Pitfall

by Cameron Bane

  I heard his ribs crack like kindling, and as a bonus his shoulder separated cleanly with an audible pop. He screamed again and rolled over moaning and babbling.

  A grim laugh made its way past my bloody lips. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  Okay, he was down for the count. I hoped. My right leg still felt unresponsive and weak, tingling like a million needles were sticking it. My heart slammed, and I awkwardly got to my feet. My strength was nearly depleted as I began half limping, half crawling my way toward Sarah, aiming to take the route farthest away from the edge of the Pit. My thoughts were fixed solely on the girl. I had to get her out of there before we both suffocated on those noxious fumes. Then I would put an end to Boneless and his ways.

  But I’d misjudged either his capacity for punishment or the depth of his hate. I hadn’t gotten ten steps when I was again blasted from behind. Somehow he’d shot to his feet, ramming his good shoulder into my painfully spasming back, and straight into my kidneys.

  The next few moments are an adrenalin blur. I’d been knocked face first to the floor, smashing my broken nose, and almost blacked out as we both began tumbling and sliding and fighting toward the Pit’s edge. And then somehow—don’t ask me how because I still don’t know—I found myself on my back, Boneless sliding like grease over the top of me.

  And that was good enough. Driving him on with a brutal kick, I significantly increased his velocity.

  And sent him sailing the rest of the way over.

  It proved to be a killing move. His roar of triumph transformed into a shriek of terror as he realized what I’d done. Etched forever in my memory I can see his ruined face twisting into a mask of stunned disbelief as with a horrified bellow he fell headlong into the abyss, his arms flailing wildly.

  A moment later, far below his screams cut out as I heard his body hit something hard with a dull, sickening thud before dropping in finality with a splash. Then I heard him start to sizzle down there as the enzymes took effect.

  His demise was barely a blip on my radar. As if in slow motion the mirrored metallic room tilted and spun wildly as I tumbled in right behind him. Frantically I again jammed the fingers of my hand into the rail, hopefully for the last time, clutching it as hard as I could.

  And that did it. I stopped. The rest of me was gone over the edge of the Pit, dangling, swinging wildly like a pendulum.

  Lifting my head and disregarding the searing jolts of pain ripping through me, I filled my lungs with as much of that acrid air as I could. “Sarah!” My yell was hoarse up into the chamber. “Sarah, I need help! Sarah!”

  But my words bounced and echoed and faded, the interior of the place as hushed as a crypt. Mine, if I couldn’t make her understand.

  But she didn’t answer, and a preternaturally eerie quiet settled over the room.

  My desire for life still clung tenaciously, although I wasn’t sure if that desire would be enough. After all my attempts I found just didn’t have the strength in my left side to help pull myself up out of that yawning hole.

  So I took stock. It struck me as ludicrous that after I’d been through so many battles in my life, in so many places—and lived to tell the tale—now I was coming to my end in this putrid chasm.

  In the final hour, all my skills and experience had been tested and tried and found wanting. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t seem to keep a purchase on the slick, unyielding wedge-shaped piece of metal. Fervently I found myself praying—for the first time in years—that someone, anyone, would get there in time to save Sarah and the others. After my death.

  I could feel sweat and blood from my fingertips lubricating the rail, inexorably causing me to slide downward. And there wasn’t thing one I could do to stop it. I slipped again, my strength completely gone now, my own weight pulling me down. One inch left.

  And then, with the tiniest of squeaks, my bloody fingers slid free from the last of the track, and gravity took over.

  Feeling myself dropping, I closed my eyes. This was it. The end. Forgive me for failing. Let it be merciful. As I began to plummet I heard my own anguished, final cry of despair ripping from my throat, my heart, my very life. “God help me!”

  That’s when someone—or something—grabbed me.

  “Not Him. Just me.”

  A strong, calloused hand had grasped my bloody, sweat-soaked forearm, sliding alarmingly down to my wrist where it tightened like a vise, abruptly stopping my descent.

