“God dammit GeeGee!” Peggy screamed. “Move the hell out of the-.”
She didn’t get to finish.
With Granger glued to his back, Nate rolled over to his side, pinning one of the skinny man’s elbows under his weight. Granger gasped in pain and one hand let go of the pistol.
Their body tangle didn’t give Nate much ability to aim, but Peggy was a sizable target at close range, so when he had a bead, he fired.
The bullet hit her in one meaty thigh and she screeched in pain. As she collapsed she fired the shotgun.
With Granger on top of him as a human shield, Nate was spared the blast.
Granger moaned in agony then went limp.
Amazed he hadn’t been hit, Nate shoved Granger off him while keeping his pistol trained on Peggy, who was laying on the floor flat on her back. She had dropped the shotgun.
Nate stood and adjusted his jacket which had been wrenched in every direction. He glanced at Granger. The skinny man’s eyes stared at the wall, unblinking, copious amounts of blood pooling over the kitchen tiles beneath him.
Nate loomed over Peggy, who was mewling in pain. He pointed the pistol at her head.
“You know there’s a word that describes the kind of day I’ve been having,” he said, gasping heavily. “You know what word I’m talking about, Peggy?”
The woman was blubbering, shaking her head. “I don’t… I don’t…” she said.
“Cathartic,” Nate said, and fired.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wyatt
“Stay with me, buddy,” Wyatt said, huffing and puffy. “We’re almost there.”
Truth was, he didn’t know if they were or not. He’d carried Ethan over four blocks and there was still no sign of the clinic on either side of the street. Where was the damned place?
Ethan groaned, which Wyatt took as a good sign despite the circumstances. For the last block or so, he’d almost let himself be convinced his friend had died on his shoulder.
“Don’t you worry,” Wyatt said, skirting a semi-trailer which had run up onto the sidewalk. “You’ll be in fine complaining form in no time.”
People were everywhere, clogging the sidewalks or sitting in or around their vehicles. Barely anyone gave Wyatt and his burden a second glance.
No one wants to get involved, Wyatt thought. But could he blame them? He must have looked like a madman carrying around a dead body.
Finally, he came up to the edge of a long strip-mall. Glancing at the main signage next to the road he saw the words he’d been praying for: Elmdale Clinic.
“Oh, thank God,” Wyatt said and walked off the sidewalk to enter the strip-mall’s parking lot. Cars were parked everywhere and, just like it was in the street, dead vehicles blocked the lane-ways.
“Almost there,” Wyatt said over and over. “Almost there.”
With his focus on the signs lining the storefronts he didn’t notice the slight dip a water drain created in the pavement. He stepped on the drain’s angled edge and slipped.
With a cry of pain he fell over. He twisted his body in a desperate attempt to shield Ethan from the fall. Wyatt hit the pavement hard with Ethan on top of him.
“Oh, shit!” Wyatt said. His left ankle exploded with pain which shot up his leg.
Ethan rolled off of Wyatt and flopped to the pavement. He was unconscious, eyes closed. Blood saturated the clothes all around his wound.
Wyatt grasped at his ankle, tears welling in his eyes. “This can’t be happening. Not now!” He sat up and looked around for help. His view was blocked by cars and what few people he could see kept their distance or simply looked away.
“I need some help here!” Wyatt called out to anyone who would listen. No one came forward.
He leaned over Ethan and slapped his face harder than he’d done before. “Stay with me, buddy. We’re here. We’re at the clinic, just stay awake, okay?”
Ethan was unresponsive.
Wyatt checked the store front signs and saw a large one a few doors down. Elmdale Clinic.
He tried to get up put the pain in his ankle kept him from standing. “God damnit!” Again, he looked around for help.
“Well, if it ain’t Dopey and Sneezy,” a familiar voice said from behind. Wyatt turned in alarm.
Casket stood in the middle of the lane, a wide grin on his face. Beside him was Scarface with a rolled up sock pressed against his bloody nose.
Both Feral Kids glared down at Wyatt and Ethan.
“Funny meeting you here, huh?” Casket said. “Looks like we had the same idea coming to the clinic. Thanks to your dumb ass, my boy here needs to get his nose looked at.”
Scarface stepped forward and kicked Wyatt hard in the back. Wyatt tried to block it, but caught most of the blow.
Casket pulled Scarface back. “Now, now,” he said looking around at the people who gawked at them. “No need to make a spectacle of ourselves.”
“Bastard broke my nose!” Scarface said, his eyes were like daggers.
Wyatt said, “I’ll break more than that if you don’t leave us alone.” It sounded feeble even to his ears, laying on the ground with a messed up ankle.
Casket leaned over. “Think anyone here gives a shit about you? Huh? If I slice off your skin right here and now, I bet no one will do anything but watch.” He reached around his back and Wyatt realized it was for the Bowie-knife under his shirt.
“What in the hell is going on here?” a deep voice boomed.
A large security guard appeared from between some cars. He was massive in size, like one of those mutant wrestlers you see on television.
The guard looked from Wyatt and Ethan to the Feral Kids. “There won’t be any fighting in my parking lot!”
Casket looked like he was going to charge the guard when he noticed the pistol holstered at the other man’s hip. The Feral Kid took a step back.
“We don’t want any problems, mister,” Casket said. He gestured at Wyatt. “We were just looking to help these sad, pathetic bums. I think they’re having issues.”
Wyatt scowled at Casket, then turned to the guard. “Can you help me out? My friend here has been stabbed. I need to get him to the clinic.”
The guard eyed Ethan, then removed some plastic gloves from a pocket to put them on. “He does look bad.” He glanced to Casket and Scarface. “I got this. You two go about your business.” His tone left no room for argument.
Casket and Scarface walked away toward the clinic, both grinning. From behind the guard’s back Scarface made a cutting motion across his throat with a finger. Wyatt tried to ignore him.
The guard hunched down. “Let’s see if we can get him up.” He reached under Ethan’s arms and hoisted the man up like he was doll. To Wyatt the guard asked, “How are you doing? You okay?”
Wyatt pushed himself up to stand, leaning against a car. “Yeah, my ankle is screwed up, but I’ll be fine.” He nodded to Ethan. “It’s him I’m more worried about.”
“Well, let’s get him into the clinic. But I gotta warn you, shit’s crazy in there.” He walked backwards dragging Ethan.
Wyatt quickly picked up Ethan’s legs and limped along behind the massive guard as they navigated their way through the parking lot.
The Elmdale Clinic’s main entrance was crowded with people. Its double doors were propped open and Wyatt could see more folks inside. Amazingly, several roll away beds had been moved outside onto the sidewalk, occupied with patients.
Wyatt blinked in confusion at the sight of this. The guard noticed and said, “No power, so no lights of any kind. Even the backup system didn’t so much as flicker on. So we had to move some people outside who’s rooms didn’t have windows. Thank God no major surgeries were going on.”