by Anna Willett
“Stop! Stop.” Her screams turned into words and Hal knew he’d missed the mark on her neck.
Lizzy’s right hand slapped his stomach and the air rushed out of his lungs. She seized the opportunity and pulled away.
“No you don’t, you fucking bitch.” The words came out of his mouth, but he didn’t recognise the pitiless cruelty.
He stabbed at her a second time, the blades cutting through flesh with a wet slurp and hitting bone. Lizzy howled. She arched her back and pulled out of his grasp almost taking him off the bed in the process. Hal felt his backside rise off the mattress and then bump back down with a thud. The pain flowed through his legs like an electric shock.
He held onto the scissors and could feel his hand covered in a sticky wet substance. From the doorway Lizzy heaved laboured breaths. She leaned against the frame with her back to him. The landing light illuminated her left side. A rapidly spreading stain turned her shirt dark red. The blood flowed fast, but it was obviously not arterial or it would’ve spurted like a fountain.
He held the scissors up. The strength he’d used to pull Lizzy down had dissipated and his hand shook. If she took another run at him, he didn’t think he could stop her. Instead of attacking, she pushed herself off the door frame and staggered onto the landing. He could hear a door opening and what sounded like a tray hitting the floor.
The image of her holding the hacksaw flashed before his eyes. He moaned. Will she get a weapon and come back for me? No, he’d stabbed her twice, she’s crazy, not Superwoman. Both times, the scissors had gone deep, he’d driven them in with enough force to know they done some damage. She wouldn’t come back. If he was lucky, she’d collapse from loss of blood and die. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t be sitting here with one leg, he thought, and a dry gurgle somewhere between a laugh and a sob passed through his cracked lips.
He didn’t have time to ponder Lizzy’s next move, he had to get going. When she’d burst into his room, she’d been so enraged that Paige had dared slip away without her knowledge, she didn’t notice the wheelchair sitting to the right side of his bed. If she noticed during their wrestling match, she’d kept it to herself.
The chair was from the nineteen seventies, with a leather seat and big wheels. Hal reached out and grabbed the arm of it, pulling it alongside the bed. The wheels squeaked like a guinea pig. This is it. The part he’d been afraid of. Somehow slamming his ass into the old chair seemed more terrifying than facing a mad woman intent on chopping him up into little pieces. Or maybe what really scared him had nothing to do with pain. It was failure that terrified him. Letting Paige down when she needed help, because losing his leg really did make him less of a man.
On the landing, footsteps sounding heavy but slower than before, creaked past the door. Hal held up the scissors and waited. He heard a metallic clang and then a whirring sound as if something mechanical was winding up. His first thought, a chainsaw, and his feverish mind grasped onto it. His heart jackhammered in his chest as his ears filled with rushing blood.
He threw the sheets back and turned the wheelchair so the seat faced him and then inched his body to the edge of the bed. All the while he listened to the whirring and clanking, waiting for Lizzy to appear in the doorway.
The first attempt to swing his butt into the chair was a misfire; in his panic, he tried to lean his arms on the seat and pull himself forward, which tipped the chair and nearly sent him nose-diving to the floor. By the time he’d pulled the chair back in place, the whirring had stopped and an echoing clang came from downstairs. The lift, he realised. A shudder of relief passed through him.
The relief was short lived. The lift meant that Lizzy was still on the move. Maybe not able to tackle three flights of stairs, but she definitely had something in mind. Whether that something would be for him or Paige, he didn’t know. He did know he needed to get his ass in the chair and get going.
This time, he slid the wheelchair seat under his bed so the arms were nearly touching the top of the mattress. He used his hip and slid his infected leg over the side of the bed. With his stump in mid-air, he bent his knee and balanced on the edge of the bed with one butt cheek.
With his ass half in and half out of the bed, a wave of wooziness washed over him. For one horrifying second he thought he’d pass out. Shaking his head sent drops of sweat across the bed before he snapped his eyes open and closed. It was as if someone had smeared Vaseline on them, blurring his vision. Come on, come on, came the chant over and over in his head.
