Iron House

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Elena made no sound when the chisel sank into Jimmy. It struck him as he turned, missed his chest and sliced into the soft place beneath his left arm. She felt metal scrape bone, and stumbled back as Jimmy howled and snatched at her clothing. His fingers missed by inches. Elena pivoted and brought up her arm so that the loose cuff snapped out and cracked against the bridge of Jimmy’s nose. He screamed louder, bent convulsively as blood jetted and his fingers settled on the sky blue handle that jutted out of his side.

Elena didn’t wait around. She bolted through the door, into damp grass and the cool air of a brand-new day. She felt that air on her cheeks, very cold, and knew that she was crying, that strange sounds filled her ears and that they were coming from her. She looked at the cars, and doubted they would lead to an easy escape. Keys were on surfaces in the house, in the pockets of dead men, and she had no time for that. Jimmy was hurt, but not dead. She looked at the woods, which were deep and dark, then remembered the guns she’d seen scattered in the house, some on tables, other spilled from loose hands. Instinct screamed for the woods, for shadows and cover, a million places to hide.

For an instant she was torn, then ran for the house, the guns, and got one foot on the steps when she heard Jimmy scream as a shot crashed out. She looked back. He’d fallen to one knee, but was coming up.

The gun, too, was coming up.

“Ahhh…”

He yelled, and lurched as a second shot snapped out and struck the house. Blood was in his eyes, the skin split between them. He smeared a sleeve across his face, and Elena doubted he would miss a third time. She leapt off the stairs and sprinted for the forest. It was all she had, woods and dark and hope.

Ninety seconds in, she knew she was in trouble. Leaves layered the forest floor, but the ground beneath was stony hard. At a dead run, she kicked an unseen rock, and felt toes break.

She went down, hurt.

And Jimmy was coming.

She saw him at the wood’s edge, smooth and fast and whisper-quiet. He moved as if all his rage was channeled to that single purpose. He ducked limbs and slipped between trunks as if he’d been born in the woods. He flowed, face streaked red, and called out when he saw her.

“Right side first, I think.”

Elena dragged herself up, ran on broken toes. The pain was exquisite, but fear made a fist around her heart, its fingernails long and black and chisel-sharp.

Please, God…

She found a gulley and tumbled in; splashed through puddles as roots touched her face, and damp air clogged her throat. She staggered as muddy walls rose up. For long, sweet seconds she thought she’d lost him, but the walls dropped off after fifty yards. Jimmy ran parallel, and his face was a hunter’s face.

“Little girl…”

He was mocking her. She turned away, ran faster as the world blackened at its edges. There was only the run and the breath in her lungs. Trees pressed in, branches like hooks. She stumbled and rolled, popped back up. Ran. A ditch appeared; she leapt it.

And that was all it took.

She landed in a hole obscured by rotting leaves, and her ankle broke with the sound of cracking plastic. Pitching forward, she went down for keeps, crippled, hurt and frozen to her core. The leaves smelled of decay, and she curled in the desperate hope that she might sink into them and disappear. It didn’t happen. Metal scraped, and a whiff of bitter smoke filled her nose.

“That’s a shame.”

The voice was behind her and god-awful, terribly close. She saw a stream of thin, blue smoke that gathered as it slowed. She turned her head. Jimmy stood just a few feet away, one hand on his bloody side, the other holding a cigarette between two fingers locked straight. Red smears made a mask around his eyes, but he carried it like war paint, and the effect was terrifying, the blood and calm, the velvet jacket and cigarette smoke.

Elena looked down, and saw the twisted mess of her ankle. The skin was white where bone pushed against it; everywhere else it was dark and starting to swell. She rolled onto her back, and it twisted as she moved.

Screams and tears.

A handful of hard, black seconds.

When her vision cleared, Jimmy was squatting by her side. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t touch it…”

He pinned her leg with his knee.

“No. Don’t. Please…”

The foot had twisted sideways. He held her down and pulled it straight. When her senses returned, pain led the way, then memory. Jimmy sat cross-legged in the dirt, her injured leg in his lap, toes pointing the way they should. She saw bluish whiskers on his face, the ruin of her ankle.

And she saw her cell phone.

“We’re going to call Michael now.”

Sunlight licked his eyes and made them look like glass. He laid a hand on the curve of her knee, and looked down his nose, mouth slightly open as he dialed. “I hope we get reception…”

Talking to himself. Holding the phone higher.

“I won’t set him up for you.”

She had to force the words; thought she was in shock.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Ah. There we go.” Elena heard a faint trill from the phone. Jimmy pushed it against her face.

“I won’t do it.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Just say hello.”

“Oh, God. Just-”

“There he is,” Jimmy whispered.

Elena heard it, too.

His voice, so clear and close she almost broke.

“Michael…” The phone was hard against her ear, the forest very still. “Michael, listen…”

Jimmy grabbed her foot, twisted.

And Elena screamed a forever scream.