As I fell, the two men stabbed their knives, landing both their weapons into each other’s chests.
The cannibal who had attacked me loped down to the ground, dead. Meanwhile, the panty snatcher demolished back onto the table.
I scrambled up with a whine, blood dribbling from my side and arm. I had been hit close to the main artery in my arm and so I did not pull out the dagger that was still sticking out of me. Most of the stinging pain emanated from the wound in my side, thankfully it had missed vital organs, though, it was gushing a river of blood and that was probably not a very good sign. Also, judging by the appearance of the dagger in my arm and the one on the ground that had once been in my side, I was probably about to have a nasty infection.
“Best friend?” I gripped the table, breath sawing out of me. “I need you to… to… help me.”
He did not move.
A knife stuck out of his chest, perforating a lung and his eyes widened on the ceiling as he seemingly documented over the last moments of his life.
My forehead lined. “You sacrificed yourself and saved me.”
He wheezed, choking on his own blood. “Give me your panties.”
“Best friend?”
His voice was fading into a whisper before his eyes closed. “I’m not your friend.”
I was dying.
But that was okay, because I had my cigarettes.
I realised very quickly that I was dying as I hobbled out of the warehouse, clutching my side and slipped on a puddle, finding it was my own blood.
Tommy and Fiona had fled successfully, at least that was good news. I prayed to God and Jehovah and Buddha and whoever oversaw Scientology that they made it to the suburbs on the outskirts of Tar and were able to set up a proper base.
Tommy better name his first child after me.
I groaned to open the door to leave, using what strength I had left and burst into the cool night air. Stars winked. The streets slunk with dank black. I forced my feet to move, one right after the next, arguing with myself not to faint and stay awake.
I made it back to the nice man who had given me directions last time.
He was now having sex with a new corpse over the same car, beating his pelvis into it from behind.
“Excuse me.” I waved to him, attempting to smile instead of collapsing. “Do you happen to know where the hospital is this year?”
Continuing his thrusting, he pointed north.
“Thank you, have a wonderful night.”
20
The Hopeless had a doctor. Did I say Hopeless? I meant Soulless.
The Soulless had a doctor.
One of their own.
She had been caught twelve years ago, the eldest of the Soulless and who had survived every Execution Battle since her imprisonment because she was the only Soulless who was a doctor and the Soulless wouldn’t kill the only doctor who gave them medical attention.
Her current abode was Haver prison, which meant her annual ten-day office hours were very busy as she attended to all four hundred inmates from the other two prisons during the Execution Battle, including her own inmates if they came in with injuries.
After successfully faking a connection with another Soulless she was able to get through medical school. Her face was slapped on the front page of a newspaper for completing an impossible surgery.
She also did a lot of illegal organ harvesting.
This became her downfall.
