Killers - Kilborn Jack - Страница 10

Twelve in all.

“Which car is it?” Donaldson asked.

The nurse pointed to the black sedan parked next to a streetlight.

“Thanks, kindly. You can do me one more favor, if you don’t mind.”

The nurse’s face crinkled in fear. “What?”

“You can be our diversion.”

Donaldson raised the gun and shot the nurse in the leg. She collapsed, moaning and clutching the newly-formed hole.

“Let’s bright side this,” Lucy said. “At least you’re already at the hospital.”

Donaldson leaned down and whispered in Lucy’s ear. “You like roller coasters, little girl?”

Lucy set her jaw. “The bigger the better.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Donaldson shoved the wheelchair forward. For a brief moment, the front wheels hung out over empty space, and time seemed to stop. Then gravity took control, and the chair tilted forward.

Donaldson wedged his gun between Lucy’s back and the chair, and held on tight.

The first two steps were accompanied by Lucy’s screams, each one shrill and childlike.

Momentum kicked in, jerking Donaldson forward.

Bump.

Scream.

Bump.

Scream.

Bump. Bump.

Scream. Scream.

By the time they reached the bottom, Lucy’s voice was hoarse.

“It hurts!” she cried.

Sweating, heaving, Donaldson leaned his bulk onto the wheelchair. He bent down, panting hot against Lucy’s cheek.

“You got pain meds on you, bitch?”

“We can talk about it in the car. Let’s move, D! You have any idea how many cops will be swarming this place any minute?”

“The lady doth protest too fucking much. I think you’re faking it. Do you have any idea the fucking agony I’m in, while you’re playing games? My arm is broken in fifteen places. If you want me to drive out of here, I need the pain to stop. Now if you’ve got meds, give them up.”

Lucy batted her eyelashes. “Pain is a beautiful thing, Donaldson. It’s intensity. It makes you feel alive. So SUCK IT UP, YOU FUCKING CRYBABY! I don’t have any meds. I haven’t hit my morphine in seven hours. How do you think I got out of my room? Now wheel me to the fucking car!”

Donaldson jerked his handcuffed wrist back and shoved it between the seat and Lucy’s back. Then he pulled out the gun and took careful aim at her left foot.

“Tell me how beautiful this is, little girl.”

He fired.

Three of her toes disappeared with a BANG! and a small cloud of blood.

“Fuck!!!! Goddamn! You fucking fuck!”

Lucy bellowed at the top of voice, the echo bouncing back off the hospital and rushing out into the forest.

What was left of her foot shook like an aspen leaf.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy took a deep, trembling breath.

“Pain is good,” she said in a steady, level voice. “Pain is good. I still don’t have any meds, D. You want to shoot off my other foot?”

“Had to make sure,” Donaldson said. “No offense.”

He tucked the gun behind the curve of her back and pushed her toward the Honda. “How the hell are we supposed to get inside?” he asked.

“Lift me.”

“Fuck you. Undo the goddamn cuffs.”

In the distance—sirens. Drawing closer.

“I don’t have the keys handy.”

“What?”

“We have to stay chained together. It’s the only way.”

Donaldson swore. “Open the damn door. You climb in first.”

“I can’t walk, you bastard! My legs are broken!”

Donaldson swore again. The sirens were loud now, a train of flashing blue and red lights tearing down the driveway to Blessed Crucifixion Hospital. “Unlock it, then tug it open,” he said. “I’ll lift you inside.”

Lucy fumbled with the keys, shoved the biggest one into the lock, and turned it. She pulled open the door and the interior lights cut on.

“Stick the keys in the ignition, then I’ll shove you over into the passenger side.”

“I need help”

Donaldson jammed the gun behind her back. Then, using his good hand, he hooked her under her armpit and heaved.

Lucy grabbed the steering wheel, hoisting herself up into the driver seat, landing on her chest. She twisted around, jamming the key into the ignition.

Donaldson wrapped his fingers around her thigh, then lifted and shoved.

Once her weight was off the wheelchair, it began to roll away—taking the gun with it.

“Goddamn it.”

Donaldson reached around, trying for the gun.

Lucy grabbed his bad arm.

“Give peace a chance,” she said, and jammed a needle into his swollen flesh alongside the many other holes.

Donaldson howled, his mouth opening so wide his gums began to bleed again.

“Sorry, no drugs in this one,” Lucy said, and then she pulled it out and stabbed him again.

His agony filled the car.

“This was my morphine IV. That’s for the ride down the stairs.”

She stabbed him once more. “And that’s for my foot. Now get us the fuck out of here.”

Donaldson plopped his bulky ass into the driver seat, the chassis bouncing on its shocks. He reached over, batting away the needle Lucy brandished, and locked his big hand around her slender throat.

As he squeezed, a squad car pulled into the lot, tires squealing, siren blaring.

“We…can have…our fun…later…” Lucy croaked, her eyes bugging out.

His entire body shaking, Donaldson released her.

Slammed the door.

Turned the key in the ignition.

Backed slowly out of the parking space.

He drove carefully past the squad car, obeying the rules of the road until they reached the end of the quarter-mile drive that T-boned the highway.

When the light flashed a protected green arrow, Donaldson hung a wide left through the intersection and accelerated into the night.

Soon they were doing sixty down the dark, country road.

Donaldson saw the flashing lights in the distance, approaching fast.

“Stay cool,” he said.

A line of squad cars blazed past—red and blues in full war paint.

“Nice driving,” Lucy said, clearing her throat.

Donaldson mumbled a thanks.

They drove in silence for several minutes, until Donaldson said, “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“Goddamn nurse left the tank on empty. The reserve light is on.”

He flicked the gauge with a thumbnail. It bounced and dropped even lower.

“I’m sure there’s a gas station around here.”

“Even if there is, how we gonna work that little miracle? Pull forty bucks out of my ass? Goddamn it, I should’ve taken the bitch’s purse. Pain is fucking with my ability to think ahead.”

More road. More silence, broken only by Lucy’s and Donaldson’s occasional groans.

“How’s the foot?” Donaldson asked. No sarcasm in his question.

“You worried I’ll bleed to death?”

“Yes.”

“Awww, you’re sweet. After all I’ve gone through, this little thing won’t kill me.”

Donaldson barked a laugh.

Another brief silence ensued.

“So what’s the count, D?”

“Count?”

“What’s your number?”

“Oh.” He smiled. “That’s kind of a personal question.”

“Get over yourself.”

Donaldson glanced at her, and then back at the double yellow lines glowing under the headlights.

“Hundred and thirty.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“I been doing this a long time, little girl. Long enough to know we gotta ditch this car, pronto.”

“Every cop in the county is at the hospital right now. We got a few minutes.”

“The staties will be looking for us.”

“We’re on a goddamn deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, Donaldson. You see any staties?”

“You’re a little bit reckless, aren’t you?”

The night raced by at 55 mph.

Sagebrush, pinion, hills, darkness.

Winding road and blinking stars.

“Let me ask you something, D. Serious.”

“What?”

“You ever meet another one of us?”

Donaldson nodded, his double chin jiggling. “Yeah.”

“I met two once,” she said. “But that was years ago. You’re the first I’ve come across in a long time. Or at least, got to really talk to. There was this one guy I crossed paths with a couple years back. He picked me up outside of Death Valley. I suspected he was one of us, but I was jonesing pretty bad so I cut the conversation short. All the bullshit aside, I’m glad I met you. I mean that. It’s a lonely road out here.”