“No—” Mack sucks in a wheezing breath. “You have to die!”
Just as my fist is about to connect again, he throws himself to the side.
Shit.
If this were a normal fight, it would be long over. But in the near-pitch black, with my opponent armed with a gun and a syringe that’s possibly filled with a deadly poison, and me with only one hand to hit him with, things are more complicated.
Should I have told Bea to go for the flashlight instead?
Then a soft, telltale click reminds me I made the right decision.
“I’ll shoot!” Mack bleats. “I won’t miss from this close! And then I’ll find that bitch! And I’ll make her watch while you die!”
Rage heats to a white-hot fury.
“Don’t call her that,” I hiss. “And the only person dying today isyou.”
“I’ll shoot?—”
“And bring everything else down with it?”
Mack hesitates. “It won’t.”
It’s petulant. Almost childish. “They haven’t come down yet,” he says, more to himself than me. “They’ll be fine.”
I know he’s within arm’s reach. I can smell his stinking breath—old coffee and garlic and peanut butter. I canfeelhis presence, a skill picked up through years of practice.
But I don’t want him firing the gun. Not just because the sound could bring down the tunnels, contrary to what Mack’s trying to convince himself. But because there’s a chance he could hit me. It’s slim, but possible. And if he does, if I’m injured, where does that leave Bea?
I would give my life for hers in a second. But if I’m on the ground, bleeding out, dying, and Mack’s still alive, searching for her…
I need to be alive to save her.
Which means I can’t let him fire the gun.
“You don’t know that,” I say. “I read something online about two kids who thought it would be fun to do some target practice in one of these old mines. The second shot brought everything down on them. Their bodies still haven’t been retrieved.”
Lie. I’ve never heard of any such thing.
“You’re lying,” Mack replies weakly. “That’s not true.”
“Are yousureI’m lying?” I ask. “Do you want to risk your life on it? I don’t think you want to die down here. Do you?”
He goes quiet.
Then in that same odd tone he had when he talked aboutMother, he says, “I’m not going to die. You are. You and that bitch.”
He moves again, stones and dirt rustling around him. “This is how it’s supposed to be. You and the bitch watching each other die down here. I’ll shoot you, and while you’re bleeding out, I’ll make her watch. Then she’ll be alone. Until she finally dies, too.”
“You’re not going to touch her. Ever again.”
“Yes. I will. I’ll hit her. Hurt her. Punish her like she deserves.”
Instinct demands I charge at him. Pummel him into unconsciousness. Leave him here to die, just as he wants to do to us.
But the gun.
“You’re a coward,” I say. As I talk, I shift to the side, taking slow, careful steps so he can’t hear me moving. “A damn coward. Hurting innocent women. Making your brother do your dirty work and leaving him to take all the blame.”
