The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

thirteen-year-old boy. CJ closed her eyes and pursed her lips as he forced her head to bob back and forth. “So, how ‘bout it, darlin’?”

“Leave her alone,” I said.

“Put a lid on it, Nathan. You ain’t got nothing to say here.” He looked down at CJ. “So whad’ya say, Sugar? How ‘bout givin’ up some of that sugar? Ever been with a real cowboy?”

“No, but I’d settle for a real man.”

Bill smacked her on the head with the butt of his gun, and blood began oozing down the side of her face. He came around, grabbed her by the collar, pulled her close to his face, then through gritted teeth said, “You’re makin’ me hard, darlin’. Nothing I like more than a good grudge fuck.”

I shouted out, “NO!”

“Shut it, Bastard Boy.” He pointed the gun at me. “Or I kill you first and then fuck her.”

Panic and anger twisted through me and came out as fiery words. “Leave her the hell alone, you stupid, inbred prick! What’s the matter, did your whore of a mother knock the crap out of you when you were a kid? Treat you like her little bitch? Is that why you have to beat on women just to stay hard?”

Bill swung his head toward me with a cocked eyebrow and a maniacal grin that told me I had his full attention. He walked over and began ripping away the duct tape, leaving just my hands bound in front of me. Grabbing me by the collar, he jerked me straight up into a standing position, then hoisted me onto a meat hook so I was hanging by my wrists. He spun me around toward him, held me in place with his right hand, wound up with his left, and delivered a powerful left hook to my gut.

Everything blurred. I gasped for air but couldn’t draw much in—the pain in my abdomen prevented it. I knew I could be bleeding internally, the lifeblood inside flooding my body, drowning my organs until they could no longer function.

My vision returned just in time to see Bill coming at me with something long, something metal.

Something sharp.

“It’s been a long time since I seen you bleed, Nathan,” Bill said, full malice in his voice. He began pushing the rod against my body, the tip barely tearing through my clothes, forcing me to swing back and forth. He used that same momentum to drive the end into my leg; it felt wet and warm with intense pain. Then he plunged the point into my shoulder, more pain and more blood now trailing down my arm.

CJ screamed.

I caught a glimpse of her, wondering how much longer before I bled out and died.

Bill stepped back and prepared to take another jab, but as he did, the end of the rod snagged on a panel behind him. I heard a sharp click, followed by a long, squeaky whine, and the machine came to life. A hook swooped in from behind, caught the back of his jacket and lifted him into the air. Now we were both moving along the track within an arm’s length of each other. He grabbed hold of my shirt, and I kicked him away with all the strength I could muster, forcing him to release his hold and swing away. He came back and slammed into me with such force that the hook began tearing through the tape around my wrists. Before I knew it, I’d dropped onto to the floor.

I scrambled to my feet, gasping in pain. I was soaked in blood, could see it now, oozing out fast from my shoulder, my leg, too. I couldn’t see what might be happening inside me but knew one thing: I wasn’t going to last long.

I spotted Bill moving along the track, heading for a junction where the conveyer split in two directions. To the right, the track was broken—if he continued on that course he’d eventually derail, then come off and fall to safety. I didn’t know where the track to the left led, but I made up my mind that’s where he was going.

I needed to get to the rail switch and change Bill’s course before he reached the junction. I stumbled to the control panel, pushed the button.

And nothing happened.

I pushed it again. Nothing, again. Damned thing was broken, and Bill was coming up quickly to the end of the track. I could push him onto the other track manually, but that meant having to run alongside him. I looked up at the hooks rolling past with their spear-like tips angrily tossing back and forth, clawing at the air. Telling me to stay away.

I couldn’t. I’d spent my whole life terrified of my own blood, and in the process became terrified of living. Not anymore. My anger had arrived; it was strong, it was powerful, and it would drive me through this. I’d use it to make sure that bastard never took another breath.

I found a screwdriver sitting on top of a machine, stuffed it in my back pocket, handle first. I caught up to Bill, ran ahead of him, and reached for the manual wire. He kicked out and wrapped his legs around my neck, squeezing hard. Now he was dragging me along the ground by my neck, choking me. I reached up, tried loosening the grip, but he was holding on tightly, his boots locked together. I pulled the screwdriver from my pocket and buried the end in his thigh. He shouted and his leg twitched, releasing his hold, dropping me to the floor.

Bill continued on, grunting in pain, now barely a foot from the juncture. I rushed up beside him, pulled the manual wire, and forced him onto the other track just in time. He swung in the other direction and began moving away from me. Suddenly, the hook released, dropping him into a chute. When I got there and looked down, I saw him laying face up, eyes wide open, with a metal stake pushing up through his chest.

And covered in blood.

But I had no time to revel in his death, because I was bleeding too, the red running wild from my body. My vision blurred and I began to shiver. I knew these were all effects of severe blood loss. It wouldn’t be long now.

I staggered back toward CJ, leaving a trail of blood along the way. I think she said something, but I didn’t hear it; I was too focused on ripping the duct tape from her arms, legs, and waist.

And that was the last thing I remembered.

Chapter Fifty-Five

My eyes shot wide open.

The packing plant was gone, replaced now by white light—in fact, everything was white. And clean. It took me a moment to realize I was lying in a hospital bed.

I looked up and saw CJ standing beside me, head tilted, watching me with studied concern.

I smiled.

She did, too, and then in a soft voice, said, “How you doing there, kiddo?”

“Pretty lousy,” I said, “but thanks for asking.”

She smiled wider, brushed a hand across my forehead, pushing the hair away from my eyes. “You know, that was some pretty crazy stuff you pulled back there. You almost died.”

I frowned, closed my eyes, nodded.

Another voice said, “You know, being a hero is not such a great idea.”

I opened my eyes. “Sully…holy…how did you…?”

CJ grinned. “I found your phone on the floor while they were loading you into the ambulance. It rang, so I answered it.”

“Guess who?” Sully said, with a wave and a smile. “So I had to come see for myself if you were all in one piece.” Then he said, more seriously, “And I’m glad you are.”

“He flew out here right away,” CJ added.

Sully pointed to me. “I warned you not to take that bastard on yourself—so what the hell do you go and do?”

I looked at CJ and gave her a scolding grin.

She said, “Guilty, but you’re partly to blame.”

“Me?”

CJ put a hand on her hip. “It seems once again you’ve been holding back on some very crucial information. Doing that guarded thing. The bleeding? Good Lord, Pat. You want to explain why you never told me about it? And you’d better make it good.”

“I didn’t want you to worry?”