Twisted Iron

by T. J. Loveless

  I finally broke the rest of the chair and stood on shaking legs, swaying. I leaned against the stall door. A different man had her out of the chair, and threw her to the ground, ripping off her capris.

  Instincts overrode the pain, and I launched at the man on top of her. He’d punched her in the head twice, and she lay dazed. I flipped the switch, a razor sharpen blade appeared and I stabbed it into his neck. Rolling away, I kicked the second man in the knee, smiling at his yell of agony. Pulling the blade out the man’s neck, and noting the arcs of blood in time to his heartbeat, I stood, and faced the last man standing.

  “How the fuck are ya?” I smiled through the blood in my mouth, laughed at his expression of horror.

  He took slow steps back, and I followed, smiling, flipping the switchblade in my hand until the blade was parallel to my wrist. He raised his hands, “I wasn’t going to do anything to her, Mister, I swear!”

  “Too bad you think I give a damn.” I pushed off my left foot and swung the blade. The flesh in his neck gave, his hands holding the wound. I moved in close and pushed the blade into his soft belly, just under his ribs. I sliced sideways, pushed my hand inside his abdominal cavity, and sliced into the diaphragm muscle, going for his heart. “You never fuck with what is mine.”

  Two more slices sideways, and I was in his chest cavity, he struggled backwards, but I grabbed the back of his neck with the other hand, bringing him close. The smell of shit and piss, along with the copper penny scent of blood, filled my nostrils. I sliced his heart in two.

  He was on my arm like a puppet, the wet warmth flowing easily. I yanked my arm out and pushed him over.

  Turning, I looked for Jillian. She was on the floor, her eyes open, glazed over, face frozen in horror. I took a step towards her, and she flinched.

  “Honey, listen, we have to go, okay. I’ll take care of you. I’d never hurt you,” I spoke in calm, low tones.

  She tried to scoot away, eyes going from glazed to terrified.

  “No, please, we have to go. You can fear and hate me later. I promise. But right now, we have to go. Please, baby, please, let me help you up,” I pleaded.

  She glanced at the blood covering my arms and chest. I looked down and realized it would scare anyone.

  “I know, but we’re washable. Please.” I took another step. “I promise, Jilly Bean, I’d never hurt you.” I fell slowly to my knees, and crawled forward. “Come on, honey, we have to go. We have to go,” I whispered.

  She nodded twice and tried to get up, but her legs gave out and she fell in slump.

  “If I get up and come over there, will you let me help?”

  She nodded.

  I stood, forcing everything to work properly. I sidled sideways, gasped at the pain from the broken ribs, but leaned down, wrapped one of her thin arms around my neck, and lifted. I almost fell, but managed to stay upright. She whimpered, and I hugged her close, seeing several knife wounds on her face and arms, the blood flowing heavily from the stab wound in her thigh. Damn, I have to get her to the hospital.

  “I’m going to get you to the hospital. I’ll probably go to prison, but you’re worth it, Jilly Bean.” I limped the both of us into the sun, and looked for my truck. It was parked in the usual place, and we made our way slowly to the front of the house.

  A shot rang out, the burn and pain of a bullet slamming into the back of my thigh.

  Chapter Twelve

  I fell forward, twisting to prevent Jillian from hitting the ground. I rolled to cover her, and looked around for the shooter. I got on my hands and good leg, whispering, “Jilly Bean, you have to crawl under me, baby. You can do it. We have to get to the truck.”

  She nodded and dragged her body forward.

  Another shot rang out, slamming into the ground next to me. I crawled forward, keeping her covered. It was slow, and the shots were erratic. To the side of us, in back, one in front. We managed to get to the front of the house and cover. Every muscle shook, black around the edges of my sight. I was in bad shape, but giving up meant her life.

  Footsteps in the trees made me push harder, wanting the truck. A spare set of keys were hidden in a magnetic box under the passenger door, we had a chance.

  I looked back. Cornell walked nonchalantly in our direction, smiling. “Give it up, kid.”

