by BA Tortuga
“Well, tell that to them.” Hand on the back of his neck, Cowboy pushed him toward the door, keeping him low. “Keep your head on, Doc. I kinda like it.”
“What are we doing?” This was more than a little outside the grading-papers-and-drinking-coffee lifestyle he was used to.
“We’re getting away, honey.” He got a wild grin, Cowboy’s eyes glittering with a kind of crazy humor. “They’re not coming through the door.”
“They’re….” Oh God. Okay. Damn. The sound of glass breaking happened as they shut the door.
They moved down the hall, Cowboy looking like a commando from a movie or something, only in jeans and boots and shit. Somehow the whole thing made him want to laugh hysterically. He heard something behind him, a door crashing open, the cracks and snaps of something he didn’t consciously understand. Then fire bloomed in his shoulder and the world went a blinding white, and Duncan was gone.
Just gone.
Chapter Nineteen
HE SNARLED and ran, blind with a dark fury, hands reaching for the enemy, the skulls like children’s balls in his palms, the sound of them snapping and crashing together unavoidably satisfying, feeding his dark hunger.
Something hurt—something deep in his shoulder, burning like a dozen stinging bees, but he didn’t care. Enemy.
He knew this.
He knew.
His feet slammed into the floor as he headed for another one, the weapon in its hands flashing as he swatted it away, then sent the enemy soaring through the air, sliding down a far wall at the end of the corridor, the body leaving a wet smear behind.
Enemy.
The sound was maddening, a bang-bang right behind him, over his shoulder, and another of the bodies flew away. A warm body hit his back, pushing him past the fallen ones. He turned to attack, met familiar eyes. His. He reached back and grabbed the man, then ran for the stairs, carrying both their weights easily. “Out.”
A breathless chuckle answered him. “Yeah, honey. Out. Now.”
“Out.” He knew this. He hit the glass door with one shoulder, the whole thing shattering.
The other clung to him, holding on hard, soft curses falling around them with the shattered glass. The pop pop pop sound came next to his ear, but he barely acknowledged it. The night was heavy, thick and misting, and he sniffed hard, trying to find the darkest shadows, the heaviest quiet places.
“Honey, you have to put me down.” The words barely made sense, but he knew he didn’t want to do what they told him to.
“Dark.” He moved deeper into the shadows, the edge of danger fading from the corner of his brain.
“Uh-huh. Dark. Car. We can go to the car.”
He stopped, confused, the rage fading a bit, the pain the only thing keeping him here.
“Come on, honey. Put me down. I can help.” The voice, the one that was his, made sense now. He got it.
The shudders were starting, vibrating all through him, and he eased the voice down.
“Good. That’s good.” Warm hands fell on his arm, the feel of even hotter metal in one of them making him jump. “I left most of my shit in the car. It’s parked a few blocks away. Stay with me, Doc.”
“Stay.” He lumbered, following, the bright ache in his shoulder all he could focus on, the blackness where he lived most of his days yawning behind him.
Picking up one foot after the other, putting them down, he trailed the man, stopping when the other stopped, staring at a large black vehicle.
“Come on, Doc. In. I’ll patch you up as soon as we know we’ve lost them.”
“Lost them.” He crawled into the darkness in the back, made himself small.
Very small.
“Mine.”
“Well, technically it’s mine, but you’re welcome to bleed on it.” The car roared to life, the momentum as they went backward slamming him into the seat.
He didn’t bother to argue. He simply groaned and closed his eyes, let his man take them away.
THE DOC wasn’t doing too bad for someone who’d been shot more than once. Well, shot hard once, nicked a few times, and had a few burns on his ear where Cowboy had shot over the Doc’s shoulder on the way out.
The man had carried him. Carried him through a glass window and most of the three and a half blocks to the car.
Talk about a novel experience.
Now he was holed up in a much cheaper motel than the last place, doors and windows barricaded, with Duncan spread out on the bed, ready to be surged on.
