Wounds

She couldn’t shut him up. Some pain went beyond the reach of medication. Migraines were like that. No amount of aspirin, vicodin, percoset or morphine would touch it. So, he’d scream himself out if he lived.

The argument was over. Buzz had walked. Bossman insisted they keep up with it. Skull had left after that. Skull came and went. Nothing new. Guise worked on the van, blacking out the wheels, adding more undercarriage light, patching holes. Bossman chain smoked.

“He’s going to die, you know,” She said.

“Not now,” he waved her off.

The Horde had slammed them around all Halloween. Dodger was shot in the stomach. Buzz was not in great shape either. Skull never got hurt. She wondered what they were going to do next. Maybe Boss was recruiting in his head. He stretched out.

“Keep him alive,” Boss said.

“Sure, I’ll call God,” She said.

“It’s important,” Boss said.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“I’m going to the police,” he said.

It made about as much sense as sewing up dudes in costumes and pumping them full of pills. The news had tons of footage to play with. The Horde obliged them with encore performances around the city. Then, they vanished before dawn. She heard wedding bells.

Sundown to sunrise took thirteen hours, an ominous number. The Horde was full of fury, fighting off bullet wounds, missing fingers and arms, fractures, shrapnel. They fought until they died and then ran off to fight some more, like living corpses, like zombies. She knew it was too late to go back out. It was too late.

Or…

She found Guise revving the engine. She got in the seat next to him.

“Do you remember the first night we met?” She asked him. His scowl turned into a soft smile.

“Best day of my life,” he said. She nodded her head to the garage door. It was her house after all.

Chapter Five | Chapter 7