  I let my head drop. “Don’t stop, it’s me he wants. The keys are in a box under the passenger door, sweetheart. Do you hear me?”

  Her body shuddered, but she nodded.

  Inch by inch. The truck was five feet away.

  “Go under it, grab the spares, crawl to the driver’s side. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, Squirrel.”

  The sound of her voice, small and weak, was a relief.

  Another bullet hit the back of my left thigh. I fell to the side. “Go, Jilly Bean. Go and get out of here. Get to the hospital.”

  I pushed into a sitting position, trying to cover her. “You are the world’s biggest coward, Cornell. Tell me, is it worth all this? Do you really believe you’ll get away with it?”

  “Boy, I already did with the way you slaughtered one of my men in the barn. Where is the map?” He pulled the rifle to his shoulder, and sighted me. A little red dot appeared on my chest, moving slowly up.

  “What map?” I heard the driver’s side door open. Come on, baby, leave. Please, leave.

  “You aren’t stupid. I want what was stolen from my family. It’s mine!”

  The engine of the truck roared to life, and the sound of wheels trying to get traction, and gravel hitting the side of the house turned my head.

  Jillian was at the wheel, covered in blood, her face a mask of hatred and anger. The truck moved around me and went straight for Cornell.

  He shot through the windshield twice, and when the truck didn’t stop he jumped out of the way as the big Dodge shot past the spot he’d been standing. It slammed into a stop, and reversed. Next to me, the passenger door opened.

  “Get in!” she yelled, looking out the windshield, ducking when another shot punched through the glass. “Come on, Aiden. Get the fuck in the truck!”

  I crawled to the truck, pulling my mutilated body inside. As I shut the door, another shot hit the panel. “Go, go, go, go!”

  Jillian romped on the accelerator, and the truck peeled spewed rocks behind it as the backend swerved, trying to gain traction. More shots, and I heard one hit a tire. She didn’t slow.

  Bouncing onto the pavement, she fought the steering, almost losing control. Getting the truck on the highway and running in a semi-straight line, she looked at me. “Where are we going?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The pain was in the background, making it hard to think. “Hospital, we both need major medical intervention.”

  “No, they ask a lot of questions, and the doctors are required to file a police report.”

  “That’s the point, Jillian.”

  “Aiden, what are you going to tell them about how you killed that man?” she glanced at me, eyes blazing with anger.

  I didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t self-defense. I’d killed him in cold blood. Blaze couldn’t intervene. “I have a first aid kit in the truck box. It has what we need, but we need it now. I can doctor you up, but we have to get these bullets out, I don’t have much longer.”

  She turned without warning onto a dirt road and shot through a copse of pine trees. On the other side was an open field. Stopping the truck in the middle, she climbed into the backseat, opened the back split window and crawled through. I noticed her breathing was shallow and she left a trail of blood. She was close to passing out, with the blood loss. In the back, she opened the box, and weakly pulled out two duffel bags. Opening one, andthe other, she closed the box, and looked at me through the window. “Come on, I’m damn good at field dressing. But I can’t move you. You have to get back here while I try to stop my bleeding.”

  She dug into the duffel bags while I followed her. I flopped into the bed of the truck, unable to go any fu
rther.

  She stuck me with a needle, and I assumed it was the morphine stored in the medical kit. Within moments, I was out.

  *

  I woke to the sun on my back, lying in the grass, every inch throbbing. Stitches pulled tight on swollen flesh, and my torso was wrapped to the point of making it hard to breathe. I managed to open one swollen lid and found Jillian, pale and breathing shallow, next to me in the field. I reached out to her neck, finding a weak pulse.

  Pushing up on shaking arms, I noticed she’d sewn her knife wound. The duffel was open on the other side of her, and I used my arms to crawl to it. A pile of bloody bandages, a sewing kit, and a used vial of morphine were two foot away.

  I lay on my side next to her, on an elbow, and stroked her hair, pushing it off her face. They’d cut her face and neck, but only superficially. The wounds looked cleaned, but would leave her scarred. I felt her sides, finding them wrapped in bandages.