Sighing, he put his cell phone aside, knowing it would be better to call MJ from a pay phone, so it would have to wait. Duncan was still bleeding sluggishly, but he looked surprisingly good for someone who’d done the berserker thing.
Duncan shifted a little, sighing restlessly. “What happened?”
“You got shot. Sorry about that, Doc.” First aid kit, bandages, ice bucket full of water. Ta-da.
“Shot. You know, you could have left me to grading my papers. I was happy.”
“I could have, but then you’d be dead. Happily dead?” Cowboy tilted his head. “Is that one of them oxymorons?”
“I suppose that depends upon whether the dead person in question was miserable or overjoyed.”
Snorting, Cowboy grabbed the tweezers and the bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Don’t get all prim and pedantic on me, Doc. I ain’t stupid.” Hell, he’d bet Duncan was surprised that he knew what pedantic meant.
“I don’t believe I accused you of stupidity, Colby. Overeager violence, yes. A rather unique sense of personal space, absolutely. But not stupidity.” Duncan looked over at him. “Besides, I always get pedantic when I’m scared.”
“Well, you sure didn’t look scared when you were carrying me out of the last hotel.” He snapped the tweezers and bared his teeth. “This is the easy part.”
“I couldn’t carry you. You outweigh me by fifty pounds, easily.” Duncan looked green around the gills. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“Well, it’s not like I could do X-rays, but there’s no exit wound. So the slug has to come out.” It was kind of amazing how little bruising the Doc had around the bullet hole. Hell, Cowboy was one big bruise, just from going through the window.
“No. No, I don’t think so.” Duncan shook his head. “I’ll go to a hospital.”
“Sure. ’Course, the kind of guys you got looking for you will be monitoring all hospitals, and doctors are bound by law to report gunshot wounds to the police….”
“That I have looking for me? Excuse me? You’re the one with the gun. Who would want me? I’m a fucking English professor!”
“Good thing I had that gun too.” They could go round and round for hours, and the Doc was still bleeding. Cowboy bellied up to the bed and held Duncan down by the simple means of kneeling over his hips. Duncan bucked up, ass rubbing right into his balls.
“Careful, Doc. You’ll give me a happy.” The only other guy who’d ever gotten him off all bloody and bruised was MJ.
“Fuck you.” Man, the meat of Duncan’s shoulder was raw, but the bleeding had stopped, the skin knitting.
“We’ll get to that.” Laughing, he poured alcohol right on the wound, figuring there wasn’t any sense in babying this along. Then he pushed in with the tweezers, searching until he felt the clink of metal on metal.
Duncan bit out a short scream, muscles rippling under him. Then the man bucked again, damn near throwing him.
“Doc. Come on, it’s almost out. Don’t get all muscleman on me now.” He just had to… ha! There. Now he just had to make sure there was no trace of shirt fabric in there.
Duncan went still under him, the only sound the soft panting.
“Good. You’re good to go.” More alcohol, a swab or two with the big pad, and that was that. He didn’t think it needed packing.
“I’m going to take a shower.” Duncan started wiggling, trying to slide out from under him.
“No, you’re not. I still have to clean up a couple grazes, and then I need you to check my b
ack. Glass.” He had more than a dozen little cuts, which were more an annoyance than anything, but he had to make sure they were clean.
“Glass. Where did we get covered in glass?”
“When you busted out of the hotel. Weren’t you listening earlier?” Lord. He could understand the whole losing time and action thing. A good warrior could do that and not remember a thing later, if he had to.
Still, he’d mentioned the window, he was pretty sure.
“Well, I remember some nonsense about me carrying you, but that’s impossible.” Doc shifted, grunted as he wiped down another long cut. “Of course, this entire fucked-up thing isn’t possible. I don’t even know what day it is.”
“It’s….” He paused. Shit. Cowboy didn’t know what day it was either. “Okay, Doc. You’re good. Check me out, and then you can have your shower.”
Then he could go to the parking lot and call MJ.
The face was as gray as a storm, but to his credit Duncan sat up, took the tweezers from him. The slivers of glass were carefully removed, the man oddly gentle with him.
