ninety percent of the body’s heat is lost through the top of the head. But there are other hot spots, namely the bottoms of the feet, the armpits, and the groin. I couldn’t manage the bottoms of my feet and still fit into my shoes, but the armpits and groin, those were fair game.
The two things I had been counting on had gone my way, at least. One, that my tail wouldn’t be brave enough to follow me into the drug store, and two, that he wouldn’t be very experienced at patting down someone for weapons. So, when I was in the pharmacy, buying bottled water and ibuprofen, I also purchased several quick-chill chemical ice packs and a roll of medical tape. In the bathroom, I carefully taped the packs under each arm and at the juncture of my inner thighs and pelvis. Yep, ice packs cradling the family jewels. I didn’t say it was comfortable.
It was the only thing I could think of that might have a chance of working. So, when I crumpled to the ground under the inevitable influence of Drake’s mojo, I used the movement to cover up the fact that I was crushing the packs together and setting the chemical reaction to chilly life. Truthfully, I didn’t think it would work, that is until my nuts jumped up into my throat.
Drake’s boots were crunching steadily closer through the rubble. He was moving slowly. His spell must have cost him something in concentration. I filed it away in some part of my brain that wasn’t burning like a wildfire. I continued to convulse in pain, mostly because I was still in pain, just not as much as my would-be captors thought. I hoped the effects of the ice packs would last long enough to get in a good shot or two. I hadn’t planned further ahead than that. Sue me.
I hazarded a glance up, well sideways, while I was twisting in pain. I vaguely hoped I wasn’t overacting. Drake was close enough, but Short, Dark, and Stupid wasn’t in my field of vision, which was dimming slightly as I felt the ice packs losing their oomph. And there was still that buzzing in my head. I didn’t have a choice; it was now or never.
Fuck it.
I went for it.
I rolled back over, getting my feet back under me enough to use the leverage of my lower body for the spring. It wasn’t pretty, almost nothing I do is, but it was effective. I shot forward, nearly horizontal, trying to stay as low as possible. Drake wasn’t expecting it. He flinched his left leg back a step, keeping me from crushing his knee. I landed on my knees and right hand in the rubble, just between the scissors of his legs. My left arm swung up, as fast as I could make it go, over my head. Incidentally, that just happened to be the space his testicles were occupying at the time. He grunted the air out of his lungs and doubled over on top of me. I heard a metallic clink to my left and the pain started to ebb.
Well, not exactly what I had in mind, but it worked.
Not knowing what to do next, I improvised and hoped like hell the cult creeps weren’t any good at ad-libbing. I was also hoping for some backup. I just wasn’t hoping very hard.
Drake was trying to push himself back to a stand. So, I did the first thing that came to mind. I stood up, with him still folded over me. Halfway up, I caught a glimpse of Short, Dark, and Stupid headed in my direction. His knife led the way, hip-high like a steel erection. Without thinking, I shoved to a full stand, at the same time tossing Drake. He half tumbled into the path of the knife-wielding maniac.
Then I realized my mistake.
I blame the adrenalin. My unwilling passenger went flailing through the air, right into Short, Dark, and Stupid. I gather he managed to get out of the way of the knife. I say gather, because, at that moment I was too busy collapsing in pain to notice. The constant ache in my ribs instantly transformed into ever-tightening bands of electrified barbed wired, pulsing around my torso. Vision went black around the edges. Breath ran from me. The only thing that kept me conscious was the icy chill under my arms and at my groin. The ice packs still had some juice left in them. I hunched up in a low crouch, not for any combative value, but because I could not muster the wind to stand. Drake and his man were fumbling for balance. I could have run if I’d had the breath. As it was, I didn’t. But, aside from the receding black bars, I could see just fine. What I saw gave me the slightest of hopes.
In the rubble at my feet was the copper disk. I palmed it and tried to stand. I got help. When the disk came in contact with my bare skin, a flash of energy bolted through my limbs. It wasn’t painful. It felt like a good coffee buzz, laced with Benzedrine for an added kick. The pain in my body, all of it, faded. It didn’t cease. I still knew it was there, but it was diminished, easier to push aside. I didn’t feel like a new man, but I felt good enough to do some damage. I stood up straight, and hope fled. Someone had the muzzle of a pistol jammed into the small of my back.
How could I have forgotten about the pudgy, fidgety one? Well, this was certainly not part of the plan.
“Don’t move,” Pudgy and Fidgety said.
“Sure thing,” I said, the ice on my groin distracting from the fear I should have felt. “Just relax. I don’t want to accidentally get shot here.”
Or anywhere else for that matter.
“Just don’t move,” he repeated his voice seven shades of shaky.