  Exhausted, I rolled to my stomach and lay still. I kept an eye on her, watching sweat bead on her forehead, and roll slowly into her hair. She didn’t move, not even to dream.

  The sun made its way across the sky, and I didn’t look away. She grew paler, and the sweating stopped. Putting a hand on her forehead, I felt the fever start.

  I tried to get on my hands and knees, but failed.

  I could do nothing.

  *

  Night came quickly, along with the cold air. I shivered, but it helped bring her fever down. I rummaged through the duffel bag, finding BC Powder and a small bottle of water. I mixed it in the bottle cap and slid an arm under her head.

  “Wake up, baby. You have to wake up for just a moment,” I begged and wiggled her head. She moaned and opened an eye. “That’s it. Open your mouth enough to swallow, Jillian. Please, for me.”

  She dropped her jaw, and I poured in the concoction. She winced but swallowed. I kissed her forehead.

  We remained in the field until morning. I gave her the water – BC Powder mixture every four hours. I took several packets, helping to ease the pain and some of the swelling in my leg.

  Dawn broke, covering us in morning dew, as we shivered on the valley floor. I tried to get on my hands and knees again, barely maintaining balance. The truck ran, one of the dually tires would need changed soon, but it’d drive slowly.

  Where’d we go? I had no answer. Not a snowball’s chance of going home right now. Her house was being watched. I had to solve the issues with Cornell before I could take either of us home. Any public place would get me arrested. Blaze would have to follow protocol.

  The memory of my grandfather’s hunting cabin popped in my head, and I looked around. We weren’t far, it was secluded, and we’d kept it stocked. We’d have time to recuperate, plan our next move.

  First I had to get Jillian in the truck.

  I waited for her to wake. It was around noon when a moan escaped and she rolled to her side. Green eyes met mine.

  “I know you’ll never forgive me. I’m sorry. But we have to go. I have a cabin not far from here, it’s stocked.”

  “Okay,” her voice barely discernible.

  “Can you get in the passenger side?” I looked at the fifteen feet between us and the truck.

  She nodded and struggled. She hissed and moaned, but made slow progress. Eventually, she managed to get up enough to crawl to the truck, and heft herself into the passenger seat.

  I dragged the duffel with me. Sitting on the good hip, I heaved it into the bed, and used the open tailgate to get on my feet. Dizziness hit me in a wave and I fell onto the tailgate. Come on, Middleston, get a grip. This isn’t your first battle to survive. You can do it. You can do it for her.

  Hanging on the side of the truck, I dragged the bad leg, and limped to the driver’s side. Once inside, I sat still, trying to recover. A shaking hand turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life.

  “Will it … will it make the cabin?” she whispered.

  “Yes. We only have five miles to drive, and we’re going slow. Hang in there, Jilly Bean. You have to get well to kill me for dragging you into this.” I gave her a halfhearted smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The truck fought to make the trail. It’d been years since the last time I’d visited. Most of the tracks barely discernible, but I managed to find the way to the cabin by memory.

  The last turn widened and an overgrown path led directly to a cabin on federal land. The land lease had been paid automatically for years, and I wondered if the cabin was still standing. I breathed a heavy sigh at the sight of the log cabin, barely five hundred square feet, but the roof and sides looked to be in decent shape, the windows unbroken. A minor miracle considering nobody visited in the past decade.

  “It’s going to be dirty inside. So stay in the truck, okay? Let me assess the situation.” My ribs protested when I twisted to face her.

  She nodded, head lolling on the headrest of the seat.

  I opened the door, turned sideways and slid out with my good leg hitting the ground first. I’d kill for a cane. Instead I leaned against the truck, and dragged the leg the last five feet to the front porch. Panting, I opened the front door, watching for wild animals as the hinges squeaked loudly. Peeking around the door, I saw a decade worth of dust, cobwebs, but everything in place, no holes, nests or anything to worry over.

