She pulled the trigger, and Old Han fell backwards ontothe floor. His hand went to his chest. Blood pumped out of it spraying acrossthe room with every beat of his heart. Fang dropped the gun on the bed andknelt beside Han, cradling his head. He looked up at her with questioning eyes.
They said nothing. Fang held her man until he faded away,tears streaming down her face; the pounding at the door become deafening. Hiseyes closed one last time, and she knew he was safe, her devoted husband, safefrom his own madness and perhaps even her own.
Fang had waited patiently for the end of the world,waited years in fact while that decrepit little ball of hate had slept silentlynext to her for decades. That cheapskate, heartless bastard refusing to die onhis own, yet refusing to leave her at the same time. Pride is a strange thing,strange enough that it could make two people who loathed each other sleep inthe same bed for year after year, neither one refusing to budge, refusing togive in and admit that somewhere along the way they had become wrong for eachother.
Han’s inability to embrace the opportunity around him, tounderstand the new world that they were living in, had driven a wedge betweenthem that set them growing in different directions for decades. Each day theywoke up, they were further and further apart.
She had looked at him from the corner of her eye duringbreakfast, plotting against him for years. She could see the same looks fromhim every now and then, but as is always the case, the woman was always betterat hiding her feelings, at being more circumspect.
Now it was done. Her new life awaited her just outsidethe door. All she had to do was shoot her way past them and make it tosomewhere safe. She stood up, gently setting Han’s head down on the floor.
She pulled an old piece of luggage from the closet, thesame luggage she had used when they had come to America. She began putting herclothes in the luggage, cramming them into the suitcase with shaking hands,unconcerned with tidiness.
She was zipping up the suitcase when Han’s hand, stillslightly warm, seized her ankle. He pulled her down to the ground and beganclawing at her. He was small, but she had always been smaller.
Fang screamed as Han straddled her and bit into the fleshof her bicep. She punched and kicked, but nothing had any effect. The strugglelasted longer than one would have expected looking at the size of Fang, but inthe end, the pounding on the door stopped, and Han and Fang were united foreveras husband and wife, trapped in a squalid room in America, far from home.
Chapter 44: Swords and Flames
Rudy sat in his apartment, his busted door yawning openas the day brightened. His mind whirled with possibilities… or the lackthereof. He could see if he could find a car, maybe something with the keysstill in the ignition. He could try and escape on foot. Despite the fact thathe had never learned to drive and was woefully out of shape, either of theseideas would be better than sitting in an apartment with a busted door waitingfor another dead person to wander in.
He grabbed the remains of his last bottle of Code Red offthe counter and unscrewed the red cap. Sweet, sweet sugar flooded his gullet,and he wiped his brow as if he had just finished with a long day of work. Hecould have been filming a soft drink commercial.
A thought suddenly popped into his head as thecaffeinated refreshment coursed its way through his body. His neighbor, thejerk-off British guy across the hall... he was dead. He seemed like the typethat would have a weapon stashed away here and there. At the very least, hewould probably have a butcher knife, which would be an upgrade over the dull,ancient steak knife that he had sitting in his lap.
Without hesitation, he walked across the hall and stoodin front of his neighbor’s door. He tested the handle just to be sure, but itwas locked. Rudy took a running start at the door and hit it as hard as hecould. He bounced off, the only damage being to his pride.
From down the hall, he heard a giggle.
"Who's there?" he queried tremulously, rollinghis body over so he could stand. There was no answer. Rudy looked down thehallway at the door at the end of the hall. A girl lived there, not asattractive as the girl downstairs, but he would count himself lucky if he couldeven talk to her. His face blushed as he stared at the darkness of the peepholein her door, imagining her there, her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle herlaughter.
Rudy hoped he was just hearing things. He lowered hisshoulder, pumped his thick legs, and charged into the door again. This time, hedid a backflip as the surprisingly sturdy door rejected his ponderousness. Thistime there was more than giggling. There was outright laughter coming frombehind the doorway at the end of the hall.
"Cut it out!" he yelled. "It isn'tfunny!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he knelt on the floor, his faceflushed with blood and his eyes beginning to tear up. He knelt on one knee,trying not to burst into tears. The door at the end of the hallway opened, andhe thought the floodgates were going to open with it, but he was able tomaintain his fragile emotions as she appeared, laughing, with her hand over hermouth.
She was wearing black cargo pants and a red T-shirt witha grey long-sleeved shirt underneath. Her boots were clunky brown things, andthey pounded on the floor of the apartment complex as she rushed to help him tohis feet. Through their combined efforts of struggling and groaning, they wereable to get him standing again.
"What are you doing?" she said between hersmiling teeth.
Rudy was never very good at directly answering people'squestions. He always had something smart to say, whether he wanted to say it ornot. Maybe it was the shock of the night
