by Jeff Strand
“Having a bit of trouble with your balance, aren’t you?” Foster asked. “Could be an inner ear problem.”
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.”
He fired another shot. I wondered how long I had before he tried to shoot at me through Josie.
I removed the gun from her head and pointed it at Daniel. Just as I squeezed the trigger, Josie smacked my arm away, and the shot went wild, hitting the ceiling. As we struggled with the gun, we stumbled through an open doorway.
We were in the darts room. I was still sore and tired from the beating I’d taken from Foster, so while I fought vigorously against Josie, she kept moving me toward the clear cube. Another wild shot pounded into the floor.
Daniel followed us, but from his angle Josie was in front of me, and he didn’t shoot.
Josie slammed me against the cube wall and the gun fell out of my hand. She wrapped her hands around my neck and began to squeeze, her eyes like a crazed animal, as we slid along the surface of the cube.
Then the wall ended, and I tumbled backward into the open entrance, pulling Josie back with me. We both struck the floor of the cube, sending a jarring memory of my butt wound tearing through my body, and continued our frenzied scuffle. Her hands were still firmly clenched around my neck.
Daniel slammed the clear door shut and fastened the lock.
When she heard this, Josie released her grip and turned around. Daniel slid a spike into the cannon, and motioned for her to get out of the way.
She did.
I followed.
Daniel swiveled the cannon toward us. I lunged for Josie, but she shoved me back with both hands. “Get away! ”
The cannon was pointed right at me. Instead of going for Josie, I jumped the other way.
Snap!
A punching bag jerked forward as the dart struck it. While Daniel reloaded, I rushed back at Josie and tried to throw my arms around her. She took a swing at me that glanced off my shoulder, but since it was my injured shoulder the pain was excruciating.
Snap!
I don’t even know how close the dart came, but the sound of it slamming against the wall of the cube was ten times louder from the inside. My ears started to ring.
Daniel was putting another spike in the cannon. Now, I could’ve kept myself alive for a while by just running from one side of the cube to the other, forcing Daniel to keep trading cannons, but I didn’t see that as the most astute tactical decision. I had to keep myself as close to Josie as possible.
She punched my shoulder again and my eyes filled with stinging tears. But then I delivered an amazing blow to the jaw that knocked her against the slide. As she struck it with a clang, it occurred to me that my day’s activities had included punching out a woman and stripping another one naked without permission. Chivalry was dead in the Mayhem household.
She got up and came at me, but I shoved another punching bag at her. She let out an ooommph and staggered against the slide again.
Snap!
I let out a yelp as the spike ripped across the top of my shoulder. The same freaking shoulder. Any doctor examining me was going to think I had some sick masochistic shoulder fetish. Daniel clapped his hands together and did some obnoxious cheer that I was thankful I couldn’t hear, then flexed his muscles.
Hadn’t Roger killed off Mortimer and Stan yet? I needed help!
As if in response to my mental question, Stan entered the room. Daniel said something to him, and he took a position at the next cannon. I began to reminisce about the good old days when all I had to worry about were a couple of lunatics with malfunctioning power tools.
Snap! A spike fired by Daniel struck the far wall.
Snap! A spike fired by Stan also struck the far wall.
I dove at Josie yet again, managing to get her in a bear hug. My shoulder hurt so badly that I couldn’t even start to enjoy the sensation of being snuggly. I spun around, getting her in front of me, and then fell back against the slide, Josie ending up on my lap.
She began to claw at my arms with her fingernails. I gritted my teeth and refused to let go. Then she smashed the back of her head against my face. The second time she did that, I let go.
I made a grab for her leg as she tried to run off. I caught her thigh, lost it immediately, and then got a hold of her ankle. I yanked her toward me, and then lost my balance and toppled backwards.
Snap!
A dart struck Josie in the leg, plunging deep into her thigh. She let out a glass-shattering shriek, though unfortunately not a plastic cube-shattering one. Daniel stormed over and punched Stan in the chin, knocking him completely off his feet, and let loose with a barrage of shouted observations that I suspected might include some profanity.
Screwing up my chivalry status even more, I sat on Josie’s back, wrenched the spike out of her leg and pressed the tip against the side of her neck that faced Daniel. If my body were to, say, engage in any sort of locomotion, such as the type that might occur when a fast-moving projectile struck it, the spike would be driven into her neck.
Daniel apparently got it. He reached into the cardboard box, took one spike in each hand, and went over to the door.
