Michael Palmer - Fatal

Thirty-eight minutes.

Calm down! he shrieked to himself. Just cool it. He stared down at the vial he had actually been about to throw away, and caught his breath.

Ketamine — 100 mg/c

Ketamine, a first cousin of PCP and nitrous oxide, was used pre-operatively to induce a state called dissociative anesthesia — dreamy helplessness. Matt had tossed it in with the other meds just in case Lewis required any kind of minor surgical procedure. From what he remembered, given intramuscularly, the drug had a very rapid onset. The usual dose was lOOmg, but of course, Larry was no usual specimen. The vial held lOccs — a total of 1,000 mg. Was a thousand enough to bring down such a beast, or was it enough to do even more than that? There was only one way to find out. Matt fished out a lOcc syringe; twisted a large-bore, inch-and-a-half-long needle onto the end; and drew up every drop in the vial. If there was any chance for the drug to work, it would have to be injected into muscle, not into fat, where the circulation was minimal and absorption would be ineffectively slow. Larry was like a planet that was covered 90 percent with fat. Matt selected the occipital muscle at the base of the skull, and mentally played through how he was going to get the needle in and the plunger depressed without getting himself killed. He checked the time again. Thirty-four minutes before Verne and Grimes would be back. The issue now was how to get Larry outside without having him on red alert with a gun in his hand.

Fire!

Verne had carelessly tossed his butt aside when the deer dashed past him. Larry's first thought upon smelling smoke now would be to blame the man he had just called a jerk. At least that was what Matt was counting on. He took a book of matches from the carryall, then reached deeper down and removed one of the two flares he carried, and a box of gauze pads to use for kindling. Next he made his way back to the woods opposite the cabin. Cautiously, with agonizing slowness, he hauled several armfuls of brush across to the corner of the porch. Pausing for a few seconds, he chanced looking through the window. Larry, a bolstered revolver tucked under his massive left arm, had settled onto a slat-backed chair at the foot of the bed. Nikki lay on her back, sleeping deeply, her right hand twitching rhythmically every few seconds.

Another time check showed nineteen minutes.

Matt chose the Viper for cover. With any luck, Larry's back would be to him when he made his move. If not, Matt had reason to believe he'd be dead before he had injected even a drop of the Ketamine. He knelt by the brush and jammed the paper-wrapped gauze pads into place. Next he lit the paper in several places and made certain it was blazing. Just in case, he inserted the flare unlit. Setting it off at this point might be too much noise.

Keeping low, the syringe tucked in his right hand, Matt raced around to the far side of the Viper, flattened out, and watched underneath the car as the brush pile began, ever so slowly, to burn.

Come on, baby. Burn, for crying out loud! Burn!

One twig caught, then another. He should have chanced the noise of packing the brush down a little, or maybe even set the flare off. The twigs were taking way too long to catch.

Fourteen minutes.

He hoped the odor and sound of the fire would be enough to get Larry outside. Failing that, plan B was simply to make some sort of nonspecific noise and hope for the best. It was a plan with little chance of success and a potentially lethal downside, but time was running out. He was preparing to make some sound when he smelled smoke. Risking a peek over the hood of the Viper, he saw that the cardboard box from the gauze pads had caught, and branches all around it were going up. There was crackling from the pile now, too.

Okay, Tubby. Wake u-p and smell the bonfire.

"What the — ?"

Larry clomped across the porch, down the single step to the fire, and began kicking at it with the toe of his shoe.

"Fucking Verne," Matt heard him say.

Holding the syringe like a dagger, with his thumb on the plunger, Matt got some purchase for his back leg against a root and sprang ahead. At that instant, the flare ignited with a burst of light and heat that sent Larry stumbling backward several steps, holding one arm up to shield his eyes. He was two or three inches taller, but Matt had his move planned. He leapt from several feet away, slamming against Larry's back and hooking his left arm around his throat. Simultaneously, he jammed the needle to the hilt at the base of the giant's skull, and an instant after that pressed down the plunger. Larry, who had staggered forward only a step from the force of Matt's assault, bellowed and swung around with the power of a steam shovel. Before the Ketamine load could be fully delivered, Matt and the syringe were sent flying.

Nostrils flared, eyes wide with surprise and fury, Larry charged. Matt rolled over once, then again, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid being kicked in the belly. The hulk was winding up again when Matt made an awkward half somersault and scrambled to his feet. Larry lunged for him, but missed short. He was fumbling for his gun when Matt took off, zigzagging down the drive in an effort to make himself less of a target. There was a shot, then another, but they sounded strangely far away. Matt kept pounding ahead, into the protection of the darkness, but he was reluctant to get too far from the cabin. He checked over his shoulder. Larry had broken off his pursuit and was standing at least fifty yards back, hollering something Matt couldn't make out, but probably could have guessed.

The stopwatch was at thirty-five minutes now. Only five minutes or so remained before Grimes was expected back.

The Harley was just a few yards away. If Larry decided to come after him again, he might not get the bike uncovered and started before he was in range. Still, it seemed worth a try. He had blown things big-time. There was little chance now to get past Goliath to Nikki. The only option that made any sense was to race into town and try to get help. But by the time he returned — if he returned — she would certainly be gone, and Grimes, Larry, and Cowboy Verne would have bullets marked for him.

What a screwup!

He threw aside enough branches to expose the ignition, then jumped aboard and burst through the brush onto the driveway, prepared to dodge gunfire. Instead, he saw Larry standing motionless right where he had been, a hot-air balloon silhouetted against the light from the cabin. Matt stopped the bike and watched as in slow motion the behemoth cross-stepped gracelessly from one side to the other, then flapped his arms in the air once and collapsed. Wary of a trap, but feeling there was room to speed past the man and around the cabin, Matt rolled up to where he lay. The whale was beached, his head lolling impotently from side to side. The snub-nosed revolver lay a few feet away. His eyes fixed on Larry, Matt bent over, picked it up, and dropped it into the carryall.

"Sweet dreams," he said, knowing that fearsome nightmares often accompanied the awakening from Ketamine sleep. Sweet dreams,

He slipped the clutch and spewed a rooster tail of dirt as he sped to the cabin. The brush was still burning. In fact, a corner of the structure was smoldering and beginning to flame. His stopwatch was passing forty-four minutes as he raced inside.

"Hey, you, time to wake up," he said, taking Nikki's hand in his and gently cradling her head.

Nikki blinked dreamily and actually smiled up at him before suddenly remembering where she was.

"Matt, it's Grimes, he — "

"I know. Listen, we've got to get out of here. Grimes'll be back any moment. Can you walk okay?"

"I'm a little wobbly and my head is still pounding, but I think I can walk."

"Hurry, then. I'll help. My bike is outside."