His mouth twitched. Only slightly but enough to make Liz hold her breath. He whispered something, but she had to lean in closer to get the sense of it. " ... spoil a good rest?"
Liz bit her lip, stood, and spun around. "He said he's going to insert his right hand into the one who shot him," she said. There were three policemen there, each of them nursing a machine gun, all of them looking as though they'd just fallen into hell and been dragged out the other side. One of them had burns on his right arm, and his eyebrows had been singed away. She suddenly felt sorry for them and tried to put herself in their position: one day minding the airport concourse, the next fighting dragons and shooting big red men. She almost smiled. Almost.
"He ... I didn't know who he was," the burned policeman said. "It's chaos out there. There's a plane down, didn't you know? And dragons! And I come in here, see you and him, and how was I supposed to know who the hell he was?"
"Stop gibbering," one of the other officers said. "Miss, the airport ambulances are busy as hell, and I'm not sure — "
"I'll live," said a voice, gruff and pained. Liz sensed him standing behind her. And from the looks of the policemen's faces, he was a sight to behold.
She turned around, smiled, and cried. Hellboy was touching the three holes across his torso, swaying on his feet, and rubbing the blood between his fingers.
"Been stabbed," he said. "Been slashed with an ancient sword. Been bitten and thrashed with giant tentacles. Never been shot." He reached into his belt, and the knife he brought out and flicked open was long and thin. It reflected fire from the burning dragon. He never even glanced up before slipping the blade into the first of the wounds.
Liz grimaced, but she could not look away.
Hellboy hissed as he eased out the first bullet. The second had gone deeper, and he really had to work at this one, the spent slug finally flicking out and shattering a glass on the shop counter. The third bullet had barely penetrated his hide. Hellboy pulled this one out with his fingernails.
"Holy shit," the burned policemen said. He turned and ran past the dead dragon, departing the departure lounge at speed.
The sergeant started to go after him but then turned back to Liz. "Miss, if possible, I'd like to ask you both to accompany me."
"Accompany you where?" Liz said.
"Were evacuating the airport. The things that brought down the aircraft are setting about the buildings now, and the parked jets, and just about anything that moves. The military is on its way, so the best we can do for now is get away."
"Oh, great," Hellboy said. "The military."
"They're better trained to deal — "
"With dragons?" Liz asked.
The sergeant looked away, unnerved and confused. He glanced at the dead dragon, its head and neck a ruined mess, flames still licking across its ruptured body and igniting the fat with a bluish fire.
"Sergeant," Liz said, "we need to get to the arrivals exit quickly. We're meeting someone there, and it's vital that we make it."
"Miss, with all due respect, I don't hare time for that. My job is to protect the airport, now more than ever before."
"And I respect that." Liz smiled at him; she knew how disarming her best smile could be. He was a tall man, fit, proud, and this was a day that he'd never forget. He had seen people killed — probably some friends among them — and the killing was obviously not yet over. But sometimes there were difficult choices to make. "We're here to try to prevent more like this happening. Haven't you seen the news lately, from all around the world?"
"Yes," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "Around the world. Not here."
"You thought Britain was immune? Look at that." She pointed at the burning dragon. It was twitching now, fleshy ripples passing across its corpse as small pockets of gas burst deep inside. She was worried there might be another explosion.
"You say you're here to stop more?"