  I turned to the truck, and nodded once, stumbling into the cabin. I found two lanterns, matches lying next to them. Dusting them off, I lit each one and found a walking stick in a corner. Taking hold of it, moving a little faster, I opened a cabinet door, standing back. It was fully stocked with tins of food, and the next cabinet filled with gallons of water.

  Hobbling outside to the truck, I opened the passenger side. “Can you limp to the cabin?”

  She grabbed my shoulder. “If you can help, I think I can.”

  The better part of thirty minutes later, we sat on the only bunk, breathing heavily, blood seeping through the bandages.

  “We make one hell of a pair, Jilly Bean.” I put a hand on hers.

  “Shut up, Squirrel. You talk too much.” She leaned to the side, and I lightly pushed, her legs resting in my lap, wincing as the added weight sent spears of pain through the bullet injuries.

  She slept soundly, breathing regular, and the fever didn’t go high. Despite the pain and discomfort, I refused to move. I preferred to watch her finally get some rest.

  The sun deserted the sky, and the moon rose to give weak light. I jumped, sitting up and making Jillian moan in protest. “Sorry, honey, sorry,” I whispered.

  I’d heard something rustling around outside, and as gently as possible, I put her legs on the bunk and grabbed the walking stick. The injury was hot and swollen, but I had to know. Limping slowly to the door, I stood and put my ear to the aged wood. It was rough and cold, normal for mountain nights. A light scratching echoed through the wood.

  Frowning, I leaned into the wood, waiting. A snuffling sound, followed by a deep grunt. My heart stopped. The low growl was the only warning.

  The door’s hinges ripped from the frame and the door slammed me into the floorboards. A black bear jumped on the wood and lumbered inside.

  Jillian didn’t move, but I had to. If the bear sensed her injury, she was easy prey. I crawled forward, letting the door make noise. The bear turned and roared as I hit the floor with the walking stick.

  “Me! Over here, girl, come on!” I started pounding the stick closer to her, as I wiggled free of the door and tried to stand. Four tries later, I stood and did the one thing Dad said to never do.

  I poked the bear.

  She stood, roared, and fell to all four paws. I scrambled over the door, stitches popping from one of the bullet wounds. The back of my thigh instantly wet.

  “That’s it, girl, smell the blood?” I backed out the door, hitting the floor with the stick, and wondering how in the hell we survive the bear.

  My blood ran cold when she rushed me, and I fell.

  I lost my breat
h as the bear jumped on my chest, and as the world went black, I heard the sound of a gunshot.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I woke to the feel of a warm body nestled against me, every breath agony. Movement proved impossible, a massive headache making it hard to think.

  “Squirrel, you have one of the most adventurous lives I’ve ever known,” a soft southern accent broke the quiet.

  “It’s usually not this bad. That’s the first bear attack,” my voice hoarse and so low I wasn’t sure she heard.

  “I think you’re lying. You’ve been out for two days. We need to get to the hospital, Aiden. Is it safe?”

  “No. They’re looking for us, and I’m pretty sure right now Blaze is cursing the day I was born. I was rather vicious.”

  “Enough talk, rest some more. I’m going to give you another dose of morphine. Your ribs are in bad shape, and I suspect serious internal injuries, Aiden. I have to get you to a facility able to take care of you.” She moved away, leaving me bereft.

  I heard the soft moan as she stood, and watched her wobble around the cabin. Bringing the walking stick, and much moaning, groaning and cursing later, I was able to go outside and take care of some needs. Inside, she had me on the bunk, a glass of water, a tin of peaches, and shot me up with morphine.

  The days were a blur, and a routine settled over the cabin. Neither of us were able to drive or change the tire. She’d fixed the front door, and I marveled at her ability to work by sheer will.

  On day five, she made me get out of the bunk.

  “Let’s go. We’re heading to the hospital. Things aren’t looking good, one of your wounds took a turn for the worse, Squirrel. I don’t have the equipment, or supplies, needed. We have to.” She pulled on my arm and I stood.

  Outside, the truck was next to the porch, the tire changed, everything packed. The shattered windows were knocked out, and I could see the truck would be totaled by insurance. Wouldn’t be the first one, I thought.