Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [114]
He pauses. “That’s step one.”
“And that computer holds the scientific keys to writing over their fading memories?”
He looks at the laptop like an evil genius in a Bond flick might stare at his lap cat. I am closer to the fire extinguisher.
“Did it occur to you that Adrianna could’ve sabotaged her own data?”
He seems sufficiently preoccupied that I’ve got two or three seconds to act before he can react and blow my face off. I yank the fire extinguisher off the wall.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I pull the pin. I hold back the extinguisher’s trigger. I start to wildly spray white goo toward foe and laptop.
Through the miasma, I see Chuck grab his gun and step out of the way of the cascade. The extinguisher starts to sputter out. Chuck shakes his head angrily. He walks to the radio.
“Wait! Please,” I yell as loudly as I can, hoping to stop him and get the attention of a passerby.
He pauses.
“I’m going to be a father.”
“You should have thought about that earlier.”
He turns on the stereo. John Cougar Mellencamp fills the cabin. He jacks up the volume.
“I need a lover who won’t drive me crazy. . . .”
He takes two steps forward. He raises the gun. I inch into the corner, trying to hide behind the table. His face contorts in rage and he starts rushing towards me, quickly, cutting off my angles. Then he slips. His right foot hits a patch of extinguisher goo and slides right out from under him. And the rest of him follows.
He goes down hard. He drops the gun as he uses his arm to brace himself for the fall. In that respect, he succeeds. He gets his right arm underneath him. But that’s not what he should have been worrying about. The compartment is so small that he has underestimated, or probably not had time to estimate at all, the danger to his head.
As he goes down, his skull cracks against a ledge near the cabin door. He hits the ground, stunned.
Fighting intense pain, I hop forward on my left leg. I’m still holding the extinguisher. I’m thinking about something my grandmother once told me about karate. “Don’t ever fight,” she said. “If you do, go for the windpipe.”
I raise the fire extinguisher over my head. Groggily, Chuck looks up at me. He naturally covers his face. I bring the extinguisher down on his neck. He goes limp.
Unconscious, dead, I have no idea. I don’t care which. It doesn’t matter. He’s limp and my unborn critter is going to have a father.
I drop to my knees next to Chuck. I reach for the gun. Whatever Chuck’s status, I can protect myself.
Then the cabin door opens.
In front of me stands the hooded man, now dressed all in black. Evidently, Chuck faked his death. He’s got a gun too. He’s pointing it at my head.
“You play video games?” he asks.
“What?”
“At the end of the video game, you have to play the biggest, baddest enemy of them all. It’s called the Boss. Technically, Chuck gave the orders. I was just the muscle, but I’m really strong muscle. I’m the guy at the end of the video game that you keep trying in vain to kill.”
Chapter 63
I dangle the gun in my right hand. It is not pointed at the Boss character. And his slick black handgun is pointed at me.
In that respect, I am at a total disadvantage.
But my gun is pointed at the propane tank.
I think about Polly and Grandma, Bullseye and the Witch. I think about how the Boss may not let them survive either.