Pitfall (21 page)

“Taunts don’t affect me,” he said. “My father taught me years ago to ignore them.”

“He taught you a lot of things, didn’t he? Like how to inflict pain. Like how to shut out the cries of the weak.”

And suddenly the words were there. I
knew.
But how?

“Just like he ignored your cries, right? Your cries as a little child when he wouldn’t let you out of that box he kept you locked in for weeks at a time.”

Boneless stopped the knife’s movement abruptly. He’d grown very still.

“And what about all that nasty crap he made you eat?” I charged on. “The things he made you watch, the games he made you play?” The air of superiority was leaving him like water being squeezed from a sponge. “Is that how you learned, Boneless? Is that how you got to be the way you are, the sorry excuse of a man you became?”

His composure continued to waver as his lifeless smile slipped. “That’s a low blow, John.” I could hear just the hint of a tremor in his voice. “I expected better of you.”

My aspect was glacial as I said nothing.

He seemed to recover a little of his composure. “No matter. You and I, we’ll balance the books in a minute. I just have some things I need to finish with the girl first.”

“I’ll bet you’re disappointing her, too,” I shot. “That’s why you have the knife. Compensating for what life has shorted you. How close am I to the truth?” 

My taunting speech must have registered somewhere deep inside Sarah’s overloaded mind, and she moaned. Whether it was in dread or denial I couldn’t tell as the sound bounced around. I ignored it. I was doing my best to keep my eyes riveted on Boneless’s orbs and not hers as I kept on drilling him. Implacably I ground out my words.

“If I had to guess I’d say your whole life has been one long, crashing disappointment, hasn’t it? Yep, bet so. Does the fact that people fear you make up for them not liking you? For not being able to
stand
you? Don’t you ever wonder why you’ve never had the love of a woman? Or a friend?”

His face grew venomous, making him look like a raging, mad dog about to spring. I went for the final jab, pouring gasoline on the fire.

“Or a father?”

Bull’s-eye. That tore it. With a feral scream of rage Boneless viciously kicked Sarah aside like a rag doll and charged me, knife uplifted. Meeting him with a brutal hit to his face I savagely kicked the knife away, where it landed near the center of the iris.

My blow had sent Boneless spinning backward and onto his hands and knees, facing away. While he was stunned, in one continuous wrenching motion I started hard charging back toward the door, and to the big red button I’d seen recessed in the wall next to it.

The one Shelly had said opened the Pit.

It was far from a fair contest. Though the distance was short, my heart blasted inside my chest as the blood roared in my ears. It was too much; the effort was like running hip-deep through heavy surf and sand. Maddeningly, my muscles were taking much longer to respond to my brain’s demands. Seconds seemed like years. Still I pounded on.

With my compounded injuries, it was no surprise Boneless was in far better shape for battle, and I felt the ghostly touch of his fingers whisper across my back as at the same instant I passed the big, red button. Gasping for air, I mashed it home.

And then he had me as I felt a heavy blow fall between my shoulder blades.

Momentum carried me away as I dropped to the floor with a hoarse shout, my head, shoulder, and side igniting in fresh agony. Misty darkness circled the edges of my vision as far beneath my feet I heard the rumble and whine of machinery kick in. From the corner of my eye I saw the iris open, yawning wide, the knife dropping in.

And as it fell, the most God-awful stench filled the room.

Picture an open dumpster outside a fish market on a Baltimore wharf on a really hot, humid August day. Add in a city municipal sewer system a week after heavy rains, laced with a harsh, acidic, chemical stench. Then top off the whole thing with all the Port-a-Potties at all the construction sites in the world filling up with vomit and diarrhea at the same time.   Do that, and you might have an inkling of how the Pit smelled.

It smelled like death.

And in some eldritch way I’ll never be able to explain, it revived me.

I did my best to ignore the furious fumes burning my eyes, sinuses, and throat. Digging deep into reserves I didn’t know I had, I drunkenly staggered to my feet, scrambling away from the killer as I cut a hard, weaving right, and making a beeline back to Sarah. The equation was clear: I had to put myself between her and that maniac.

But suddenly Boneless was there again, this time smashing me hard across the back of my neck with what felt like his knobby fist. Obviously he was toying with me, like a cat will with a chipmunk before he rips its head off. But I know from experience it’s hard to make a solid connection on a moving target while running full-bore. Instead of knocking me out, as I’m sure he intended, the blow merely caused me to stumble and fall again.

“Merely” is a light word. Smashing onto that unyielding metal floor was disastrous. My right leg went numb, my speed causing me to roll like a log four or five times.

And almost right into that yawning pit.

Horrified, I slammed the heel of my right hand into the steel stop at the end of the gurney track, but it was no good. I was quickly running out of rail. Doing my best to keep my right arm rigid as I skidded, I mashed harder, my bloody fingertips finally finding a purchase.