  Blinking, swaying, I looked up to see.

  Seth Delacroix.

  Grimacing, he stared down, gritting with effort. “I told you I’d be here.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Someone had thrown blankets around Sarah and me. I still couldn’t believe I was alive that Saturday morning, that we’d both made it out of the horrible death that had almost consumed us.

  Seth hurriedly guided me through the confusion of the huge mob of town cops and state troopers filling the disposal room that was the Pit, and from there crowding into the hall beyond. His well-muscled arm held me under my relatively good right shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried me, almost totally supporting my shuddering frame. To my left a burly Ohio trooper was carrying Sarah in both arms.

  Not quite an inch taller than me, Seth bent his head down, speaking close to my ear. “Where’s the guy that did this to you, John?” Vengeance thickened his voice.

  “In the … Pit.” I was panting, exhausted. “He’s dead …”

  Seth nodded once and grunted, “Hoo-ah,” giving me the all-purpose Army reply.

  “I missed his father, though …” The effort to talk made me cough. Heat soared unchecked through my chest, and without warning my mouth filled with blood, which spewed out and down my chin.

  Well now, that can’t be good, I thought as shock threatened to take over. My mind still spun wildly like a car across an icy pond as I stumbled along, barely able to stay upright, fighting doggedly to remain conscious.

  I wasn’t able to put together another coherent thought until we were on the elevator, where Seth propped me in one corner of the metal box, and the trooper put Sarah in another. Feeling pressure against the bottoms of my feet, I knew it was rising.

  Groaning, swaying, flashes of light sparked behind my eyes. “Thanks, Seth. I owe you …” I was insanely lightheaded, my heavy breathing shallow and labored.

  “Forget it, I owe you too. Always will.” With an odd mixture of fiery anger and deep compassion in his mahogany eyes, he looked me over. He didn’t know then how extensive my injuries were. Neither did I.

  Suddenly my legs just flat gave out, and I felt myself crumpling to the floor face first. Seth caught me and gently laid me down, dropping to my side.

  “Man, John, you’re a mess. Just in case you didn’t know. The back of your head’s a bloody pulp, you have yet another broken nose, and I see you’ve been shot. Again.”

  “Yeah. Again …”

  “What else hurts you? Why are you coughing up blood? What’s that about?”

  “My ribs must be broken … They’re on fire … Can’t breathe … My head …” My speech sounded fractured. Feeling like I was drowning, I coughed again with the same bloody result.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Your lung might be punctured. The staties have some medics outside. I’ll have one look you over and fix you up, so don’t try to talk anymore until we get outside in some fresh air.” He stared around. “That stink’s enough to make me puke.” Me too. Getting outside sounded good, and I barely nodded. I was tired, more tired than my dulled mind would accept. Seth didn’t say any more as the elevator continued to rise.

  Neither did Sarah.

  I shot her a worried look. She hadn’t uttered a peep since Seth had pulled me up out of that hole. Worse, she was as expressionless as a bass, as if she was in a trance, gazing straight ahead with the blank, unblinking, thousand-yard stare I’d seen so much of in war.

  I’d found that same look etched in the faces of men and women, as well as
children, in far away lands, people who’d been pushed to the breaking point and beyond by suffering and death. Still, it was jarring to see it again on such a young girl; I’d never get used to it. Plainly Sarah was going to require help to aid in dealing with her nightmare. I knew about that too.

  The elevator doors opened, depositing us into the lobby. Ignoring the pain in my lung, I gulped in fresh air. The thirty-foot hallway we trudged down seemed like thirty miles, but it was honey-sweet when we moved out of that hellhole and into a glorious pouring rain.

  It sounds trite, but nearly dying really will cause a person to appreciate the simple things we all take for granted—like breathing—just a little bit more. The deluge had come at last, washing the early dawn clean.

  Through blurred eyes, I looked around at the trees. Showing silver, Granny.

