starting to enjoy myself again, at least until I glanced
over at Junie standing with Jackson beside the door
into the castle. Why was she there and not inside, out of
the cold? She looked sad, and the closer I looked, the
more I was convinced she was crying.
For me? Why would she be crying? Unless—'
Oh-ohl
I smelled trouble. Colossal trouble.
"Okay, that's enough of this crap," Drake shouted,
bringing me to a halt and confirming my fears. "Come
get this camera, Junie, and take it to Dr. Marshall's of¬
fice. He's expecting it."
Junie walked out to meet us, but she wouldn't look
me in the eye. I was right, she -was crying. She took the
camcorder from Drake and stood ramrod still, not sure
what to do next. Drake had the answer.
"Get out of here, Junie. You're not needed anymore."
Junie turned to go, tears flowing freely down her
cheeks now, but before she left she grabbed me and gave
me a big motherly hug. Drake got quite a kick out of this
and bent over laughing at her show of affection.
"Look,Jackson," Drake said to the guard, "Michael
has himself a girlfriend. Isn't that sweet?"
I might have told Drake to go stuff himself but I was
too busy listening to Junie. Under cover of Drake's
laughter, she put her mouth to my ear and quietly whis¬
pered two words.
She said, "Left pocket."
That was it, and Drake was dragging her off m e ,
pointing her in the direction of the door. She looked
back over her shoulder and I gave her the tiniest nod,
letting her know I understood. Then she was gone,
leaving me out in the cold with Drake and Jackson. I
knew what was coming before it was even said. I was
dumb but sure wasn't stupid. Game, set, and match. Dr.
Marshall was finally finished playing with m e .
"It's over, Mike," Drake said. "You're of no use to us
anymore. Dr. Marshall has done all he can with you,
and now that we have the photo and video evidence to
show how successful your transplants have been, the
time has come for us to part ways."
"You're letting me go?" Tasked. I knew it wasn't hap¬
pening but what else could I say?
Drake j u s t smiled.
"No, Mike. I think you're smarter than that so I'll
j u s t give it to you straight. Jackson is going to take you
for a walk in the woods. We have a small cemetery in
there, an unofficial one, naturally, that we used before
the incinerator was installed. We could burn you, sure,
but I kinda like the idea of the w o r m s and maggots get¬
ting a hold of you. Cremation seems too good for a
skinny little troublemaking prick like you."
I didn't say anything for a minute—partly because I
didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but mostly be¬
cause I was scared. I don't care what you see in the
movies, no one is brave enough to j o k e around and be
callous in the face of death. No one I knew, anyway.
Certainly not me. I did get one crack in, though, and it
made me feel better.
"Don't have the balls to do it yourself, h u h ? "
Drake laughed at that too. He was enjoying himself a
lot today. Bastard. "Whatever you say, Mike. I'll admit
I've enjoyed having you around. You've been a good
laugh and a refreshing change from most of the doc¬
tor's patients, but you've also been a royal pain in the
ass. W h e n it comes right down to it, my friend, you're
j u s t not worth my time. Face i t . . . you're a b u m , Mike.
A good-for-nothing, expendable bum."
I wanted to tell him what I thought of him, tell him
how he was a psycho pervert steroid monkey or some¬
thing equally colorful, but no words came out. Silence.
My mouth was dry and my tongue felt swollen to three
times its normal size—the bitter bile-flavored taste of
fear nearly gagging me as I looked into his big stupid
grinning face.
Say something!
I hesitated too long and the m o m e n t passed.
"Get this piece of shit out of my sight, Jackson."
Drake said, t u r n i n g away, dismissing me as if I'd never
existed. That was how much my life was worth: noth¬
ing. N o t even a glance back.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - T H R E E
After Drake disappeared into the building, Jackson
poked me violently in the ribs twice with the barrel of a
shiny silver gun. The first was to get my attention but
I'm sure the next was to make it crystal clear that this
was his show now. "You heard the man," he said, his
voice gruff and scratchy like steel wool, filled with
self-importance. "Get your ass movin' or I can make
this rough on you."
Rough on me? He was going to put a bullet in my
head; how could it get any rougher? Another j a b from
the gun stung my ribs like a hornet and gave me a clue.
"Hold on a sec," I tried. "You can't do this, man. It's
crazy! Drake's asking you to commit—"
W i t h o u t warning, Jackson sucker punched me in the
mouth, snapping my head back painfully and shutting
me up in a hurry. I dropped, to my knees but Jackson
dragged me to my feet a moment later, shoving me for¬
ward. "Head for the woods and keep your fuckin' mouth
shut. W h i n i n g all day won't do you any good, so save
it. Go."
