19. Ember #2
I’ve crash-landed on my knees next to Hyland before I can process what’s happening. He’s collapsed on his side, unresponsive and quickly paling. Blood pours from a deep gash in the back of his head, turning his dirty-blonde hair crimson red.
“Hey, big man.” I cup his gravel-scraped cheeks. “Wake up. Open your eyes.”
He doesn’t respond to my shaking. A petrified sob tears at my chest as I shrug off my workout jacket to quickly ball up then press to the back of his head. Hot, slippery blood covers my hands, adding to the pool all around us.
“Hyland,” I whimper, applying as much pressure as I can.
With no signs of life, I’m forced to fumble at his neck, searching for a pulse. The low, thready beat grants me some relief. It’s short-lived as I search for the phone in his pocket, quickly dialling emergency services.
My voice doesn’t sound like my own while I rattle off a frantic plea for an ambulance. The call handler’s questions hardly compute. All I can see is Hyland’s slack face, lips turning bluer while blood quickly soaks through my jacket.
“Please hurry,” I cry uncontrollably.
“Is there anyone around, ma’am? Are you alone?”
“I can’t s?—”
The phone flies from my hand, cutting off my reply. A heavy blow strikes the side of my head, knocking me off-kilter. I’m shoved away from Hyland’s body and grabbed hard, tossed several metres to the side.
Fresh pain ignites with the force of smacking into the ground. A still-purple face looms over me, one hand clutching his throat, the other forming a bloody fist. Mr Friendly is back with us.
“Last chance to surrender.” He coughs in pain.
“No! You did this!” I screech at him.
“You’re the one with the bounty on their head, bitch.”
The punch sails towards me, attempting to make impact. I throw myself flat against the road then roll, catching the asshole’s ankles. He yelps and topples, landing hard on his backside beside me.
Clambering onto my knees, I levy the first blow. It’s a decent punch across the face, rendering my attacker momentarily stupefied. Blood drips from his nostrils, one eye rapidly swelling.
When he moves to strike me back, I’m too slow to react. The slap creates a fiery lash down the left side of my face, wrenching my neck. Thankfully, I’m long past caring and don’t hesitate to launch a fresh assault.
He topples backwards, taking the brunt of my weight. We’re propelled onto the ground together, fists trading strikes, spit and blood catapulting from our raging bodies. Indignation and terror fuel my bloodthirsty rage.
“The only bounty you’ll be getting is a one-way ticket to oblivion,” I hiss between punches.
He visibly seethes, his forehead surging into mine, smacking our skulls together. Dizzy stars explode over my vision, sending me toppling backwards once more. My skull feels like the bone is being chipped away by a drill.
“I don’t think so, 768. You’re as feisty as they say, but I need that money.”
Metal glints in his hand, prompting a sizzle of terror to sharpen my focus. My attacker struggles to rise long enough to wield the knife he’s pulled. I try to haul myself upright, folding inwards. Witnessing my struggle only widens his unhinged grin.
“You can’t kill me. Gael won’t pay.”
“He’ll still pay for your butchered corpse.” Crimson trails spill from his mouth. “That’s good enough for me.”
A search around reveals no weapons. Hyland’s body is too far out of reach, his gun lost in the melee. I’ve got nothing on me, not even a switchblade. And there’s a fucking knife pointed towards me.
“Gael wants me alive,” I pant frantically.
“Too bad. You should’ve come easily.”
“Just stop! Think!”
My feet scratch against the ground, failing to push me far enough backwards. Mr Friendly grabs hold of my ankles and yanks, moving to sit on my legs so I’m pinned. His blade is thick, at least two inches long and glinting with lethal threat.
The smoke-laced world narrows to that steel implement. Its proximity to carving my chest wide open. The way my attacker’s leer borders on psychotic. If I can get close enough to claw his eyes without taking a hit, then I’ll fight to the death.
When the blade curves through the air in preparation to land a fatal strike, a million moments flash before my eyes. Every time I faced mortality head-on in a filthy fighting ring. The times I wished it would be my end.
But I don’t want to die now.
I writhe and scratch, attempting to wrangle the knife from his hands, earning myself another blinding punch to the cheek. Cold gravel cuts into my back where I land spreadeagled, drained and defenceless.
Encroaching sirens clamour.
Glass shatters and explodes.
Smoke pours, thick and heady.
Fatigue sets in fast, slowing my efforts to escape. With the blade slamming down, I scream through the final few inches it has to travel into my body. Only the glinting metal never quite makes it.
BANG.
My attacker freezes, spasming on top of me as globules of red blood spurt from a jagged, smoking hole that appears in his shoulder. The sticky liquid hits my face then spreads in a fine mist.
BANG. BANG.
More scarlet balloons spill from multiple gunshot wounds, tearing through his chest and stomach. The knife slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground beside me. His eyes blow wide, more blood spilling past parted lips.
BANG.
When the bullet tears through his skull, the dead weight of his lifeless body traps me on the ground. I’m covered in warm moisture, compressed beneath his still twitching corpse. Not even the blustering sirens can match my shouts.
“Help! Please!”
Powerful, authoritative footsteps. Crunching glass. A huff strained by exertion. The body on top of me is heaved to the side and dumped like trash, giving me a perfect view of two glassy, empty eyes that were so certain I’d be beaten.
Looming over me, it takes a second for my saviour’s appearance to register. His vibrant, purple faux hawk. Fury rioting in honey-dipped eyes. Bee-stung lips and a perfectly boyish baby face.
“Ax,” I sob.
He flinches, glancing away from me without a word.
“Oh, A-Axel… Thank God.”
“Stop calling me that.”
A cold chill flushes over me. “Ax…?”
His rasping voice is so unlike the playful baritone I love. “It’s not my name.”
“Who… Who are you?”
The man’s shoulders sinking with some unidentifiable emotion is the last thing I see before he braces over me. A fist quickly lashes out in my direction. It connects with my solar plexus, then in a fateful instant, unconsciousness takes hold.