  We stopped at a table under a hastily erected white tent emblazoned with a large red cross. It was filled with men and women in scrubs, already working on the other girls I’d seen in Sarah’s dorm, as well as some men that must have been in the other one. Seth parked us on the wet grass with care.

  “Doc?” He tried to get the attention of a young man as he passed us. “We need help here. My friend’s been shot, and the girl’s near catatonic. He’s bleeding bad, plus I think he’s got some broken ribs; pretty sure his lung’s been punctured anyway. His hands could use some attention too.”

  Agonizing pain, nausea, and fatigue surged over me. “What? Who is?” Pushing up, I looked around groggily, which caused the blanket to slide off of me.

  “You, Ace.” Seth’s expression was taut.

  “Me?” No wonder I felt like this. “How’s … Sarah?”

  “She’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”

  The young doctor answered Seth distractedly, barely slowing his pace, obviously out of his depth with the situation. “Sir, we’ll get to him in a minute.”

  Grabbing him, Seth towered over the man and softly laid a huge black hand on his arm. I’m not sure if it was his gesture that stopped him, or the tone in my friend’s voice. “A minute’s all it’ll take.”

  The young doctor finally halted, turned, and glanced at me. He did a double-take. “Good God, you’ve been shot.”

  I gave Seth an incredulous, pained look, and regarded the man. “You think?”

  He looked away from me and yelled, “We need triage here! Stat!” He was wide-eyed and nonplused; I guess we’d finally gotten his attention. Concern filling his face, he looked down at Sarah and me. “They’re on their way. Stay there.” As if we were going anywhere. He left on the run, yelling something, returning a few moments later with an older medic.

  By then Sarah had keeled over from her sitting position, and lay on the grass on her side. Noting her ominously still form, the older doctor crouched down and uncovered her.

  At the sight of her nude body that had been so violated by Boneless’s knife, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, man, this is bad.” Performing a quick exam, he recovered her with the blanket. He shot the other man a hard look, talking fast, his words demanding. “Doctor Bentine, this girl’s gone into shock. Why isn’t she in triage?”

  Bentine blinked, nonplussed. “That’s what I was trying—”

  “Do it!” the older man barked. “I want her intubated and a five cc drip of Ringer’s lactate administered stat. Get her stabilized, dress her wounds, and make sure she’s on the first medevac out of here.” From the way he’d said that last part, I would have bet Smedley he’d been an Army medic. “Is that understood?”

  The younger man blinked again, ashen-faced. The other one snapped, “Now, doctor.”

  That got him moving. In seconds they had Sarah on a stretcher and up on a table, where some other physicians started working rapidly.

  While they did, the seasoned physician turned and swiftly knelt down next to me in one practiced motion. Quickly cutting my blood-soaked clothes and boots off, he assessed my injuries, and his eyes went wide. Stridently calling to a nurse for assistance, she came on the double.

  When she reached us the older man stared at me with compassionate concern. “Lots of blood loss here,” he muttered. “Could be that bullet nicked an artery … Third-degree burns on the chest. What could have caused that? Nasty concussion too …”

  There’s such a thing as a good one? I thought.

  “Does this hurt?” He pressed on my right side and stomach.

  I nearly yelped as a torrential wave of pain hurtled through my chest, mushrooming into fierce agony throughout my torso around and back, making me feel like I was being thrust by white-hot daggers.

  Twisting and writhing I gasped, vainly trying to escape. As I twitched, inky blackness rolled over me and receded, back and forth, in and out … Dimly I wondered if one time it would take me out, and I wouldn’t make it back.

  At last my consciousness finally faded, slowly swallowing me like black water circling down a rusty drain. As I heard the frantic beating of the slick’s rotors drawing near, my final thought was the last time I’d heard that sound I was in a burning, blood-soaked Iraqi desert, with my head split open and my back on fire.

  I may have smiled. At least this time I wouldn’t be the only one left alive taking that ride out …

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Light. Sound. As if from a great depth my faculties were returning one by one, like a dimmer switch being turned brighter.

