Endurance - Jack Kilborn [105]
The door handle gave Felix some trouble. The gearshift was even harder. But he was so used to being in pain at this point that a little more didn’t matter.
He hit the accelerator and slammed the tow truck into reverse, backing over Ulysses before the giant even had a chance to turn around. Felix’s head bounced against the top of the cab as the rear tire rolled over the bastard’s body. Not willing to take any chances, Felix stomped on the clutch, shifted into first gear, and ran Ulysses over again, dragging him a dozen yards. Then he tugged on the emergency brake and got out to see the carnage.
And carnage there was. All that was left of Ulysses was a mashed leg and an impressive length of intestines, stretching out at least twenty feet.
Felix then turned his attention to the Rushmore Inn, crouching like some prehistoric monster in the forest, waiting to pounce. He half-walked/half-stumbled to the front entrance, trying to get the knob to work. The door wouldn’t budge.
But that didn’t deter Felix. He knew how to get inside.
And once inside, he was going to kill every son of a bitch he saw.
“Kelly!”
Letti’s throat was so raw from yelling that she was perilously close to losing her voice. But beyond that initial scream, she hadn’t heard anything else from her daughter.
Terrible thoughts fuelled Letti forward.
Was Kelly hurt? Dying? Dead?
Had they caught her?
What if I don’t get there in time?
What if I don’t find her at all?
“Kelly!”
Letti limped up a gradual incline. Her foot hadn’t stopped bleeding since she’d stepped on that finger bone, and the ill-fitting dead man’s shoes had scraped her heels raw. She tried to keep an eye on the ground, looking for some sort of footprints or trail, but the woods all looked the same to her. Maybe Kelly had gone this way. Maybe she was in an entirely different direction.
“Kelly!”
“Dang, yer a loud one.”
Letti jerked her head around.
Millard.
He wasn’t wearing the football helmet or padded suit anymore. Now he was dressed pure redneck, in bibs and a plaid flannel shirt. His eyes were fire engine red, and his long gray hair blew crazily around his twisted face.
“Someone wants to say howdy,” Millard said. He raised up a blood-soaked pillow case, and dumped the contents on the ground.
Oh… Jesus… no!
Florence’s head bounced in the dirt.
“Mom…” Letti whispered.
Millard raised a cattle prod. “And that ain’t nuthin’ compared to what I gonna—”
Letti pivoted her hips, whipped her leg around, and kicked the tall man in the chin. Millard staggered back, and Letti followed up with a punt between his legs that must have knocked his balls up into his skull.
She didn’t stop there. The years of martial arts training her mother had subjected her to were unleashed in an explosion of raw fury. She broke the giant’s nose. His cheek bone. His nose again. Ruptured an ear drum. Knocked out two teeth. Knocked out three more teeth. Broke his nose again. Hit his eye so hard it instantly swelled shut.
But the sick son of a bitch didn’t go down.
In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.
I’m going to beat this man to death. I’m going to keep hitting him until my hands and feet are broken. I’m going to—
Millard trapped her leg between his arm and his side on her last kick, and then pulled Letti onto her back.
She squirmed. She twisted. But this man was too big, too strong. And he was still holding the cattle prod.
He zapped her in the belly, making Letti curl up into a fetal position.
“Ain’t you a wildcat?” Millard said. He smiled, blood leaking through the gaps in his missing teeth. “Old Millard’s good at tamin’ wildcats.”
He raised the cattle prod like a club, aiming for Letti’s head. She got her arm up in time.
At first she thought the snap! she heard was the prod breaking in half.
Then the pain hit, and she realized it wasn’t the prod at all.
Letti clutched her broken arm to her chest, feeling both sick and unable to breathe.
“All this violence done got me excited,” Millard said.
He spit out some blood, tossed the cattle prod aside, and then began unbuttoning