She peeked open her rheumy eyes, the pupils growing wide at the sight of him.
“Do you have a family?” Donaldson asked.
She nodded, eyes flitting back and forth between him and the gun. The heart machine went BEEEEEP… BEEEEEP…BEEEEEP…
“People who love you?”
“What do you want?” Her voice was like dry, autumn leaves crackling underfoot.
Donaldson pressed the barrel of the weapon to her head. “Answer me.”
“Yes, people love me.”
“Who will miss you most?”
“I… please don’t hurt me.”
Donaldson’s eyes flitted to the balloon bouquet on the dresser next to the bed. “Who sent the balloons?”
“My… my grandson.”
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…
“What’s his name?”
“Petey.”
“Will Petey miss you when you die?”
She nodded, her wrinkled, chicken neck bouncing.
“Will he cry at your funeral?”
Another nod.
“Say it out loud.”
“Yes.”
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…
“Say it. Yes, Petey will miss me.”
Her tears came freely now. “Yes, Petey will miss me.”
“Good,” Donaldson said.
He brought the butt of the gun down twice.
The first blow almost split her head open.
The second blow did.
The third and fourth gave him a lovely erection. Looking at the brain matter splattered across her pillow, he wanted to climb on and-
No time. Gotta get out of there.
Donaldson hurried out of the room, the steady BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP of the lady’s heart monitor indicating she was flat-lining. He ducked into an empty room, watching Nurse Winslow hurry past, listening to her call a code over the hospital intercom.
Donaldson figured he’d bought himself five minutes, at most.
Enough time to find Lucy.
Jack Kilborn
Killers
Together at Last
Lucy rounded the corner. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a portly figure limping up the hallway toward her.
Donaldson.
The bandages around his legs, and the front of his hospital gown, were all soaked through with blood. Another bandage, this one bloodless, covered almost the entire right side of his head.
But the real horrorshow was his left arm, the one she had handcuffed to the back of his car.
It had swollen to twice its normal size, bending in places it shouldn’t have, hanging from his shoulder like a gigantic blood sausage.
“Hello, little girl.” Donaldson smiled, his fat lips flapping over crimson holes where teeth used to be. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Lucy sat in a wheelchair, both legs extended and bandaged. Instead of a hospital gown, she wore blood- covered scrubs several sizes too large.
She smiled-top front teeth missing.
“Hi, Big D,” she said. “You aren’t looking so hot.”
“I can say the same for you. Nice wheels.”
Lucy stopped rolling. They were ten feet apart in the corridor.
“Look at that left arm,” she said. “You been working out?”
“My right one still works just fine.”
Donaldson limped forward, extending his good arm.
It ended in a gun.
“Why don’t you lift up those hands, let Uncle Donaldson give you a quick pat down.”
Lucy shook her head. “Nice piece, Gramps, but I don’t think I’m going to let you touch me right now.”
“And exactly how are you going to stop me?” He leered, giving his lips a quick lick. I think I’ll start by giving those pretty little legs a frisk. You got any feeling left in those?”
Donaldson continued to trudge forward.
Lucy backed up a few feet.
“Listen,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but any minute now this place is going to be crawling with Feds and sheriffs’ deputies. There was an… incident,” she framed the words with air quotes, “in my bathroom. So the question is…do we want to do this here and now, or do we want to help each other get the fuck out of dodge?”
The hospital intercom kicked on, some faceless drone calling codes. Code orange, code blue, code green, code silver…
Donaldson halted his approach, frowning. The bandage on his right calf had come loose, revealing another bloody, peeling bandage underneath.
“Shit. Can’t go back this way,” Donaldson tilted his head over his shoulder. “Had an incident myself back there.”
“That’s probably your code they just called out. Mine will be two blues. How about we try this way?” Lucy motioned down the corridor. “I thought I saw an elevator sign.”
“Stairs too good for you?”
“You’re a riot. Give me a push?”
“Turn around first.” Donaldson waved the 9mm. “For some reason, I got trust issues with you.”
Lucy awkwardly swung her wheelchair in a one-eighty and offered her back to Donaldson.
“Be gentle,” she said.
Donaldson loped forward. When he reached Lucy’s wheelchair, he stopped. “Tough to push one- handed.”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die. I’m so sorry my legs got broken when you handcuffed me to your cheap-ass car with no parking brake.”
Donaldson pressed the barrel to her head. “Then use your goddamn hands.”
“Easy. I’m just kidding. So sensitive.”
Her right arm came up rattlesnake-quick and the handcuff locked around Donaldson’s right wrist. The other cuff was already attached to her left.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I just want us to be together.”
Donaldson’s finger tightened on the trigger, and then abruptly relaxed. He blew out a stiff breath. “Just like old times, huh?”
Behind them, the hallway filled with chatter and commotion.
“I’ll push your right side,” he said. “Use your left hand on your left wheel. Move your ass, or I’ll cut my losses, shoot you, and drag your corpse outta here.”
“Jeez, somebody missed his Metamucil.”
Lucy began pushing. Each rotation of the wheel brought a groan.