I went.
I'd seen Jackson around for months now but I'd never
really talked to him or had any dealings with him other
than to have him stand guard outside my room, or fol¬
low me around the gymnasium during my rehab. Sure,
I recognized him—tall and muscular with dark curly
hair, one of those bodybuilder types that seemed to
have no neck—but knowing who someone was wasn't
the same as knowing him. 'Course, I didn't really need
to know him to understand he was a bastard chiseled
from the same tree as his boss. Drake and Jackson were
like two moldy peas in the same rotten pod. Bottom
line: there was no way I was going to talk my way out of
this. Someone was going to die at the end of this little
stroll and if I didn't want that person to be me, I had to
stop pissing off the guard and come up with a plan.
I put my hand into my left jacket pocket, slowly, ca¬
sually, so Jackson would think I was j u s t trying to stay
warm. I'd wanted to do this since the moment Junie
whispered in my ear, but two things had held me back.
I didn't want to go frantically digging in my pocket and
have Jackson realize I had something hidden in there.
He'd j u s t take it away from me and then where would I
be? The other reason I'd been delaying this was
simpler—I was afraid to find out what was inside. I was
walking toward my death h e r e , and so far I'd managed
to keep my cool solely braced with the knowledge I had
something in my pocket that would ultimately save me.
In my wildest racing thoughts, I was picturing a
short-barreled gun with a full clip of hollow-point bul¬
lets ready to fly. Already, I was visualizing pulling it out,
spinning around lightning fast and blasting Jackson
four or five times, rapid-fire, like Clint Eastwood in his
Dirty Harry days. The trouble was, I wasn't sure it was
a gun, wasn't even sure it was a weapon in my pocket.
Junie might have stuck a bottle of aspirin, or a pack of
mint chewing gum in there—it could be anything—but
she'd never said it was a weapon. N o , but that was what
my desperation-fueled brain sure was hoping for.
So with those conflicting thoughts bouncing around
my brain, I reached into the left pocket and my hand
closed around—
I had no idea what it was. Certainly not a gun, that
was for sure. My heart felt like it stopped beating for
several seconds, my blood running cold within my veins
as my fingers numbly explored the contours of the item
in my pocket.
What the hell is it?
It felt like a rectangular piece of plastic or wood,
maybe five inches long, the corners rounded a little bit.
It had a familiar feel, but what was it? I almost broke
into a run then, almost bolted for the trees, panic higher
on my list of priorities than common sense. I probably
would have—definitely would have—risking the inevi¬
table bullet in my back had it not been for the hard little
button I found on the object with my t h u m b . I calmed
down a bit, realizing what it was Junie had given me.
A knife.
N o t j u s t any knife—a switchblade—the little button
under my t h u m b the trigger that would activate the
hidden blade. In my relief I nearly pushed the hutton,
which would have buggered everything up nicely. Just
to make sure I didn't accidentally do it, I took my hand
back out of my pocket and tried to think of some way I
could get the j u m p on my would-be executioner and
use the knife with enough force and accuracy to disable
Jackson before he could use his gun. No matter how
many scenarios I flashed through, all of them ended
with me getting my brains blown out. After all, I had to
turn around, pull out the knife, push the trigger, lunge
in real close, and try killing Jackson with one stab of
the blade. All he had to do was shoot me the second he
detected any funny business. I'd probably get turned
around okay, but the second Jackson saw me pull the
knife he'd fire without thinking twice. There was no
way I would get close enough to take him out, but even
with the odds heavily stacked against me, I had to at
least try.
We were approaching the edge of the forest and
Jackson grunted and used his gun to prod me toward a
narrow path that led into the trees. The path presum¬
ably would lead us to the makeshift graveyard Drake
mentioned, but I could see along the path for quite a
ways and there was no sign of anything except a hard
dirt trail half-covered in fallen leaves. That was good;
at least I had a little time on my hands to figure out
what I was going to do. I took a few deep breaths and
tried my best to calm down.
We walked on. One curve of the trail led to the next,
taking us deeper and deeper into the forest but never
leading to a graveyard. It was quiet in here, creepy quiet,
not peaceful quiet, as if the trees and animals all held
their breaths as Jackson and I walked by. Maybe the
forest knew death walked hand in hand with us, the
Reaper still deciding which of us to claim.
Think, Mike. Think.
"Move it, jerk-off," Jackson said, prodding me with
his gun again because I was moving too slow.
