“Say goodnight, boy.” he said, spotted Jessies weakness and moved in for the killing blow. He was liquid fast, wicked quick and brutal, his big fists wrapped around the steel that would bash the kids brains out once and for all. Jessie saw it coming, saw the bunching of muscles in his shoulder and leg, knew when the spring would come and twitched. Something crashed outside in the hall but he couldn’t worry about it, couldn’t consider reinforcements coming. Rattlesnake fast he dropped his shoulders, barely avoided having his head split open from the pistol, spun the blades and slid them across the inside of Ricketts thigh as he rushed by. The captain of the guard cursed his speed, turned and faced him again. He crouched, waiting for a counter attack, ready to deflect the flying blades one more time but it didn’t come. He was nearly choking on the smoke now and by God he was tired. He needed to end this. He was hurt and cut and nearly finished but the kid was worse. The kid was way worse than him. He’d conked him pretty good that time, the boy had gotten distracted. His face was bloody and swollen and bruised and one eye was nearly shut. He’d beaten the snot out of him and he was almost finished. He’d get him with the next rush. He’d bash him so hard he’d have to pull his fist out of the hole in his head.
Jessie hopped on one leg, regained his balance and waited. The world was closing in and he fought to stay upright. The lights flickered and he heard the roar of the flames in the stairwell, working their way up. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and through the swimming darkness he looked at the man in the shredded black uniform: slashes and cuts across his chest and arms. Blood dripped from a slice on his cheek, spilled from his missing finger.
“It’s over, kid.” Ricketts said and readied himself to wade in again. This time for sure. This time to finish it.
Jessie said nothing and lowered his eyes to the guard’s legs and the huge puddle of red already forming on the carpet. The femoral arteries on both pumped blood, some spurted out, most poured down his pants legs, filled his boots and flowed onto the floor. Ricketts shook his head to clear it and nearly fell. He was getting light headed and the kid just stood there, staring at him.
“Time’s up.” he panted then lost the grip on the .45. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. They weren’t doing what he told them to do.
It dropped and made a splashing sound. To his surprise, he was standing in a spreading puddle of crimson. The room was starting to spin and everything was getting dark around the edges.
“Oh, you bastard.” he said, when he realized what had happened and dropped to his knees. His legs didn’t want to support him anymore.
Jessie watched him die. Watched him fall to his side, close his eyes and drift away. The pumping heart slowed then stopped. He took one last breath, let it out and it was over. He almost looked peaceful. It had been an easy death and Jessie felt cheated. The man hadn’t suffered enough. Hadn’t hurt enough. Hadn’t paid for what he’d done enough.
He waited for whoever was in the hall to rush in but it remained quiet. It had been someone running away. His breathing slowed and he took a tentative step forward, limping a little but nowhere near as bad as he’d pretended for Ricketts. Appear weak when you are strong had been one of lessons that stuck in his head for some reason. Maybe because it had been a last resort gambit. He’d been losing badly to the Captain, he couldn’t have taken many more hits to the head, that last one had been solid. Or the leg. His broken arm had been all fakery, though. That had been what it took for Ricketts to be a little over confident. Let him think he could easily avoid that flashing blade. Jessie coughed, stepped around the body and limped to the door. There was one more bit of killing he had to do. One more promise to keep. Then he could rest. Then he could decide where to join her and hopefully he could find a gun. He didn’t trust sliding the blades across his wrists, they might heal up faster than he bled out.
The electric lights had finally fizzled and darkened but the orange flames from the stairwell showed him a smoky corridor with rows of closed doors. Casino suites for the high rollers. Top floor views and garden tubs with massaging jets. Balconies with tables and chairs. Small city Minnesota luxuries.
He hobbled to the stairs first, closed the door and shut off the roiling clouds of acrid, black smoke. Fire spread through the stories below him but he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t planning on leaving. He just had one more job to do.
132
Jessie
He leaned against the door, felt the heat against it and rested. Everyone was trapped and he was fine with that. The lower levels had been barricaded and even if the fire wasn’t raging through them, there was no way out. It was filled with all the undead soldiers. He wondered how his old man had done against Casey. He’d probably won. He couldn’t imagine him losing a fight. He wished he was more like him. Wished he was stronger. He was so tired and everything ached or hurt or pulsed with each heartbeat. His head throbbed, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Concussion, if he remembered right. Big
