I wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth and made another effort to get up. Though in my current condition, even if I could get a punch in it probably wouldn’t be enough to knock a bird off its perch.
“You do have willpower, I’ll give you that,” said Foster. “Make you a deal. I’ll end this. One shot to the gut, one shot to each leg, one shot to each arm, and then I’ll put the barrel in your mouth and put you out of your misery? How’s that sound?”
I forced myself to shrug. “Will Daniel…reimburse you for the…extra bullets?”
“Probably not, but in this case, it’s my pleasure.”
I stood up as straight as possible. “I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
“But what?”
I motioned for him to wait while I caught my breath. “But why do you need a gun to fight me? Isn’t that kind of sad?”
“Now, see, you’re trying to convince me to throw away the gun to make this more of a challenge, but what you’re not realizing is that I’m the type of person who’s happy to torture and kill a helpless person strapped to an operating table. So while I appreciate your attempt, it’s not going to work.”
He lowered the gun so it was pointing at my belly.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I said. “I’ve always been kind of proud that I have an outtie instead of an innie.”
“Well, now, you’ll just have to learn to be proud of your brand new, amazingly deep innie.”
“Nah.” I took a step to the side, and fell back into the open grave. My bare feet slammed down upon Wesley’s jaw, but I withheld the scream as I pushed myself down as far as I could go while I hurriedly searched through the coffin.
“Uh-oh,” I heard Foster say. “Andrew’s hiding from me! Where could he possibly be?”
His head popped into view. “Peek-a-boo! I see-”
Thrusting upward with both hands, I slammed Wesley’s rib into Foster’s throat. It wasn’t the most accurate hit, but there was no lack of momentum.
His eyes widened, he let out a weak gasp, and the gun dropped into my lap.
Chapter 19
A COUPLE of minutes later, I stood above ground again. There I was, wearing nothing but boxer shorts with a revolver protruding from the waistband, totally covered with dirt, blood, and assorted corpse residue, a gory rib bone in one hand and Foster’s martini in the other. Not the most attractive look, but not as embarrassing as my Prince phase.
After I gulped down the drink, I tossed the glass and rib aside and tried to untie Foster’s shoes, but he’d used some mutant knot that refused to come undone. I patted down his pockets, with no success, but after I pulled off his jacket I found two pass cards, and a set of regular keys in the inside pocket. I also found a birthday card from Daniel, but I determined that to be somewhat less useful than the pass cards and keys.
I put on the jacket and flipped open the cylinder of the gun. Six bullets. One for each psychopath, plus two remaining for party tricks. I snapped it back into place.
Though time was certainly a consideration, I’d be in much better shape if everyone thought I was still buried alive. So I took a few moments to push Foster into the grave and fill it with dirt. Not exactly a nice, neat job, but passable.
I was still tired and aching all over, but I had to go. I waved the pass card in front of the reader, and then opened the door just a crack, keeping the barrel of the revolver pointed into the next room.
Cells lined each side of the room. This was where they kept the prisoners. And thankfully, there weren’t any guards present.
I threw open the door and stepped inside. The first person I saw was Roger, directly to my left. He rushed over to the front bars of his cell. “Andrew! Oh my God!”
“Hi, Rog,” I said. “I figured if I could survive your lasagna surprise, I could easily survive being buried alive.”
Yeah, it was a weak joke, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’d actually thought of it back while I was searching Foster, but hey, any quip was impressive under these circumstances.
“You’ve got to get us out of here,” Roger insisted. “They took Charlotte about fifteen minutes ago, but the hatchet guy said that if anything else goes wrong, they’re just going to go ahead and execute everyone!”
“Don’t worry,” I said, holding up the pass cards. The first one was red, while the second was yellow like the one I’d borrowed from Josie.
Nothing happened when I tried the yellow card, so I held the red card up to the reader. After the click, I pulled Roger’s cell door open.
“Do I French kiss you or beat the shit out of you first?” he asked, leaving the cell.
“I’ll take the beating.”
“Cool. We’ll schedule it for right after you finish rescuing me. You have a fabulous plan for our escape, right?”
“Just to screw up as little as possible.” I waved the red card over the next cell’s reader. Instead of a click, we were treated to the sound of a blaring alarm.
The alarm was too loud for us to make the obvious comment about screwing up as little as possible, so we settled for exchanging a look that indicated we were both thinking that obvious comment.
I hated to leave the prisoners behind, but we had to get out of there quickly. With me in the lead, we rushed out of the cell area, leaving the door wide open, and into a hallway. The alarm stopped moments after we began sprinting down the corridor, passing the gladiator ring, and nearly colliding with Josie. Daniel, Mortimer, and Stan were right behind her.
Without hesitation, I threw my arm around Josie’s neck and pulled her toward me, pressing Foster’s gun to the side of her head. “Stop!” I shouted.
Daniel stopped, and waved for the others to do the same. I began to back away, putting about ten feet between us.
“I strongly recommend that you let her go,” Daniel said.
“No, I strongly recommend that you let the others go,” I told him. “Now! Open every one of those cells or I’ll blow her head off!”
“And where does that leave you?” asked Daniel. “Holding my headless wife while I put a few bullets in your face.” He pointed his gun at me.
“I’m serious, Daniel!” I took another step back, forcing Josie to follow.
“Oh, I’m sure you are. But I’m certain that you’ll understand my position here. I can’t let the prisoners go. It’s just not going to happen.”
He was trying to act casual, but it was obvious that Daniel was concerned. I pushed the gun more tightly against Josie’s head.
“I’ll pull the trigger!”
“Really? So will I.”
Daniel fired a shot. It sailed safely past my face, but Josie gave a violent shudder and Roger pressed himself more closely behind me.
Mortimer and Stan raised their own guns.
“You’re gonna get her killed!” I warned.
Daniel fired again, coming close enough that I could feel the air move as the bullet passed. “Let her go and I promise you can have your own coffin this time.”
I couldn’t believe this. Was he really going to let everyone open fire, blowing Josie away along with Roger and I? If I made it home alive, I was going to make it very clear that Helen could have done much worse in her selection of husbands.
Obviously, Roger believed that we were moments away from a bloody free-for-all, one where everybody took hundreds of slow-motion bullet hits and died with a chanting chorus in the background. He took off running in the opposite direction. “Come and get me, you sissies!” he shouted, rounding the corner.
Daniel glanced over his shoulder and nodded to Mortimer and Stan. “Take him out.” They turned around and went down another path.
I took another step back. Daniel kept the gun pointed at me. “So, it’s just us now,” he said. “You have no idea how much it pains me to have to shoot you and your friend instead of doing something more elaborate, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”