“I wasn’t going to let you kill anybody else.” God, his arm hurt. He’d dislocated his shoulder once in high school, and twenty-seven years later still remembered how bad it felt.
“Really? So, thanks to your plan to--fuck!” He wiped some blood from his lip and then continued. “Thanks to your plan to stop me from killing anybody else, I killed two more people. That’s a very poor plan, George.”
“So am I next?”
“Maybe. Wouldn’t that just suck to get shot by a werewolf? I mean, how unglamorous is that?”
“Pretty unglamorous.”
“What I should do is rip your arms and legs off and leave you as a human torso. But you’d probably just die of blood loss, and that’s no fun. I guess you’re coming with me.”
Ivan tried to reach into his pocket, but his free arm didn’t seem to be working quite right. He cursed. “Screw it, I don’t need this.” He threw the pistol off into the swamp, then snapped off the end of the bolt. He pulled each half out of his arm and threw them aside, then got the set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them at George. They bounced off George’s chest and onto the dirt. “Unlock the cage.”
George shook his head. “No.”
“Five...four...three...”
“Okay, okay.” George picked up the keys and stood up. He couldn’t even feel the fingers on his left hand anymore.
“Do it quickly. You have ten seconds to get in that cage before I kill you.”
Ivan sounded completely serious. Despite his earlier thoughts, George really didn’t want to get into that cage with Michele, and not just because Ivan’s future plans for George probably involved something even worse than what had happened to Prescott.
Still, he’d rather risk a much worse death later than let Ivan kill him now, so he unlocked the cage door.
This would be a good time for a surprise bolt to pop through his chest...
No surprise bolt popped through Ivan’s chest. George climbed into the back of the van--an awkward process with only one good arm--and then crawled into the cage.
He slammed the door shut and scooted to the back, next to Michele.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ivan asked. “Give me the keys.”
“You want them? Bend the bars.”
Ivan let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious. Do you honestly think you’re safe in there?”
“Well, safer.”
“So you’re going to make me count again? Do you really want to make me even madder than I already am?”
“Why not? Will that make you kill me even more slowly?”
“Oh, you little shit. Good one. You’re really going to make me run over and get the gun, huh?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“All right. Point for you.”
Ivan ran off to where he’d thrown the pistol. George took a very brief moment to bask in the joy of pissing him off, and then prodded Michele. “Hey, you okay?”
“Leave me alone,” she said, speaking so quietly that he could barely hear her.
“C’mon, sit up. We need to work together.” He pulled her to a sitting position.
She looked awful. Her skin was pale except for dark circles under her eyes, she was sweating profusely, and her breathing was a soft rasp.
“I just...I just want to die...”
“No, you don’t. There’s help on the way. If we can keep Ivan from doing anything to us until they get here, we’ll be fine.”
“I’m sick, George. I’m just...I’m sick.”
“No, you’re fine. Just stay with me. I need you.”
She closed her eyes.
“No, no! Michele, stay awake. Think about how good it’s going to feel when we kill that son of a bitch. Imagine his face crunching underneath your feet.”
“I don’t wanna.”
George’s cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket. Lou.
He answered, watching for Ivan to return. “Lou, get over here! Now!”
“We’re--”
George hung up and pocketed the phone as he saw the bushes rustle. Not good for Ivan to know he was in contact with anybody. He wanted the werewolf to take his time as much as possible.
“Come on, Michele,” he whispered. “I really need you.”
To be honest, George wasn’t completely sure what he needed her for, but two people trying to distract a werewolf while they waited for help to arrive was better than one person working alone, right?
Michele responded by throwing up. Though she didn’t turn her head, the majority of the spew missed George’s pants. Michele let a large chunk roll down her chin, not seeming to care.
Ivan ran back to the van, holding the pistol. He pointed it at George. “Three...two...one...”
George tossed the keys out of the cage. Ivan caught them.
“Thanks.” He grimaced. “Ooooh, your girlfriend isn’t looking so good. I hope she doesn’t change into something that might hurt you.”
Ivan slammed the van doors shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Last of the Useless Saviors
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered as Prescott screamed in the distance. “Holy shit.”
Lou leaned forward in his seat. “Shouldn’t we go help him?”
“Are you kidding me? Do you hear that?”
“Yeah, I hear it! That’s why I asked!”
Sam violently shook his head. “No way, dude. I’ve seen Prescott get branded before, I mean with an actual red-hot cattle brand, and not make a sound. This is bad.”
“Are you an idiot? I know it’s bad! My partner is out there and so are yours, so let’s go help them!”
“Listen to that!” Sam tapped the window as Prescott’s screams continued. “I’m just the driver, dude.”
“You’re going to let a lady die and not do anything to help her?”
“Like I care that Angie is a lady! Hey, if you want to go out there, be my guest. But I’m telling you that if this guy took down Prescott, he’s not somebody I want to be around!”
“This is not new information! He’s been killing people left and right! Look at me--do you think I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs or something?”
“I’m just the driver.”
“I’m not saying you have to even get out of the van, but let’s drive closer, see if there’s something we can do to help.”
“No way. They make the big bucks. If they can’t handle it, I’m sure not going out there for what I get paid.”
“You goddamn coward.”
“Coward?” With admittedly impressive speed, Sam took out a gun and pointed it at Lou. “What do you think now? Is this gun cowardly?”
“Well, yeah, it kind of is.”
“I don’t have to take any lip from you. Do you know what your status is on this mission? ‘Highly expendable.’ We’re here to recapture the cargo that you lost, and none of us, not Prescott, not Angie, not the bosses, and definitely not me, care what happens to you.”
“Well, that’s not something I wanted to hear, what with my fragile self-esteem and all. Nice job taking me out of my bubble of comfort. Even if you don’t care about your partners, shouldn’t you at least be concerned that the werewolf sounds like he’s getting away?”
“Angie will take care of him.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she’s good, that’s how! We’re not bumbling incompetent thugs like you. We actually have a plan of action. We worked this whole thing out a little better than to just run in there and start shooting.”
“I think--”
“Enough! You can shut up, get out, or take a bullet to the head. I don’t care which one you pick.”
Lou glared at him. Sam returned to peering out the window, looking scared as hell.