Maybe that was it. If I couldn't close the gap between
us without getting shot, maybe I could get him to do it
for me. Every time I slowed down a little, Jackson would
smack me with the gun to get me moving again. I ex¬
perimented with it, slightly slowing up my pace. Sure
e n o u g h , A , Jackson dug me in my kidneys and swore at
me to move my ass. If I could time it j u s t right, be wait¬
ing for him to move close so he could hit m e , I might be
able to spin around, deflect his gun away, and drive my
knife home.
It wasn't aperfect plan, and it probably wouldn't work
but I had to admit it wasn't a bad plan either; the best I
was going to get, anyway.
Do it then. Don't wait.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making me
primed and ready to make my stand, but I'd always
been a bit of a coward and fear made me hold off. I wasn't
ready to die yet. Maybe a better chance would present
itself around the next corner.
Dammit Mike! Do it now before it's—
"That's for enough, scumbag," Jackson said.
"What?" I stupidly asked. I looked around for signs
of a graveyard but there was n o t h i n g in sight. The path
looked the same as it always had, maybe even a bit nar¬
rower than a lot of the trail. "But what about the grave¬
yard? Drake said there was a—"
"Forget the graveyard, Mike. This is far enough. I'm
tired of walking and I'll be damned if I'm gonna freeze
my ass off out here digging a hole for a freak like you."
I turned to face Jackson, scared and frustrated I'd
wasted my best chance to win this fight, but there was
also a part of me getting pissed off. W h o did these
people think they were?
"So, you're going to plug me and then what, j u s t
leave me here to r o t ? "
Jackson smiled, raised his gun to point it at the cen¬
ter of my chest, and said, "Yeah, that sounds about
right. Any famous last words?"
This was really going to happen. Jackson was going
to shoot me dead, his finger already tightening on the
trigger. The time for delaying was over. One in a mil¬
lion chance or not, I had to act, and I had to act now, go
for the knife and to hell with the consequences. I was a
dead man whether I moved or not.
"No last words, Jackson " I said. "I'd like to show you
something cool, though "
Even while I was saying it, I knew it was a pretty
lame plan, but I reached for the knife anyway. Jackson
was standing at least ten feet from me so how was I
supposed to close the gap without getting shot? Maybe
I could throw the knife? Maybe I could—
Holy shit!
I saw her before Jackson did, and it shocked the hell
out of me. If n o t h i n g else, my bumbling plan to draw
out my switchblade had distracted Jackson enough that
he was looking down at my hand to see what I was pull¬
ing from my pocket. He never registered the presence
of a third person in the forest until it was too late.
Junie!
W h e r e she came from or how she snuck up on both
of us so quietly I'll never know, but when she attacked
she attacked hard. I thought she was carrying a baseball
bat but it was only a broken tree branch. By the time
Jackson realized what was going on, Junie was already
swinging. She was a small woman, but she walloped
Jackson so hard across the chest and neck he flew eight
feet backward, smashing against the trunk of a nearby
tree and slumping to the ground with a groan. Junie
moved in for another swing and I shook off my disbe¬
lief she was here rescuing me long enough to pull.out
my knife, trigger the spring that released the shiny
steel blade out to its full-length, and go help her.
Jackson was down and probably broken up inside, but
he was far from out. Junie raised the branch above her
head to strike again, but Jackson shot her point blank in
the belly, a red exit wound the size of a silver dollar
spraying out above her right kidney. The sound of the
shot was deafening, a thunderclap close enough to nearly
knock me off my feet. I didn't fall, though, didn't panic;
I kept running, closing the gap.
Junie fell off to Jackson's right; screaming only once
before hitting the ground. Jackson was watching her
fall, enjoying the moment from the look on his face,
but that look changed in a hurry when he saw me launch
into the air, diving on top of him. He tried to swing his
gun up to shoot m e , too, but I was faster than him, my
reflexes acting in survival mode now. I landed on him
full force, using my entire weight to drive home the
blade to the left of Jackson's sternum. He screamed but
the force of my body had driven the air from his lungs
and what came out sounded more like a car tire going
flat than a cry of pain. There was surprisingly little
blood but I knew I'd done some big-time damage. I was
no fool, though. I'd seen enough cheesy horror movies
to know that once you get someone down, you never
give them the chance to get back up. So I drove the
blade back into Jackson's chest a second time, and a
third, and a tenth. I don't know for sure how many
times I stabbed the guard or at what point he was dead,
but by the time I rolled off him his chest was destroyed
and there was no worry of a B movie sneak attack once
my back was turned.
Junie!
I had to help her.
Please let her be all right, I prayed, but in my heart I
knew that wasn't going to be the case. She hadn't moved
from where I'd seen her fall. I dropped to the ground,
scooping Junie into my arms and used my hand to help
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