He said something that was probably very intimidating and dramatic, but of course I couldn’t hear him. He switched the spikes to his left hand just long enough to unlock and open the cube door, and then stepped inside.
“All right, Andrew, it’s just you and me,” he said.
I shook my head. “Um, no, actually I’ve got Josie right here.”
“Let her go.”
“I’d rather not do that. I think she’s swell.”
“Maybe we can work something out.” Daniel slid the spikes against each other as if sharpening them.
“Oh, gee, what made you change your mind? Seeing your wife’s blood? There’s a lot of it here, huh? Watch out you don’t slip.”
Daniel’s smile looked more like a grimace as he walked toward me. “I’m impressed. You can be just as cruel as we can. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
“That depends. Does your insurance plan cover spouse and children?”
“But of course. You stand to make a good hundred grand in life insurance after we massacre them.”
“Funny, funny, funny. Not the best negotiating tactic, though.”
“I’ve decided not to negotiate.”
“You asshole!” Josie sputtered.
“I really suggest you stop moving,” I told Daniel. “You’re gonna kill her.”
“That’s the chance I’ll take.” He was only a few steps away from us now.
I pressed the spike more tightly against Josie’s neck. She let out a whimper, and Daniel stopped.
“Why’d you hesitate?” I asked. “Not quite the uncaring husband you’d like to portray, huh?”
“You know, I didn’t mention this before, but those are some cute boxers,” said Daniel. “Where’d you get them?”
He couldn’t fool me. He was scared.
“Wal-Mart,” I replied. “They were kind of pricey, but the tag said they were burial-resistant, so I figured it was worth the cost.”
“I’ll have to pick some up.”
“I’ll sell you these if you want. Make me an offer.”
“I’m going to have to pass, but I do appreciate your generosity.”
“That’s okay. Keep it in mind.” I glanced at something behind Daniel. “Boy, Stan just doesn’t learn, does he?”
I couldn’t believe this actually worked, but Daniel spun around to see what I was referring to. Stan was standing outside the cube, nowhere near the cannon, massaging his chin.
I pulled the spike away from Josie’s neck and flung it at Daniel. It twirled, end over end, directly at his face.
And to my astonishment, it struck him in the forehead.
This would have been cause for celebration, except that the side hit him and not the point. Still, his head flew backward, and the noise he made seemed to indicate that it really hurt.
I leapt over Josie and ran as fast as my pain-wracked body could move. Daniel still had his gun and he was far from mortally wounded, so I didn’t try
to tackle him. Instead I sprinted for the door.
I did, however, shove a punching bag at him, hitting him in the side. Those things were turning out to be darn useful.
Stan stepped into the doorway to block me. Before he could raise his gun, I slammed the door into him, knocking him out of my way. I got out of the cube and pulled the door shut just as Daniel fired a shot that would have went through my belly had the plastic not been there.
I took a swing at Stan and missed, but a blow with my other hand struck him in the chin, almost exactly where Daniel had hit. I could hear footsteps behind me…Daniel rushing for the door.
A brutal knee to the groin took away a good portion of Stan’s savagery. He still held the gun, but didn’t look like his aim was going to be all that it could be, so I hurried back to the cube door and fastened the lock an instant before Daniel reached it.
A bullet ricocheted off the door right next to me. I didn’t see anybody in the hallway outside, but unless Roger had gone loopy it had to be Mortimer. I ran toward the wall and around the corner of the cube, cursing myself for it before I’d finished my second step. I should’ve fought for Stan’s gun.
Mortimer entered the dart room. “You take the left, I’ll take the right,” he said. Stan nodded weakly and began to limp around the cube in the opposite direction that I was running.
I ran around to the far side of the cube. No other exits except the way I came in. Armed bad guys moving in on each side. Bummer, bummer, bummer.
Chapter 20
I THINK it’s safe enough to say that I’d had my share of bad luck during this whole ordeal, so as I watched Mortimer and Stan move closer I decided that it was high time for a bit of good luck to come my way.
Of course, that’s a really stupid thing to decide when you’re in a situation like this. Sort of like the thunderstorm that always follows “So what else could possibly go wrong?” As soon as I thought it, I expected a suffer a fatal coronary, or for a slab of the cube wall to drop off and squish me, or for the floor to crack open revealing the pits of hell and six hundred and sixty-six demons ready to drag me down to my fiery demise.