The sloppy vision and the wooziness only lasted a couple of seconds, and then the room returned to focus. Hal knew another wave could hit him at any time, better to be firmly in the chair than hanging out of bed. He stuffed the scissors in the top pocket of his old-man pyjamas and dropped his right hand onto the arm of the wheelchair. After a few seconds of grunting and shifting, he firmly planted his ass in place.
Downstairs, a door slammed. The sound had a distant quality, as if it had come from the back of the house. Hal’s eyes opened wide, he paused and listened. He thought he heard a distant creak, the sound of footsteps on the back porch. Is that what he’d heard or had his imagination supplied the sound? Then another creak, louder than the last and most definitely real. He hoisted his broken leg on to the foot rest and groaned through the sheet of pain that spiralled under his shin.
It had to have been Lizzy on the back stairs, which meant she was going after Paige. Hal pulled the brake release and used both hands to wheel himself around the bed. He had to get to the lift and make it downstairs. He hoped he’d done enough damage to Lizzy’s neck to slow her down and give Paige time to get to the car.
Chapter Twenty-one
Paige dug her nails into the bark of a broad gum tree and let out a series of curses. The swearing turned into panting that came out through hot, damp lips. Mercifully, the giant fists that squeezed her lower body loosened their grip. Not all at once, but slowly as if resenting letting her go.
“Holy Christ.” Paige walked her hands up the trees until she pulled herself upright.
Why now? The car was within view; the silvery-grey moonlight crept through the gaps in the canopy and lit up the vehicle in dusty stripes. All she had to do was walk ten metres and get in. Just another minute and then I’ll do it, Paige promised herself.
Her breathing evened out and after a few halting breaths, returned to near normal. The wind died down; it ruffled the hair on the back of her neck with a cool burst. She pushed off the tree and crouched sideways to where the shotgun sat at her feet. Drive to the roadhouse and send help back for Hal, the dark voice spoke up.
Paige shook her head. “I’m not going without Hal.”
If you die, the baby dies. The voice, flat and unemotional replied. Paige gritted her teeth and kept walking. She tried using the shotgun as a crutch. Her steps were short and faltering as if she were drunk and the barrel kept jerking sideways throwing her off balance. She hoisted the weapon back up to her hip. I can do it, just a bit farther. All she had to do was get to the car. The contractions were at least fifteen minutes apart and Wade had said the roadhouse wasn’t that far.
I can get Hal and make it to the roadhouse before the baby comes. It occurred to Paige that she spoke to herself, but her mental health was the least of her problems.
The voice in her head remained silent, at least for the time being. For that, she was grateful. The car beckoned to her, almost within touching distance. She could see the film of dirt on the back window and in a few seconds, she’d be behind the wheel. The best part would be putting the shotgun on the seat next to her. Carrying it had been awkward enough, but now it felt like it weighed twenty kilos of sharp edges.
Paige leaned her shoulder against the back passenger door as much for reassurance as support. Until she touched it, she almost expected the car to waver and disappear like a cartoon mirage in the desert. She let lose a small cry of triumph and somewhere to her left a bird shrieked and took flight. The undergrowth continued to rustle as though
the bird had set off an entire flock.
Paige ignored the movement and slid her way along the Ford. Her tennis shoes crunched on the bed of dried leaves surrounding the vehicle and the barrel of the gun trailed close to the ground. The battery signal on the phone turned red and the light flickered out.
“Great timing.” Inside the tunnel of bush and overgrown grass trees, her voice sounded thick and disembodied.
She pulled open the driver’s door and the internal light encircled her in a yellowy glow. She patted the pocket on her dress and felt the comforting bulge of the keys.
“Almost …”
Arms, thick and strong, gripped her shoulders and pulled her back. She cried out in shock but the sound was lost in the scuffle. Paige tried to pull away, but the fingers that gripped the flesh between her shoulders and armpits were like talons.
“No! You’re not taking the baby away from me, not again.” Lizzy’s voice was guttural.
