The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [56]
“You won’t pull the trigger.”
I stay silent. He smiles wider and starts walking, slow little steps in my direction. I shake my head.
“You’d better stop.”
He does. But he laughs too. “Or what, little boy?” He does a little dance step in place. “You know,” he says, “I’m going to kill you.” He reaches slowly inside his vest and draws out a knife. It’s big, and serrated. “I’m going to kill you quick, because you bore me. But then I’m going to go get your girl.” He nods in Lara’s direction. “I’m going to do things to her, and then I’m going to kill her too. Only slow.” He runs his finger along the edge of the knife, hard enough to cut his own flesh. Blood springs from his finger. Then he starts his tiny steps again, moving toward me.
“I’ll fucking kill you.” I hold my gun straight out, aiming right for his head. I mean it, and I realize that my life is about to change. I’m going to kill a man.
“No, you won’t, little boy.” He whispers the words, and then he smiles. He licks the blood from his finger.
Then his head explodes.
Chapter 31
The guy sinks down to the ground, blood covering his face. Behind him, Lara stands shaking, holding her gun. I run to her.
“I couldn’t find it—the gun. They took it from me. But it was in the front seat.” She sounds strange, her voice monotone.
“Are you okay?”
“He told me all the things he was going to do to me. He kept saying all the things . . . he was going to do.”
“He’s not going to hurt you.” I ease the gun from her hand and pocket it. I put my arm around her. For a minute I just hold her. I feel her breathing, and I thank whatever power might exist that she is still alive. Her head is buried in my chest, and she clings to me, holding me as tight as I hold her. We sway a little, standing there by the side of the road, almost like we’re slow-dancing, next to a dead man.
I hear something, and I look past Lara’s hair. The guy I punched is getting up, eyes glittering in the dim light, a knife in his hand. He rises slowly, like a panther, and starts toward us, making a low growling sound in his throat as he comes. I raise my gun with my other arm still wrapped around Lara, and I whisper to her. “I’m going to shoot the gun now.” And then I do, sending a bullet into his skull.
I hold Lara a minute more, and then I step back and look down at her.
“You okay to ride?”
She nods.
“Let’s go, then.” We walk to the bike, and Lara starts to cry.
“Where’s Tank?” Her voice breaks. I don’t know how to tell her I had to leave him. I don’t know how to say we can go back looking for him. What’s happened has made it crystal clear to me that we need to get our asses to Detroit as quickly as we can, and hunting the freeway for Tank isn’t an option.
“I didn’t have time to—”
“We’re going back.” Lara is not asking.
“We don’t have time to mess around, Lara.”
“Stopping for somebody you love isn’t messing around, Nick.” Lara’s jaw is set. She’s not kidding. “We’re going back.”
Thankfully, we don’t have to finish this argument. Because just like out of some Disney movie, a shape appears on the road, a hundred fifty yards away. Lara and I see it at the same time, and once we figure it out, we’re both crying. Because it’s Tank, running his heart out, running to catch up to us. He closes the distance, and when he sees us we can hear him whining as he runs, a strange, heartbreaking sound filled with worry and joy.