  From somewhere I heard a beeping. A deep voice called my name from a long way off, growing louder. Was it Seth? Pain ground me down, and I was so cold. I struggled against the black depths, and to lift my heavy eyelids. No strength.

  In my mind came a rush of flashes of so many battles. And of that last day in Iraq. A kaleidoscope of medic’s faces blurred together, people talking hurriedly, hovering over me—then or now? With everything in me I battled against the dense fog clouding my mind.

  It began to lift a bit. GeneSys. And Sarah. Where was I? I managed to open my eyes, just a little at first, the light dazzling me. Gradually I started to focus better, but everything was still fuzzy. I looked around. A hospital? Sure smelled like a hospital.

  I vaguely recalled the medevac slick landing, my being lifted aboard, and an oxygen mask being placed over my face. Somebody—Seth?—saying, “Hang in there, John. Don’t you die on me.” Vibration. The slick dusted off, its noise like a million spoons rattling inside a thousand metal drums.

  And now I was here? But where was here?

  Straining against sliding back down into darkness, I shook my head to resist. Instantly I regretted the motion. The walls and ceiling wavered and slid, and the room seemed to rock as waves of nausea rolled through me.

  “Oh man …” Halting my movement I closed my eyes and waited out the heaves. Gradually my stomach settled down. That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone as someone approached the foot of the bed. I squinted into the light, and saw who it was. Terrific. Sheriff Hardesty.

  “Welcome back.” He peered at me. “How do you feel?”

  Like I’m half-dead, I almost answered. Instead I rasped, “I’ve been better.”

  “No doubt.” His voice blasted through my head. “Do you feel up to making a statement?”

  “What? Now?” I tried to swallow.

  “Why not? It’s the best time. You’re more likely to tell me the truth.”

  “Screw that.” A booming voice had broken in, clanging around in my brainpan and making my whole body tense. I turned my half-open eyes to see Seth Delacroix, angrily entering the room like a force of nature. A second later he was standing next to the sheriff.

  “John will be glad to give you his statement when he’s up for it,” he said. “And not before. And what are you doing here, anyway? Unless I’m mistaken, Sheriff, the doc told you to wait. John’s supposed to sleep and get plenty of rest. And quiet.”

  “Fine,” Hardesty nodded. “I can wait.” That said, he turned on his heel, opened the swinging door, and exited.

  Seth crossed the room in a few giant strid
es. Reaching me, he dropped the gruff edge and lowered his voice by half. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him out of your hair. How about some water?” Before I could reply he pressed the call button for the nurse.

  Settling in for a wait, I swallowed. “How long?” I asked.

  “Have you been here?” he finished, knowing what I was going for. “A little over a week.” He frowned. “Man, you look rough.”

  I felt rough. With halting speech I said, “Over a week? Why didn’t somebody—?”

  “Bring you around earlier? You were a hot mess. You needed to rest and stay quiet.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. “What is all of this? I take it it’s not good.”

  “Not hardly. You were in surgery a long time, then in intensive care. Now you’re just listed as serious, so they moved you down here.” He glared. “You got a death wish or something? Why’d you pull a stunt like that? You’re just too hardheaded to stay that sick.”

  “It ain’t easy being me.”

  About that time the nurse, an older woman, arrived in crisp hospital whites. Taking a look at me she turned and left, returning with a doctor. For the next few minutes he gave me a cursory exam, asking me questions to test my lucidity. I answered them as best as I could.

  Seemingly satisfied, he checked my eyes. The tiny light hurt like a mother. I heard his vague words through the thick mass of pain in my head, telling me to lie still and go back to sleep as he injected something into my IV tube. Then they left.

  My friend regarded me closely. “So how you doin’? Really?”

  I tried to speak, but found I just couldn’t answer. Again I faded away.

  *

  When I awoke again, I had no sense of time. From the slant of light coming in the window I could see it was still daylight. Slowly turning my head I saw Seth slumped down in the visitor’s chair next to the bed, his head cradled in the palm of his hand. I couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep or just resting.