After a lifetime I jerked to a halt, a scant inch from the edge. I shuddered. It doesn’t get much closer than that.

But flipping myself face-up, immediately the air was crushed from my lungs for the second time tonight. Boneless had landed hard on top of me, full force. In tortured agony, my throat and lungs searing, I fought to stay conscious and tap into what little was left of my remaining strength. My right leg was dead as mutton now, but it didn’t matter because both of my lower limbs were pinned. Only my right arm remained useful, but it felt locked in lead.

Kneeling astride me like a sick lover, Boneless’s strong hands probed beneath my body, gradually lifting me, shifting me forward. God help me, I knew what he was up to. Raw momentum hadn’t done the job. The crazy fool was trying to finish rolling me in.

Frenzied, I redoubled my efforts as I wrestled back, relying on the pure adrenaline rush of self-preservation. My eyes streamed tears, feeling as if they were about to sizzle and fry out of their sockets.

Suddenly the floor beneath my back fell away.

Boneless now had my whole upper body leveraged out over that hellhole, pushing hard to end it. My ears rang like gongs, and in the background I heard Sarah screaming hysterically; she’d finally found her voice. Whether it was for herself for me or for the whole nightmarish situation I didn’t know, but deep in my mind the wild thought came up that if she could sing as well as she could shriek, she might give Celine Dion a run for her money.

Above me my adversary’s eyes glazed with grim blood lust, burning down into mine with ungodly expectation, his breath hot and foul and evil in my face. I felt him wedge one arm under the backs of my knees, and my heels lifted.

“In you go, John.” His voice was an insane rasp. “And mind that first step.”

My only response was cold, ungovernable rage. I had one last-ditch, winner-take-all move left, and it was a nasty one. Forming my right hand into a rigid flat spearhead, with a grunt I heaved myself to a sitting position. “You first.”

And I jammed those fingers straight into Boneless’s unsuspecting pale blue eyes.

They didn’t pop as I’d hoped, but having once been on the receiving end of a blow like that I knew the pain I’d just inflicted was right up near the top of the scale. He’d been unprepared for the savagery of my attack; clearly he was used to his victims being helpless, intimidated, and afraid. I wasn’t any of those.

Releasing me, instinctively he clapped both hands across his eyes and jerked up, bellowing. For a sickening moment I thought my scheme had backfired, and I was going to fall in. But grabbing the front of his shirt I violently pushed him off and away, and gripping the track again I managed to pull myself up and away from that putrid hole.

And then, of all things, my dear old Pappy’s voice rose up, reminding me of one of the few things he’d ever said I could actually use: “In a fight, John, they ain’t no rules. ‘Cause when it comes down to it, the meaner man always wins.”

True enough. And with Pap’s words echoing through my mind I rolled to my right, simultaneously hurling myself up and back, and with my left leg I ruthlessly kicked Boneless in his side just as hard as I could.

I heard his ribs crack like kindling, and as a bonus his shoulder separated cleanly with an audible pop. He screamed again and rolled over moaning and babbling.

A grim laugh made its way past my bloody lips. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Okay, he was down for the count. I hoped. My right leg still felt unresponsive and weak, tingling like a million needles were sticking it. My heart slammed, and I awkwardly got to my feet. My strength was nearly depleted as I began half limping, half crawling my way toward Sarah, aiming to take the route farthest away from the edge of the Pit. My thoughts were fixed solely on the girl. I had to get her out of there before we both suffocated on those noxious fumes. Then I would put an end to Boneless and his ways.

But I’d misjudged either his capacity for punishment or the depth of his hate. I hadn’t gotten ten steps when I was again blasted from behind. Somehow he’d shot to his feet, ramming his good shoulder into my painfully spasming back, and straight into my kidneys.

The next few moments are an adrenalin blur. I’d been knocked face first to the floor, smashing my broken nose, and almost blacked out as we both began tumbling and sliding and fighting toward the Pit’s edge. And then somehow—don’t ask me how because I still don’t know—I found myself on my back, Boneless sliding like grease over the top of me.

And that was good enough. Driving him on with a brutal kick, I significantly increased his velocity.

And sent him sailing the rest of the way over.

It proved to be a killing move. His roar of triumph transformed into a shriek of terror as he realized what I’d done. Etched forever in my memory I can see his ruined face twisting into a mask of stunned disbelief as with a horrified bellow he fell headlong into the abyss, his arms flailing wildly.

A moment later, far below his screams cut out as I heard his body hit something hard with a dull, sickening thud before dropping in finality with a splash. Then I heard him start to sizzle down there as the enzymes took effect.

His demise was barely a blip on my radar. As if in slow motion the mirrored metallic room tilted and spun wildly as I tumbled in right behind him. Frantically I again jammed the fingers of my hand into the rail, hopefully for the last time, clutching it as hard as I could.

