Alex (38 page)
Fuck!
Ian limped to the front door, pushing through a dizzying sea of whining static.
He reached it just as Kelton pushed Silvia into the back seat of the minivan.
The vehicle was parked facing down the long driveway, giving Kelton cover.
As he slammed the rear door closed, Silvia hurled herself against the back window, banging and screaming.
Ian shoved through the screen door, dragged himself to the porch rail, and emptied his clip at the van.
Its front window erupted in spiderwebs; the front right tire blew and sagged to nothing.
Then it was driving.
Get the plate,
something in Ian urged.
Call the cops.
But it was drowned out by the deafening horror of Silvia in the back window, her mouth moving silently, her fists pounding at the window.
She had believed him.
She'd thought she was safe.
He couldn't save Alex, and he couldn't save her; the incredible weight of his failure struck him dumb.
The van lurched forward, kicking plumes of snow and dirt behind it, and hurtled off the driveway and into the ditch.
Silvia jerked and fell out of sight.
Curses, silent nonsense, flicked from Ian's tongue.
He started for the porch steps, but his leg screamed a protest.
He stumbled, then fell, toppling to the frozen ground.
He wanted to stay there, to cry and moan and beg for help.
Instead he levered himself upward through a heavy fog of pain, and dragged his wounded leg to the van.
Silvia!
he felt himself screaming.
Silvia!
Kelton leapt from the van, hurled the rear door open.
Before she could scream again, he smashed his fist into her nose.
"Shut up!"
he roared, so loudly Ian could actually make it out.
She tried to pull away, and he grabbed her by the back of the dress, yanked her forward, and hit her again.
"
Shut up!
I fucking told you!
"
Silvia!
Ian bellowed, the sound echoing from the bottom of a well, and Kelton snapped his head toward him.
Let her go!
The cops are coming!
Let her go!
Kelton snarled and yanked his gun out.
Ian was in the middle of the driveway, wide open, still thirty feet or more from the van.
On instinct, he dove to the ground, covering his head.
Bullets whined past him like mosquitoes.
Pockets of snow erupted everywhere.
Something punched into his ribs, something that weighed a thousand pounds.
His mouth gave a long, squeaking gasp.
Blinding pain shot through his body.
At the van, Kelton's pistol went empty.
He cursed and grabbed another clip from his pocket.
As he loaded it, Silvia jumped from the van and ran for the tree line.
He snapped something inaudible, stole a glance back at Ian, stuffed the gun in his waistband, and ran after her.
Ian couldn't get up.
He was done.
It was over.
He got up anyway.
He dragged himself toward the ditch, wincing and hissing.
He clutched one hand to his side, but it did nothing.
Every inch of movement evoked shrieks of pain from his body.
It felt like a shattered rib bone was grinding into his lung.
Just beyond the tree line, Kelton tripped Silvia, sent her sprawling to the snow, fell on her like a mountain.
She twisted, snarled.
Bite him,
Ian tried to cry.
His laboring lungs could barely muster a whimper.
Get his... his eyes.
She couldn't have heard him, but she still fought like a devil: a storm of flailing limbs, gnashing teeth.
She must have struck him in the nose with her skull - he recoiled, grabbing at his face, but when she scrambled to her feet he dove forward and tripped her.
Her face smacked into a rock as she fell.
Ian was at the ditch.
He dropped on to his butt and scooted painfully down.
His vision was swimming, his ears clamoring with phantoms.
She tried to crawl away, but Kelton had her foot.
He dragged her back to him as she clawed at the ground, his fists climbing her leg while she screamed.
As he grabbed her waist, Ian finally reached him, and gouged his fingers into Kelton's eyes from behind.
Kelton shrieked, flailed - he pulled his gun and squeezed off a shot over his shoulder, another blast of thunder that made Ian's vision swim and his tortured ears sob.
The shot went wide.
The kickback bounced the weapon out of Kelton's awkward grip and into the snow.
Ian bore him to the ground, one arm locked around his neck.
He squeezed.
Kelton kicked impotently, locked his hands onto Ian's arm, and started prying him loose.
Then he hurled his weight to the side, and Ian landed on his wounded leg.
His grip on Kelton's neck evaporated in a scream. He toppled sideways, crashed to the ground, a rock digging into the small of his back.
Coughing, Kelton climbed to his feet.
Behind him, Ian saw Silvia.
The side of her face was covered with blood, pouring from her nose and the wound on her forehead.
Run,
he tried to say, but his tongue betrayed him.
It had no strength left.
Please run.
Kelton cast about for his gun, but settled for a broken tree branch at least two feet long and almost as thick as his arm.