I hoped his trigger finger was steadier than his voice. I also hoped the irony the universe is so fond of didn’t choose that moment to be made manifest. I swear, at that moment, if he would have said "freeze" I was prepared to just let him shoot me.
“You ok, master?” he said over my shoulder.
Drake had righted himself. Short, Dark, and Stupid was fondling his knife again.
“Yes,” Drake said, the command coming back into his voice. “Good work.”
I could almost feel the glow of received approbation radiating off of the mook behind me. And I felt something else as well. The buzzing at my brain stem grew stronger, more insistent. Something was definitely up. I wished I would live long enough to find out what.
On second thought, maybe I really don’t want to know.
So much for wanting.
Drake stepped closer, nearly within arm’s reach.
“Give it back,” he demanded, reaching for the disk.
Did I detect a hint, a whisper, a tiny mote of panic in his voice? At least he was shaken. I wondered what I could do about it, or with it. Then he stepped closer.
“Now,” he said, command resonating in his tone.
I must’ve been making him look bad in front of his subjects.
“You want it,” I said, “Go get it.”
I threw the disk, Frisbee style, through the hole in the back wall. It caught the light like a small copper meteor as it flashed through the hole and out of sight.
Drake let out a sound like metal tearing. He swiped a vicious backhand across my face. It stung like a son of a bitch. And with the new pain, all the old pain came back to the forefront. I gritted my teeth and managed to remain standing.
“Find it,” Drake said, turning to hiss at Short, Dark and Stupid.
Ever the good lackey; he put his knife away and scrabbled through the opening. With his lapdog gone, Drake turned back to face me.
“You will suffer for that,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Very well,” he said, the anger writhing in his voice, “Your playmate will suffer as well, and you will have to watch. You will have to look into her eyes and know that you are responsible for her pain”
“I told you what’s going to happen to you,” I said, spacing my words for greatest effect. “Should I spell out exactly how I’m going to do it? Maybe then you’ll get the point.”
I was stalling for time, and the look on Drake’s face said he knew it. It was the same sneer of superiority and contempt that comes across anyone’s face when they think they’ve caught you bluffing. Drake thought he had me dead to rights. But I knew something he didn’t. And that something was about to step in and introduce itself, well, himself.
Drake was about to say something that I’m sure would have been terribly witty when a six-foot-two, two-hundred-thirty-pound flash of white shot through from the corridor. He barreled in faster than I expected and shoulder-blocked Pudgy and Fidgety right into next week. Well, it would have been next week, if the brick wall hadn’t been in the way.
Alex had been hiding in the dark of the corridor when Drake backhanded me. Apparently, going jogging at God’s hour of the morning is good for something other than cardio. In all the excitement, I was the only one that saw Alex lurking in the shadows. And now he was palming the pudgy one’s head like a small melon, slamming it repeatedly into the rough-faced bricks.
Drake was aghast. I took his moment of shock to thrust the fingers of my right hand into the pit of his throat. He flinched back far enough to save his windpipe. It was the first real moment of happiness I’d had in a while, seeing the look on his face. I reached for him, thinking I’d make myself just a little happier when the shooting started.
In all the ruckus, Renfield must’ve pulled himself together. He’d also snatched up the pudgy one’s gun when Alex had knocked it loose.
The bricks near me exploded with hectic frequency. He wasn’t shooting wild, he just couldn’t see straight for all the damage I had done to his face. Trying to evade a shooter seeing double is much harder than one that has perfect vision. He might have hit me out of sheer, dumb luck. More likely, he would hit Alex while aiming for me. I couldn’t have that. I rushed him.
“Go, master!” he shouted as I plowed into him.
With the renewed pain in my chest, and the shortness of breath, and the stitches I’m sure I broke open, it was not as successful a plowing as I had hoped. In fact, I lost my footing and bounced off of Renfield, right into a wall. By the time I got turned back around, he was through the hole in the wall, hot on Drake’s heels.
More shots rang out. More shards of brick whistled hither and thither. I heard my name being shouted from outside. I turned to look down the corridor and something hard bounced off my skull.
I freaked for half a second. Then, I realized if it had been a bullet, I wouldn’t be alive to freak out. I turned back to check on Alex. He stood over the completely limp body of the pudgy, fidgety one.
“Don’t tell Maria,” Alex said, smiling a little.
“I won’t,” I said, my tongue feeling more and more as if it was covered in felt. “He dead?”
“Nope,” he said. “Just out.”
“Good,” I said, only managing the single word in response.
“Are you ok?” Alex asked.
“I…” I tried to speak, but the words got lost on the way to my mouth.
Black blinders edged my vision to a narrow tunnel. I remember thinking how odd Alex looked in his jogging shorts. I also marveled at how fast the ground was moving.
I dove head first, into blackness.