And that did it. I stopped. The rest of me was gone over the edge of the Pit, dangling, swinging wildly like a pendulum.

Lifting my head and disregarding the searing jolts of pain ripping through me, I filled my lungs with as much of that acrid air as I could. “Sarah!” My yell was hoarse up into the chamber. “Sarah, I need help!
Sarah!”

But my words bounced and echoed and faded, the interior of the place as hushed as a crypt. Mine, if I couldn’t make her understand.

But she didn’t answer, and a preternaturally eerie quiet settled over the room.

My desire for life still clung tenaciously, although I wasn’t sure if that desire would be enough. After all my attempts I found just didn’t have the strength in my left side to help pull myself up out of that yawning hole.

So I took stock. It struck me as ludicrous that after I’d been through so many battles in my life, in so many places—and lived to tell the tale—now I was coming to my end in this putrid chasm.

In the final hour, all my skills and experience had been tested and tried and found wanting. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t seem to keep a purchase on the slick, unyielding wedge-shaped piece of metal. Fervently I found myself praying—for the first time in years—that someone, anyone, would get there in time to save Sarah and the others. After my death.

I could feel sweat and blood from my fingertips lubricating the rail, inexorably causing me to slide downward. And there wasn’t thing one I could do to stop it. I slipped again, my strength completely gone now, my own weight pulling me down. One inch left.

And then, with the tiniest of squeaks, my bloody fingers slid free from the last of the track, and gravity took over. 

Feeling myself dropping, I closed my eyes. This was it. The end. Forgive me for failing. Let it be merciful. As I began to plummet I heard my own anguished, final cry of despair ripping from my throat, my heart, my very life.
“God help me!”

That’s when someone—or something—grabbed me.

“Not Him. Just me.”

A strong, calloused hand had grasped my bloody, sweat-soaked forearm, sliding alarmingly down to my wrist where it tightened like a vise, abruptly stopping my descent.

Blinking, swaying, I looked up to see.

Seth Delacroix.

Grimacing, he stared down, gritting with effort. “I told you I’d be here.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

S
omeone had thrown blankets around Sarah and me. I still couldn’t believe I was alive that Saturday morning, that we’d both made it out of the horrible death that had almost consumed us.

Seth hurriedly guided me through the confusion of the huge mob of town cops and state troopers filling the disposal room that was the Pit, and from there crowding into the hall beyond. His well-muscled arm held me under my relatively good right shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried me, almost totally supporting my shuddering frame. To my left a burly Ohio trooper was carrying Sarah in both arms.

Not quite an inch taller than me, Seth bent his head down, speaking close to my ear. “Where’s the guy that did this to you, John?” Vengeance thickened his voice.

“In the … Pit.” I was panting, exhausted. “He’s dead …”

Seth nodded once and grunted, “Hoo-ah,” giving me the all-purpose Army reply.

“I missed his father, though …” The effort to talk made me cough. Heat soared unchecked through my chest, and without warning my mouth filled with blood, which spewed out and down my chin.

Well now, that can’t be good, I thought as shock threatened to take over. My mind still spun wildly like a car across an icy pond as I stumbled along, barely able to stay upright, fighting doggedly to remain conscious.

I wasn’t able to put together another coherent thought until we were on the elevator, where Seth propped me in one corner of the metal box, and the trooper put Sarah in another. Feeling pressure against the bottoms of my feet, I knew it was rising.

Groaning, swaying, flashes of light sparked behind my eyes. “Thanks, Seth. I owe you …” I was insanely lightheaded, my heavy breathing shallow and labored.

“Forget it, I owe you too. Always will.” With an odd mixture of fiery anger and deep compassion in his mahogany eyes, he looked me over. He didn’t know then how extensive my injuries were. Neither did I.

Suddenly my legs just flat gave out, and I felt myself crumpling to the floor face first. Seth caught me and gently laid me down, dropping to my side.

“Man, John, you’re a mess. Just in case you didn’t know. The back of your head’s a bloody pulp, you have yet another broken nose, and I see you’ve been shot. Again.”

“Yeah. Again …”

“What else hurts you? Why are you coughing up blood? What’s that about?”

“My ribs must be broken … They’re on fire … Can’t breathe … My head …” My speech sounded fractured. Feeling like I was drowning, I coughed again with the same bloody result.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Your lung might be punctured. The staties have some medics outside. I’ll have one look you over and fix you up, so don’t try to talk anymore until we get outside in some fresh air.” He stared around. “That stink’s enough to make me puke.” Me too. Getting outside sounded good, and I barely nodded. I was tired, more tired than my dulled mind would accept. Seth didn’t say any more as the elevator continued to rise.

Neither did Sarah.

