The Traveler untangled his legs from Fegan’s, kicking the madman away. The Glock lay out of either man’s reach. He raised himself up. Fegan watched from under drooping eyelids. The Traveler coughed, then doubled over, vomiting up the blood he’d swallowed. His head seemed to float, lighter than the rest of him. He knew he didn’t have long, but he had to finish it. He had to see Fegan’s life end.
The ceiling was lost now above a canopy of roiling darkness. Currents of hot air ferried black motes past his eyes. The Traveler tasted the burning through the blood and bile in his mouth. He swung his right foot into Fegan’s groin. Fegan curled into a ball, his forearms across his stomach. The Traveler edged along the wall, using it for balance. When his feet were level with Fegan’s eyes, he kicked hard. Fegan rolled away, spitting blood and a tooth.
The bright and beautiful joy of it flared in the Traveler’s heart, sending waves of giddy happiness up to his brain. He stepped over Fegan’s body, ignoring the clutching hands as he tried to rise, and drove a heel into his upturned face. It connected with Fegan’s chin, and his body flopped back to the carpet.
Before he could follow the kick with another, a tidal wave through the center of his brain sent the Traveler staggering sideways. His legs deserted him, and he landed on his side. He blinked, tried to clear his mind, but it was so hard, and he was so tired. Warmth enveloped him, pulled him down so his cheek rested on the carpet. His eyes closed for a few seconds, at first against his wishes, but soon he welcomed the darkness. It wouldn’t be so bad to sleep here, to just let his eyes stay closed, let the warmth take him.
No.
Warm, like a soft bed on a winter morning.
No.
As he drifted, he saw Sofia and her round hips, her soft thighs, her belly swollen with the baby he’d resolved to give her.
No.
His eyes snapped open as a thunderbolt of pain cracked behind them. He screamed against it, filled his lungs with the precious clean air near the floor, and coughed. A spray of blood marked the carpet. As his vision cleared he saw the Glock just inches from his fingers. With every bit of strength left to him, he reached for it, took it in his grasp.
The Traveler forced his body up until he sat with his back against the wall. Fegan stirred, his chest rising and falling, his hands reaching up to grab at whatever phantoms circled him. The Traveler raised the Glock and blinked hard as he tried to align the sight on Fegan’s head.
He drew in the clean air and held it in his lungs as he struggled to his feet. His legs quivered, but the wall held him upright until the Glock picked out a point between Fegan’s distant eyes.
The Traveler’s finger tightened on the trigger, but a voice called to him from somewhere far away.
“What?”
The word emptied his lungs, forcing him to breathe the tainted air. His head immediately lightened, and he searched around him for the source of the intrusion.
There, by the door, the shape of a man, his blond hair blackened and burnt, pointing back at him. No, not pointing, aiming something—
Two hard punches to his shoulder, one after the other, and the floor slammed into his back. The ceiling looked like a churning river of black. Everywhere was silence, save for the faintest whistling in his ears. He tried to breathe in, but his lungs would not obey. His hands would not move to his chest to remove the weight and heat that had settled there.