Paige worked her shoulders in a circle and managed to pull her right arm free. She felt a hand in her hair and her head snapped back with enough force to tear strands out. Paige gasped and pulled against the hand, the back of her head hot, as if on fire. She managed to lean forward and get some leverage. She put her weight on her left foot and kicked back with her right.
The blow connected with Lizzy’s shin and Paige heard a croak. The woman released her hair, maybe to grab hold somewhere else, but Paige didn’t wait to find out. She turned with the shotgun still clasped to her side. As she came around, Lizzy lunged forward, her hands reaching for Paige’s neck.
Paige brought the barrel of the gun up and heard a crack. Lizzy howled and dropped her right arm. She staggered back a step giving Paige the room she needed to get the shotgun between her and Lizzy. Do it, the dark voice urged, sounding excited.
Lizzy stopped moving and cradled her right elbow in her left hand. Her face pulled into a grimace and her salt and pepper hair stood up like wild-fire on her scalp. Paige tried to speak, but her throat contracted and nothing came out. For a few terrifying seconds, the two women regarded each other. The only sound came from the wind slipping through the trees and their combined breathing: Paige’s fast and deep, Lizzy’s laboured and halting.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot.” Paige finally got her throat working.
Lizzy’s eyes were huge and glassy, flickering between the barrel of the shotgun and Paige’s face.
“I just want to help you. You’re in labour, aren’t you?”
Paige kept the gun trained on her. She wasn’t sure how Lizzy knew about her labour, but the only thing that mattered was getting Hal and the baby to safety.
“Get …” She meant to warn Lizzy, tell her to back away, but stopped. She noticed the dressings on her shoulder. Paige could see the edges, white and secured with tape visible above the woman’s collar. Blood coated Lizzy’s shirt. In some areas it looked dry and brown. Around the collar wet blood stuck to the dressing.
“What happened to your shoulder?” Paige asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s nothing.” Lizzy stopped nursing her elbow and pulled on her collar. “Let me help you. Give me the keys and I’ll drive us back to the house. I’ve helped deliver hundreds of babies.” Lizzy’s tone softened. “If you don’t let me help, you’ll be risking your life and the baby’s.”
“Get back,” Paige bit off the words. “Step away from me.”
Lizzy ignored her and reached out her hand. “I’ll drive you and the baby to the roadhouse, I promise. Just put the gun down and let me help.” Lizzy’s voice lost the soft coaxing tone and become more demanding. Her skin looked grey, like an over-boiled egg yolk and her mouth puckered.
“Get back or I’ll shoot.” Paige could feel the giant hand closing around her middle and the cold sweat forming on her upper lip. She forced her face to remain still, resisting the urge to groan.
“You can’t fool me,” Lizzy said in the supercilious tone she used when smashing eggs on Soona’s forehead. “You’re having a contraction right now, aren’t you, ducky?” Lizzy took a step forward and put her hand on the barrel of the gun.
Paige could feel the barrel dip towards the ground. In a few seconds, she’d be so far in the grip of the contraction, she’d drop the gun completely. Lizzy smiled and her upper teeth appeared like a row of fence posts in a field of flesh. Paige laced her fingers around the trigger and gritted her teeth.
Lizzy took hold of the barrel and began to pull the shotgun out of Paige’s hands. Instinctively, Paige pulled back and the butt of the gun hit her in the belly. Fire exploded in Paige’s abdomen and she let out a howl that came from deep in her lungs.
Lizzy let go of the gun and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh no. Oh no.”
Paige leaned back in the open door of the Ford and hit her back against the side of the driver’s seat. She felt another spiral of pain in the middle of her back and cried out like a terrified dog about to be kicked. Her hands clenched and the shotgun blasted in her hands. The gun jerked back and the butt of the weapon hit her in the stomach a second time.
Paige dropped like a slab of meat on the butcher’s block. Her butt hit the ground first with a teeth-jarring jolt, then her body slumped to the left. Dark blotches floated in front of her eyes. Her last thoughts before losing consciousness were of Hal and the way he smiled over his sunglasses and touched her belly. She moved her lips to say his name, but before the word formed, the world went black.
