Hell on Wheels (34 page)

Finally, after a few more steadying breaths, he was able to move forward without the walls going all Tilt-a-Whirl. Grabbing his KA-BAR from the rickety wooden table where his captors had left it, he grimaced. Oh, buddy, how they’d exulted in using his own knife to skewer his thigh to the chair. Twice.

He
glanced
down
at
his
swollen, bloodied leg and felt his stomach heave. If he didn’t get some medical attention and a robust infusion of antibiotic on the double, he’d be lucky to keep that leg. It was already oozing smelly, green puss in a slow, thick river down to his knee.

Shit, shit,
shit!

He
wanted
very
badly
to
yell
Grigg’s name again, but he knew he’d crash headlong into another coughing fit, so he kept his big trap shut, instead using his strength to shuffle over to try the door.

Locked.

Of
course. He couldn’t be that lucky.

He
tried
prying
the
lock
open
with
his
knife, but the sucker was made from inch-thick, pre-World War II industrial strength iron and wasn’t about to budge.

“Fuck!” he yelled, stabbing his knife into the wooden door and immediately doubling over to hack up more bright blood.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was in bad shape.

When
he
was
finally
able
to
stand, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and—
Hello.
What
a
happy
sight
to
meet
his
watering, bloodshot eyes. His knife was wedged in the aging wood, the deadly sharp blade protruding all the way to the other side.

Well, sometimes miracles do happen
, he thought.

Grabbing
the
knife’s hilt, he pulled the blade free and examined the wood.

Dry
rot.

“Okay, Grigg,” he whispered, taking a limping step back, “I’m coming, buddy.”

He
dug
his
toes
into
the
loose
sand, got some good traction, and lurched forward with everything he had, slamming his shoulder into the door.

Sweet lovin’ Lord!
He
felt
some
ribs
give
way.

Luckily, that wasn’t all that gave way. The wood up by the door’s hinges splintered heavily upon impact—giving up the ghost with a satisfying crack.

He
held
on
to
his
fractured
rib cage
until
he
could
breathe
without
wanting
to
die, then, grimacing, he stepped back only to run and throw himself against the door again.

Blam!
The
whole
goddamned
dry-rotted thing flew off the hinges, and he and it landed with a hard crash out in the hall.

He
didn’t wait to catch his breath—he was a bit afraid to, afraid a deep breath might send one of those loose ribs slam-bam into his lung. Scrambling up, he ignored the pain and dizziness and ran to the room next door, quickly twisting the lock. When he burst in, he stumbled to a shocked, sickened halt.

Oh God. Grigg.

He
almost
fell
to
his
knees.

Swallowing, shaking his head, refusing to believe what his heart was telling him, refusing to believe the truth of the matter—that he was too late—he dragged himself forward.

Grigg
was
strapped, spread-eagle, to a rough-hewn table. There was blood everywhere.

Far
too
much
blood
and—

Nate
turned
and
wretched
into
the
sand
when
he
got
close
enough
to
see
the
large
gash
in
Grigg’s sunken abdomen and the big bundle of bloody bowels looped around a long stick and sitting on the table beside Grigg’s waxy body.

“Grigg, my brother,” he sobbed as he wiped bloody vomit from his lips and laid a filthy, shaking hand on Grigg’s blood-caked hair. “My God, what did they do to you?”

He
didn’t expect a reply. Grigg was too white beneath all that blood, too still, too…
disemboweled,
so
when
Grigg
coughed
weakly, Nate stumbled backward in surprise.

“Jesus God!” he raced around the table, using his blade to slice through the restraints at Grigg’s wrists and ankles. “Hold on, buddy. I’ll get you outta here.”

“Keh meh,” Grigg gurgled, and Nate limped to the head of the table. He cradled Grigg’s wonderful face between his dirty palms and stared into his best friend’s pain-hazed eyes.

“What, buddy? What’r’ya sayin’?”

“Keh meh,” Grigg burbled again, thick blood leaking from one corner of his dry, cracked lips.

Nate
smothered
a
sob
and
had
to
hold
onto
the
table
lest
he
curl
up
in
a
ball
and
die
right
on
the
spot.

They’d cut out Grigg’s tongue.

As
punishment
for
all
the
filthy
names
Nate
had
heard
Grigg
scream
at
them
while
being
tortured, they’d cut out his motherfucking tongue.

Nate
shook
his
head, his salty tears dropping onto Grigg’s twisted face and turning pink in the caked-on blood. “No, buddy. We’re gonna get you outta here. We’re gonna make it.”

Grigg
jerkily
shook
his
head
and
Nate
stopped
trying
to
hold
back, he sobbed uncontrollably while leaning down to press his fevered forehead against Grigg’s too cool one.

They
both
knew
the
score. Tangos one, Grigg zero.

Grigg
would
never
see
the
outside
of
this
filthy
hut. Even if Nate could somehow find the strength in his wounded, sick body to carry Grigg, and even if they could figure out what in the world to do with that big bundle of putrefying bowels, there was no way Grigg would survive the maneuver.

Dear
God
in
heaven.

“Peeh, keh meh.”

“God, Grigg,” Nate was crying so hard he could barely speak. “I c-can’t. I can’t d-do it.”

“Peeh.”

Nate
threw
his
arms
around
Grigg’s neck, wracked by gut-wrenching sobs and wet, sickly coughing. His broken ribs were threatening a revolt, but he couldn’t stop the convulsive sorrow ravishing his control.

He
couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Grigg. He couldn’t live with himself if—

Grigg
moaned, a sound of unimaginable pain and Nate suddenly knew…

Pulling
back, he sucked in a trembling, tortured breath because Grigg’s eyes…Sweet Jesus, they were dulled by piercing agony, but there was no mistaking the dreadful pleading in them. The pleading for Nate to put him out of his misery.

Nate
allowed
himself
one
tremendous
howl
of
unspeakable
anguish
and
impotent
rage, then he swallowed and wiped the sticky, blood-tinged tears from his face. Looking down on his partner, his best friend, he sniffed and slowly nodded.

Grigg
momentarily
closed
his
swollen, bloodshot eyes. When he opened them again, the desperate pleading was replaced with poignant resignation…and gratitude.

Lord, forgive me
, Nate prayed, and moving around to the end of the table, he cradled Grigg’s lolling head with one shaking hand and braced the hard, deadly tip of his KA-BAR at the base of Grigg’s skull with the other.

“I love you, you sonofabitch,” he whispered, choking on blood and snot and the unspeakable horror of it all.

Grigg
smiled.

In
that
moment, with one last smile gracing Grigg’s mouth, Nate shoved the sharp tip of his steel blade between Grigg’s skull and first vertebra, instantly severing Grigg’s brainstem.

And
it
was
over.

Nate
threw
his
head
back
and
roared.

***

Good heavens!