He sighed once they were all out, rolling his shoulders. “Thanks, Doc.”
“Uh-huh.” The man stumbled to the bathroom, the door shutting and locking. The water started almost immediately.
Damn, he was tired. Cowboy slipped on a shirt and his shoes, then headed out as quietly as he could. Hopefully Duncan would sit in the shower and shake a bit, giving him time. Just in case, he put a little rubber doorstop under the bathroom door, which might stymie the Doc a bit.
The pay phone was gross, grimy and damp, but Cowboy just wiped it down and dialed in, using a stolen calling card to do the job. The phone was answered, the connection tinny and buzzing. No one said a word.
“Hello? Is this Shiner’s Bar and Grill?”
“Yeah. You looking for the bartender or the manager?”
“The manager. I need to talk personnel.” That ought to tell them exactly what he wanted.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll get him.” The phone clicked and clacked, buzzed and hummed; then MJ’s voice sounded. “Cowboy. We’re in the clear.”
“Good. I hope the wait was worth it.” He grinned, feeling better just hearing his buddy’s voice.
“You know it. Where are you? Having fun?”
“You have no idea, man. I’m having so much fun it’s like going to the movies every day. Like, the Incredible Hulk, for instance.”
“What? I thought they were all dead….”
“Wait.” Cowboy checked his danger spots before indulging in a growl. “You know this guy?”
“Nope. I know of the project, vaguely. Let me guess. He’s into academics somehow? A scholar? Student? Professor?”
“English prof, yeah. Jesus, Jay-Jay. There was a program? Someone did this deliberately?”
“Yeah. There was some brutal shit going on. Still is, I guess. You need to just walk away, babe. Turn and walk away….” He could hear MJ’s brain clicking. “How’d you find him?”
“I was on a job. He was the job. So you can see why I can’t just let it go.” He didn’t complete the task at hand. That could get his ass killed.
“Damn. Yeah. Okay. I, uh, guess completing the job isn’t an option for you.”
“Nope.” Shit, MJ should understand that. He’d taken up with some redneck moonshiner who’d kidnapped him, for God’s sake.
“Cool. Does your client know?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so. They tried to retrieve the package.”
“Fuck me. Babe, you need to hustle. You need to hustle and check him for a chip—hairline, under the arms, crease by the balls. It’ll be little, but you’ll be able to feel it. Get it out and put it on a bus.” MJ was a wealth of entertaining information.
“Oh, that’ll go over like a lead balloon.” Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching the entrance of the motel.
“Well, your other option is to fight them in waves. That could be fun.” MJ was always up for a little trouble.
“I’ll find the damned chip.” He’d just get the Doc mad…. “What else do I need to know?”
“I never met one in person, man. They were testing on their adrenals, their pituitary—heavy-duty crapola. There were rumors about starting armies, about programming scary shit into normal guys. The project was on the outs when I left, and the rumor was that the place burned, killed them all—subjects and scientists—a couple years ago.”
“Well, if there’s one, there might be more, so if you hear rumblings, let me know.” The back of his neck started to tingle like a Spidey sense or something. When the hell he got dumped into a motherfucking comic book story, he didn’t know. “I need to know I can get ahold of you if I need you, man.”
“Any time. You have the account still, for the email?”
“I do.” That would work, assuming he got a new laptop. His old one had gotten, uh, lost, under Duncan’s foot at the last hotel. The thing just shattered. “You’ll be where you can check?”
“Yes. You be careful. If you need anything….”
“I’ll holler. If you think of anything else I need to know, you let me know.” They’d been on the phone long enough. Time to go, get that chip and put it on a semi.
“Ciao.” The line went dead. Click.
Damn it. MJ was always a help and a hindrance at the same time. Oh, he couldn’t blame the man for not offering to ride to the rescue, but he could offer a little more….
Whine, whine, whine.
Cowboy headed back to the motel room, ready to do a little more surgery.