I shot her a worried look. She hadn’t uttered a peep since Seth had pulled me up out of that hole. Worse, she was as expressionless as a bass, as if she was in a trance, gazing straight ahead with the blank, unblinking, thousand-yard stare I’d seen so much of in war.

I’d found that same look etched in the faces of men and women, as well as children, in far away lands, people who’d been pushed to the breaking point and beyond by suffering and death. Still, it was jarring to see it again on such a young girl; I’d never get used to it. Plainly Sarah was going to require help to aid in dealing with her nightmare. I knew about that too.

The elevator doors opened, depositing us into the lobby. Ignoring the pain in my lung, I gulped in fresh air. The thirty-foot hallway we trudged down seemed like thirty miles, but it was honey-sweet when we moved out of that hellhole and into a glorious pouring rain.

It sounds trite, but nearly dying really will cause a person to appreciate the simple things we all take for granted—like breathing—just a little bit more. The deluge had come at last, washing the early dawn clean.

Through blurred eyes, I looked around at the trees. Showing silver, Granny.

We stopped at a table under a hastily erected white tent emblazoned with a large red cross. It was filled with men and women in scrubs, already working on the other girls I’d seen in Sarah’s dorm, as well as some men that must have been in the other one. Seth parked us on the wet grass with care.

“Doc?” He tried to get the attention of a young man as he passed us. “We need help here. My friend’s been shot, and the girl’s near catatonic. He’s bleeding bad, plus I think he’s got some broken ribs; pretty sure his lung’s been punctured anyway. His hands could use some attention too.”

Agonizing pain, nausea, and fatigue surged over me. “What? Who is?” Pushing up, I looked around groggily, which caused the blanket to slide off of me.

“You, Ace.” Seth’s expression was taut.

“Me?” No wonder I felt like this. “How’s … Sarah?”

“She’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”

The young doctor answered Seth distractedly, barely slowing his pace, obviously out of his depth with the situation. “Sir, we’ll get to him in a minute.”

Grabbing him, Seth towered over the man and softly laid a huge black hand on his arm. I’m not sure if it was his gesture that stopped him, or the tone in my friend’s voice. “A minute’s all it’ll take.”

The young doctor finally halted, turned, and glanced at me. He did a double-take. “Good God, you’ve been shot.”

I gave Seth an incredulous, pained look, and regarded the man. “You think?”

He looked away from me and yelled, “We need triage here! Stat!” He was wide-eyed and nonplused; I guess we’d finally gotten his attention. Concern filling his face, he looked down at Sarah and me. “They’re on their way. Stay there.” As if we were going anywhere. He left on the run, yelling something, returning a few moments later with an older medic.

By then Sarah had keeled over from her sitting position, and lay on the grass on her side. Noting her ominously still form, the older doctor crouched down and uncovered her.

At the sight of her nude body that had been so violated by Boneless’s knife, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, man, this is bad.” Performing a quick exam, he recovered her with the blanket. He shot the other man a hard look, talking fast, his words demanding. “Doctor Bentine, this girl’s gone into shock. Why isn’t she in triage?”

Bentine blinked, nonplussed. “That’s what I was trying—”

“Do it!” the older man barked. “I want her intubated and a five cc drip of Ringer’s lactate administered stat. Get her stabilized, dress her wounds, and make sure she’s on the first medevac out of here.” From the way he’d said that last part, I would have bet Smedley he’d been an Army medic. “Is that understood?”

The younger man blinked again, ashen-faced. The other one snapped,
“Now,
doctor.”

That got him moving. In seconds they had Sarah on a stretcher and up on a table, where some other physicians started working rapidly.

While they did, the seasoned physician turned and swiftly knelt down next to me in one practiced motion. Quickly cutting my blood-soaked clothes and boots off, he assessed my injuries, and his eyes went wide. Stridently calling to a nurse for assistance, she came on the double.

When she reached us the older man stared at me with compassionate concern. “Lots of blood loss here,” he muttered. “Could be that bullet nicked an artery … Third-degree burns on the chest. What could have caused that? Nasty concussion too …”

There’s such a thing as a good one? I thought.

“Does this hurt?” He pressed on my right side and stomach.

I nearly yelped as a torrential wave of pain hurtled through my chest, mushrooming into fierce agony throughout my torso around and back, making me feel like I was being thrust by white-hot daggers.

Twisting and writhing I gasped, vainly trying to escape. As I twitched, inky blackness rolled over me and receded, back and forth, in and out … Dimly I wondered if one time it would take me out, and I wouldn’t make it back.

At last my consciousness finally faded, slowly swallowing me like black water circling down a rusty drain. As I heard the frantic beating of the slick’s rotors drawing near, my final thought was the last time I’d heard that sound I was in a burning, blood-soaked Iraqi desert, with my head split open and my back on fire.

I may have smiled. At least this time I wouldn’t be the only one left alive taking that ride out …