Like she needed it.
"So, Matt," Abbey said, raising the gun to his forehead. "Mr. Dark here is pretty anxious to get this over with. Is there anything else you'd like to say before I kill you? Make it good, now."
"Just one last question," Matt said.
"What is it?"
The sound of sirens came to them, warbling and loud. Above, the steady chop of a helicopter could be heard, its rotors getting louder and louder by the second. Matt smiled.
"Did you check your phone?" he asked.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Abbey cocked her head to the side, a frown on her rotting features. The sirens grew louder by the second.
"Your hall phone is off the hook, Abbey," Matt said. "I wonder why."
Understanding lit Abbey's face. "You asshole."
Matt nodded. "I'm not that dumb. They'll be here soon, too. You wanna get out of here? Better do it quick."
"My, my." Mr. Dark grinned at Matt and winked. "That was quite clever."
Abbey turned to face Mr. Dark, probably intending to tell him to shut the fuck up. Matt would never know what she was about to say, because he seized her momentary distraction and grabbed the gun. Abbey jerked her hand back, but Matt held his grip, and the two of them wrestled with the pistol while the sirens approached. Matt's finger inadvertently closed on the cylinder release and for a moment it came free, but Abbey put her hand on it and forced it back into the body of the gun with a click, pinching Matt's palm in the process.
Matt was stronger than Abbey, his body hardened by years of heavy manual labor, but Abbey was faster. She twisted to the side and launched a straight kick to Matt's face. Matt was able to jump aside, but the blow hit him in his wounded shoulder. The flash of pain that rolled over him made the initial gunshot feel like a paper cut. He lost his grip on the gun and fell to the floor, trying to clear the stars from his vision.
When his vision cleared, Abbey was standing over him, the gun pointed right at his temple. Mr. Dark was nowhere to be seen.
"See you in hell," Abbey said. Her voice sounded muffled, probably because of the maggots chewing on her tongue. She pulled the trigger.
Click!
Abbey stared at the gun in her hands, the question forming on her rotting lips. "What the fuck?" She pulled the trigger again.
Click!
Matt held up his clenched hand and slowly opened it, allowing Abbey to see the bullet he'd managed to palm during the struggle. He smiled as he let it drop on the floor.
Just then, two police officers burst into the bedroom, pistols drawn and pointed right at Abbey's chest.
"Drop the gun," one of them yelled.
Abbey turned to face them and dropped the pistol to the floor. "Thank God you're here, officers," she said. "I caught this asshole breaking in. He shot Annie Jordan, but I was able to—"
"Save it," the officer said. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
"But I—"
"Now!"
Abbey turned around to face Matt, who watched as the officer walked up behind her and pulled what looked like a thick plastic zip tie from his belt. Better than handcuffs, he thought.
"We found Dale," the officer said to Abbey. "Alive. He told us everything. Next time you shoot a cop, make sure you kill him. Otherwise he's just gonna put the finger on you."
"I'll take that under advisement," Abbey said. The look on her face could have cracked granite.
Just as the cop was about to bind her wrists, Abbey spun into a low kick that sent him to the floor. The other cop fired his weapon, but the shot went wide and thudded into the wall behind Matt. Faster than Matt could follow, Abbey grabbed the gun from the downed officer and fired a round at the cop who was still on his feet, hitting him square in the chest. He flew backward into the hall as Abbey readjusted her aim and pointed the gun at the prone officer's head.
"What was that advice you gave me about shooting cops?" she asked, winking. Then she pulled the trigger.
Outside, new voices shouted in alarm at the gunshots, and the sound of a dozen booted feet pounded through the house. Abbey didn't seem to notice. She turned to face Matt.
Matt had grabbed the only thing he could find to use as a weapon, his grandfather's ax, which Abbey had leaned against the wall. The familiar weight and heft felt like an old friend, and a comfortable warmth spread through him as he swung.
Abbey pulled the trigger.
The ax bit into her shoulder.
Both of them went to the floor. Matt heard the bullet whizz by his head, missing him by a hairs breadth. He landed hard on his injured shoulder, sending fresh waves of pain through his whole body. The room blurred and spun, leaving him in a state of vertigo. The blood loss didn't help. He tried to stand, but somehow his feet wouldn't listen, and the last thing he heard was one of the cops yell, "She's alive!" just before he slid into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"You should stay a few more days, just to be safe," Dr. Mayhew said. "The bullet missed your humerus and rotator cuff, but you still have some soft-tissue damage."
Matt looked up from zipping his pants. "I'll be fine," he said. "I'm a fast healer." His left arm hung from the sling the doctor had given him, but he still had full use of his right. He extended his arm and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you," he said.
Mayhew snorted and left the room, muttering about stubborn patients. Matt watched him go, a smile on his stubbled face. The good doctor had sewn him back together after the paramedics brought him in two nights ago. He'd had a slug in his shoulder that had to be removed, and he'd lost a good deal of blood. Mayhew had removed the slug, and several pints of blood later Matt awoke feeling much better. Mayhew had then spent the entire next day telling Matt how lucky he was, that he could have lost the use of his arm, but Matt wasn't so sure.
His mind kept flashing back to all the photos of Abbey in her house. Some of them were more than a hundred years old, yet she looked no older than thirty. Would that be his future, as well? He hoped not, but given the rapid state of his body's healing and the way Abbey hadn't aged at all in more than a century, he had to wonder if that last bullet would have killed him if he hadn't moved in time.
He didn't know.
And he didn't intend to find out.
He slipped into his shoes, which were very hard to tie with one hand, and stood up. The hospital room reminded him of the one he'd had back at the university. Cold, white, barren, and far too expensive for his tastes. In the case of the university, they'd claimed he owed them millions but were willing to wipe the slate clean for a few more days of tests and tissue samples. Then, as now, he was sick of the room and just wanted to go.
While Dr. Mayhew certainly wasn't trying to get Matt to stay for his own personal gain, the end result would be the same: Matt would sit in this damn white and bare room with several beeping machines until he went out of his mind.
Further out of it, he corrected.
"No, thanks," Matt said to himself. He grabbed the bag with his things. The only item missing was his ax, which the police had taken as evidence. He supposed he wouldn't be getting that back for a long time, if ever.
He walked out into the hallway, already feeling better than he had when he'd woken up in the ER two days ago. Matt hadn't been lying when he told Dr. Mayhew he was a fast healer. He just chose to leave out how fast. Ever since he'd come back from the dead, his body had seemed stronger and more able to heal, and this time seemed no different. His left shoulder was sore, but that was about it, and his sprained wrist didn't hurt at all. Tomorrow morning there would likely just be an angry red scar on his shoulder. Next week there probably wouldn't even be that much.