Chapter Twenty-two
Hal clamped his hands on the thick rubber and pushed the wheels forward. The antique chair squealed and rolled towards the door. With each forward push of his arms, his leg thumped in pain, which covered him in sweat and made his head swim. Streams of sweat dripped through his brows and into his eyes. He paused long enough to lift his pyjama shirt and wipe his face. When his vision cleared, he pushed on.
The wheelchair looked like a museum piece and sounded like a dying cat, but it still had some grunt to it. Hal made it out of the bedroom and across the landing quicker than he would’ve guessed.
Even before he pulled up in front of the lift, he could see the housing was empty. The cage, still sat on the ground floor where Lizzy had left it.
“You don’t make things easy,” he said to the empty housing.
He pushed the brass button with an arrow pointing upwards. The lift came to life with a shudder and groaned its way up. Hal wheeled backwards away from the housing and turned the chair in a tight circle. It took two attempts to bring the wheels around so that he faced the metal gate. By the time the footrests were lined up with the entrance, Hal’s vision whirred in time with the progress of the ancient lift.
A wave of nausea sprang up from his middle and before he’d had time to do more than turn his head to the side, a thick volley of vomit spilled from his mouth. I’m being poisoned. That rusty hacksaw did a real job on me and now the infection’s eating me up. She didn’t even wash her fucking hands. Another wave of sickness hit him, it caught him unprepared and instead of vomiting over the side of the chair, the stream of yellowish fluid fell in his lap.
The lift clanked to a stop in front of him. He reached out and pulled the door open, his arm quivered and flopped forward. His eyelids fluttered and the lift seemed to lurch towards him.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled and his head dropped forward.
I just need to stop for a second, he told himself and then slumped sideways. He wasn’t unconscious, nor fully awake. He was aware of sounds, like the shuffling of feet and the creaking of the stairs. He could smell the vomit in his lap, acrid and cloying. In his mind, he could see the monster: its long bumpy neck raising high, and its pale grey eyes like enormous balloons. It moved its reptilian head from side to side and Hal knew it was getting ready to roar. When it did, the pain would send him out of his mind or kill him. The later seemed the most appealing option.
“Shhhh,” Hal whispered through feverish lips and the monster closed its mouth and regarded him with those gre
y balloon eyes. “Shhhh,” he said again, and it lowered its head.
His chin felt glued to his chest; it took a gargantuan effort to pull it free and raise his head. Hal groaned and his head wobbled like a dashboard figure on an off-road joy ride. He contemplated pulling the lift door open when he heard a booming crack – the sound distant, yet sharp and clear. Even in his fevered mind, it registered as a gunshot.
“Paige.” It came out as a whisper.
His mind tried to work through the possibilities. Had Paige shot Lizzy or had the mad woman got the gun away from his wife? He grabbed for the lift door. At first his hand closed around thin air and his arm slid into his lap. His depth perception was off kilter. Ignoring the vomit that clung to his wrist, he tried again and felt the cold steel in his grasp.
Swallowing another wave of nausea, he worked the handle. The door shook and then moved sideways, its progress painfully slow. His breath came through his teeth making a fuhh fuhh sound. With the door open, the interior of the lift yawned like a dark tunnel. How could a lift be that big?
The wheels were in his hands, but the chair wouldn’t move. I’m stuck. I’m stuck and Paige needs me. His mind tried to make sense of why he wasn’t moving. He pushed down on the thick rubber and his hands slipped forward. The pain in his stump eclipsed the grinding in his broken leg. It filled his head until all he could see was pulsing light. Tears trickled down his flaming cheeks and a raspy sob broke out of his mouth.
His shoulders slumped and his face quivered. Even if he could get downstairs, what good would it do? Paige was somewhere outside in the dark and he could never hope to reach her. In that moment, he gave himself permission to give up. She’s better off on her own now anyway. He let his hands dangle at the sides of the wheelchair. He tilted his head forward and listened to the whimpering sounds coming from his mouth.