He rasped a taunt, his bloody face mouthing the words behind a veil of silence, and crashed the stick into Ian's wounded ribs.
Ian knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear it.
He tried to roll away, and the rock in his back jammed into his spine.
Kelton hit him again, and then again.
Brilliant flowers of pain detonated in his ribs.
Kelton cried something over his shoulder to Silvia, grinning.
"Remember what I said about anyone who tries to help you?"
his lips said.
"About what would happen if you tried to run?"
Ian reached behind him, trying to dislodge the rock so he could roll away, but it wasn't a rock.
It was Kelton's gun.
"Get over here!"
Kelton demanded of her.
"You gonna watch this!
Open your fucking eyes, you gonna watch this!
"
Ian brought the gun up, and shot him in the stomach.
The kickback made Ian's .22 feel like a barking puppy.
An explosion of blood burst from Kelton's back.
He took a step backward, trying to keep his balance as the front of his shirt slowly darkened, then crumpled into the snow.
Ian crawled over to him.
Kelton's mouth was moving; he looked bewildered, plaintive.
Ian grabbed the stick, braced it against Kelton's neck, and pushed.
He felt the blood from the man's stomach gushing against his own belly; felt his feeble kicks as Kelton tried again to fight loose.
But as weak as Ian was, Kelton was weaker.
Kelton scrabbled at the stick, at Ian's face, at Ian's hands.
His legs kicked impotently, silently, into the snow.
His face turned red, then purple.
When he stopped moving, Ian grabbed the gun and blew his skull open.
Silvia was huddled against a tree, her eyes clenched shut, her face a pale mask.
Silvia,
Ian managed.
He felt light-headed.
He wondered how much blood he'd lost.
He wondered if he'd die.
The thought didn't frighten him.
Maybe he'd see Alex, and if he did, he'd tell him,
Don't worry.
I saved her.
Her eyes were still closed.
She put her face in her hands.
Sweetheart,
he tried to say, but it came out as a choked croak, and he coughed.
The gun fell out of his hands and he sank to his knees in the snow.
Suddenly, he realized how cold he was.
Every muscle shook.
He tried to clear his throat.
Sweetheart,
he said.
It's okay.
He's gone.
The police -
Someone might have heard the gunshots and the screaming; they might be on their way.
But he pulled his phone from his pocket, bending every bit of his will toward holding on to it, not fumbling it into the snow.
He punched in the numbers as if wrestling a bear.
9.
1.
1.
On the other end of the line, someone mumbled an incomprehensible greeting.
Yes,
he said.
I found her.
We're at fifteen...
The sun was setting.
The trees' shadows loomed suddenly, darkening everything.
He was so
cold
.
Fifteen forty-one.
West Hill.
Please hurry.
We're in the trees.
The voice murmured something in response; it wanted to know more.
But the phone had fallen from Ian's hands, spinning slowly away into the snow.
He watched it go, wondering how it had happened.
Then he laid down, and didn't wonder anything.
Voices, and shouting.
Exclamations.
Brilliant, strobing lights.
He was lifted, carried.
From the other end of a very long tunnel, someone said, "Can you hear me?" and he answered, "Yes."
Sirens.
Jostling.
He remembered something important, and opened his eyes.
There was a woman crouched next to him, bouncing with the bumps in the road.
She was wearing green, peering at some kind of electronic device mounted against the vehicle wall.
He asked her his question, but she didn't hear.
She was talking, muttering something to someone he couldn't see.
He groped for her arm; when he took hold of it, she snapped her eyes to his, and he repeated himself.
She hesitated.
He was afraid she wouldn't answer, for fear of upsetting him.
Then something flickered inside her eyes and she said, "Yes, Mr. Colmes.
She's going to be okay."
The world drifted away, and the pain went with it.
Eventually he felt the play of light across his eyelids, and opened his eyes to an empty hospital room.
The shades were open, letting in a shimmer of bleary sunlight; on the far wall, a silent TV flickered with
The Price Is Right.
He stared at this for awhile, assessing the dull throb in his left side and right leg.
The door opened, and a nurse came in: a small, plump woman in her late forties.
"Ian?" she said, smiling gently.
"Yeah," he croaked, and her smile broadened.
"I brought you some water here," she said, and as he downed it, she busied herself checking his monitor and his wounds, answering some of the questions he didn't yet realize he had.
Her name was Shelly, and he was at St. Francis Regional Medical Center.
His wounds would be painful, but probably not serious (he was very lucky!) and the doctor would be in later to take a look at them and answer any questions he might have.
In the meantime, if he needed anything he could just push the call button.
