“I do. She’s downstairs, probably getting herself into a world of trouble. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back down there to make sure she’s safe.”
The guy seems really out of it, as if he can’t really believe any of this is happening, but I don’t have time to hang around and pander to him. I place one of the guns I just liberated into his hands, and I try not to shake the shit out of him when he looks at it like it’s a coiled snake.
“You know how to fire that thing?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” he says indignantly. He pulls the slide back and checks the chamber, and then removes the safety. “I’m a man of God and I’m a healer, but I’m also not an idiot.”
“Good for you, Doc. Now come on.” I hurry from the room, wondering how the hell I’m going to get him safely through the shit fight that sounds like it’s escalating downstairs. I have very little time to weigh my options. I hear Alan making a strangled choking sound behind me as he steps over the two dead bodies in the hallway. I look back to make sure he’s still following and he is, so I keep going. We creep as quietly as we can down the stairs, and as we reach the ground floor I hear Carnie yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Fucking die already! Fucking die!”
I duck around the corner, back into the front family room of the farmhouse, and Carnie’s wrestling with a guy on the ground, on his back, his arm locked tight around his opponent’s neck. They’re alone—everyone else is notably missing. Ramirez’s man has turned purple, and his tongue is fat, sticking out of his mouth as he claws at Carnie’s arm. He’s managed to kick both of his shoes off, and I watch as he thrashes at the floor in his socks, floundering, flailing, growing weaker and weaker as he tries free himself. Carnie grunts, tightening his hold, bowing his back as he strains, and the guy in his arms falls slack. When Carnie lets him go, shoving him off him, the dead man’s mouth falls open, and the tip of his tongue dangles down onto his chin, half bitten off.
“Jesus Christ.” Beside me, Soph’s father is white as a sheet. He covers his mouth with one hand, staring down at Carnie who is heaving and panting, laid out on his back with his eyes closed, catching his breath.
“Don’t worry, Doc. I doubt anyone’s waiting at heaven’s gates to receive that guy,” I tell him.
Alan trembles. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a handkerchief, mopping at his brow. “You may be right. But still…”
Once upon a time I would have been stunned myself. But serving in the military changes things. It changes everything. Nothing will ever surprise or horrify me again. I grab hold of Carnie by the arm, pulling at him until he sits himself up. “Where are the others?”
“Outside,” he pants. “Out the front. Julio’s gone fucking crazy.”
“You okay? Can you watch the doc?”
Carnie takes a deep breath and hauls himself to his feet. “Yeah, I got this. Go.”
******
Outside, body parts lay strewn in the long grass. The air is choked with copper, making the back of my nose itch, reminding me of memories I’d rather forget. Under foot, something snaps, cracks, crunches every time I take a step. It’s almonds. There are sugared `almonds on the ground everywhere. The external wall of the farmhouse is painted in blood, and Julio and his men are standing around in a half circle while someone screams and shouts loud enough to wake the dead.
“Sick. Mother. Fucker!”
I know the sound of flesh striking flesh well enough to know that someone is taking a serious beating. I know the sound of flesh on broken bone, too. Whoever Julio and his men are watching right now is pounding on dead flesh, or close enough to it anyway. I look around, trying to catch sight of Cade and Sophia, but they’re not here, or at least not where I can see them right now anyway. I head for Julio, noting that every single one of the four men he brought with him appears to be alive, though perhaps slightly bruised and bloody. I’m about to ask him if he’s seen the rest of my guys when I stumble onto Keeler repeatedly pile-driving his broken hands into Hector Ramirez’s skull.
“She was pregnant,” he sobs. “She was fucking pregnant, and you chopped off her fucking head.”
I halt in my tracks, my heart climbing up out of my chest and up into my throat. Bron? Bron was pregnant? Oh, god. Keeler carries on openly weeping as he slams his fists into Ramirez’s head and chest. The leader of the Los Oscuros cartel doesn’t move. He doesn’t twitch. He doesn’t flinch. As far as I can tell, he’s dead.