The door was still shut; he took that as a plus. Hell, the water was still running. The little doorstop came away easily, and Cowboy put it back under the main door from the inside and fixed the deadbolt with a magnetic spike. Then he knocked on the bathroom door, giving Duncan the illusion of privacy. “You okay, Doc?”
It took a second, but he heard the muffled “Yeah.”
“Well, I got us some food out of the SUV, so when you’re ready, come on out and have a bite.” I need to dig into your skin and get a chip out….
“’Kay.” The man was never getting out of the bathroom. Ever.
He could pick the lock, but damn. The Doc had really had a rough day.
Eventually, though, the water stopped and Duncan walked out, draped in towels. The steam damned near made his eyes water. “Feel better, man?”
“Yeah. I washed out the clothes. My shirt’s trashed, but the pants are still fine.”
“Cool.” He patted the bed, handing over a survival rations pack. “You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?”
“No. No, I used to think so, but I ended up not being.”
“Huh. Well, this has peanuts and chocolate chips and some pretzels. All the good stuff. We’ll get a real meal once we’ve moved again.”
Moved, gotten rid of the homing device.
“Where are we going?” Duncan still looked a little shell-shocked, shoulder still a little stiff.
“We’re going to try to outrun the guys who are chasing you.” He gave Duncan a shrewd look. “You used to work at a special school, didn’t you?”
“A special school?” Duncan’s head tilted like a puppy’s. “No. No, I mean, I taught at a university for gifted students—focused on science and math. They had horrendous papers.”
“Yeah. That counts as special.” MJ was one of those gifted students, God help him.
“Why? Is this… is one of my students angry at me?”
“No. No, I think it’s more about the administration.” He waited until the Doc was munching chocolate, getting the good feelings from it, before moving up behind him on the bed. He had to find that chip.
“They were all assholes. Government types. The benefits were great, but… sometimes you have to move on.”
“I bet.” He started tracing patterns on the back of Duncan’s neck, checking the skin for irregularities.
Duncan shivered, head falling forward. “What are you doing?
”
“Just making sure you’re not hurt anywhere else.” Which was true enough, but if there was no chip, there was no use in panicking Doc.
“I think I’ll be okay.”
Nothing there. Damn it.
“Well, if you don’t mind me looking.” Cowboy chuckled. “You didn’t mind me touching before.”
“No. No, I…. You’ve got a… a seductive touch.”
“No shit? That’s the first time anyone’s said that, Doc. No one was ever able to press charges, though.” Seductive. Him. Wow.
Duncan chuckled. “I feel like Alice after she’s gone down the rabbit hole.”
“So do I, honey.” For good seductive measure, he kissed the back of Duncan’s neck, his fingers searching down either side of Duncan’s spine.
“I….” Duncan groaned a little bit, shifting. No little scars, no bumps. Damn it.
“Hmm?” Shifting himself, he eased Duncan back to the bed, kneeling next to the prone form to start on the front.
“Nothing.” Duncan pulled the towel tighter around his hips.
“Don’t get all modest on me. I have to see.” There were some cuts and scrapes on the arms, but no scars by Duncan’s armpits or elbows. He reached for the towel, sliding it open as he kept going. His fingers found an appendix scar, a little outie belly button. Heavy curls, that pretty cock, ball sac…. His fingers trailed over a tiny scar, right at the join of thigh and hip, a little bump, right there.
“Damn.” Sighing, he geared up for what would undoubtedly be a bad conversation. “Doc, we got a problem.”
“What? And why am I not surprised?” Duncan scooted away, sat upright.
He met Duncan’s eyes, holding them with his. “It’s not my fault, man. Not yours either, I imagine, but it is what it is. You’ve got an embedded homing device.” Might as well just spit it out.
“A what?” Duncan moved a little farther away.
“A chip. Right here.” The spot felt rough under his fingers when he reached out to push against it.
“Bullshit. That’s a scar from a medical test, when they were trying to help my migraines.”
“Migraines?” The anger was a good thing, allowing him to scoot closer without Duncan noticing.
