“Hey Stewie, over there.” The driver of the van pointed to me. I froze and let my body slacken. Perhaps they’d believe I was dead.
I heard gravel crunch as Stewie came over, gun focused on me. Through squinted eyes I watched as he stood over me, gun focused on my head.
“Tommy I think the bitch is dead.” He kicked my side, and it was all I could do not to scream out. “Yeah, she ain’t lookin’ too pretty now.”
His partner Tommy called out from somewhere in the distance. “Just put a bullet in her brain for good measure, and then let’s get the body outta here.”
“Did ya here dat princess?”
I had. And I’d be damned if I lived this long only to die at the hands of these scum.
Stewie cocked his gun, and I acted fast. I lashed out with my foot and kicked his feet out from under him. The gun went off, but the bullet missed me.
“What the—”
I crawled over to Stewie who was now on his back, and reached for the gun. Just as my hand closed over Stewie’s, his shock wore off, and he began to fight back. I wrestled him for the weapon.
“Tommy, get over here! She’s alive, and she’s trying to get me gun!”
I heard Tommy’s footfalls as he ran over. Panicked, I squeezed Stewie’s hand as hard as I could, pulverizing bone.
He let out a blood-curdling shriek and reflexively let go to cradle his broken hand. I grabbed the gun and didn’t pause to aim.
I pulled the trigger. The sound pierced the night, and Stewie went still.
Oh God, I killed someone. The hollow silence that followed the gunshot was so much worse than the noise.
Tommy stopped halfway over to me. “Stewie, is that you?”
“No.” I aimed and fired. The bullet clipped Tommy in the shoulder. He cried out, staggering briefly. Then he sprinted to the car, clutching his arm, and I watched him drive away.
Sensing I was no longer in immediate danger, I slumped over and let myself slip into unconsciousness.
***
At some point the blackness gave way to flashing lights and urgent voices. I looked around briefly before the vision faded away. I resurfaced again, just long enough to see faces leaning over me, and someone manually pumping oxygen into my mouth. I smelled so much blood. Then it too faded away.
The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital room. I listened to the monitors beep and whirl. My wrists were connected to all sorts of tubes. I moved to tug them off but immediately regretted it. Pain lacerated my body. I let out a small whimper as one of the monitors began beeping shrilly.
Immediately a few nurses came in to check on me, and a few minutes later my doctor followed. He smiled gently at me and pulled up a chair next to my bed.
“You’re in here too often,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like road kill.”
He chuckled and flipped through my chart. “You suffered some serious injuries. Two broken ribs, three more that are cracked, a gunshot wound, a compound fracture—your tibia—and a concussion.” He paused to let me take it all in.
I could feel every one of those injuries. The damage must’ve been even worse when it happened, considering my quick healing abilities.
“I’m going to let you rest a little longer, and we can discuss taking care of your injuries in the coming weeks and schedule a follow up.” He got up and placed my chart in a slot on the door. “Get some rest,” he advised in parting and closed the door behind him.
I took his advice and slept until I was roused by shouting outside my room. Between the yelling and the current of energy that had my heart rate hiking, I could hazard a guess at just who was outside my room.
The door burst open and Andre came storming through. He ran his eyes over my body, assessing me for damages. A nurse hurried in behind him. “Really sir, you need to leave.”
He ignored her, and she cast a worried glance my way.
“It’s fine,” I said.
The nurse nodded, not looking convinced. “You get five minutes,” she said to Andre, who wasn’t listening, “and then you’ll have to return to the waiting room.” With that she turned and left.
Andre knelt close to the bed. “Who did this to you?” he demanded.
I managed to shrug without hurting anything too badly. “It doesn’t matter. I … I killed him—well, one of them at least.” I closed my eyes and struggled to swallow down my bile. Even my throat hurt. The darkness behind my eyelids kept replaying the scene.
I opened my eyes. The anger on Andre’s face had drained away to concern. He looked me over, and I felt I might drown in the unexpected emotion I saw in his eyes.
“I heard.”
The last thing I needed was for him to care, because if he cared, then the entire wall I had built between us might come crashing down.
I looked away from him and stared at nothing. “It was awful.”
“I know. It always is,” Andre said quietly.