Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

“Jesus Christ!”

“What?” the guard called out.

“Your pal, Butch, the very best, is on the floor unconscious. There’s water everywhere, and unless I miss my guess, his prisoners are no longer in this bus.”

“Yes!” Nick whispered.

He could see that the killer’s face was contorted with anger.

“This door is the only way out,” the guard said, “and I was out there on duty every second, just like you ordered. I swear I was. If they’re not in the bus, then they’re still somewhere in this barn.”

A determined smile crossed Nick’s face. He had enough circulating adrenaline now to hold his head up and survey his surroundings. Dark corners, tall rafters, mountains of crates and boxes would give the women ample places to hide. Despite their being trapped inside, they were smart and resourceful and had the advantage of surprise on their side, as well as the fallen guard’s gun.

You go girls , Nick was thinking. But for God’s sake be careful.

On red alert, Koller spun in a circle, his gun aiming wherever his eyes traveled. He walked backward a few feet, moving away from Nick, to scan areas of the barn that were obscured from his view by the RV.

“Do you have a flashlight in that truck?” he asked the guard.

“Um… I’m afraid it’s Butch’s truck, so I don’t know.”

“Of course… Come on now, ladies. I’ve got your friend Nick here. Do you really want to see him die?”

Koller’s voice was less commanding, Nick noticed, his confidence not as evident.

He absolutely can’t stand being at a disadvantage , Nick was thinking.

“Nobody else has to get hurt. But only if you come out from wherever you’re hiding. I’m going to get you, ladies. If I have to burn this barn to the ground, I’m going to get you.”

Nick dug his finger deep into the bullet hole in his biceps again. It was time to get active.

“Stay where you are!” he shouted. “Make him come to you. He can’t kill us. He needs-”

His words were cut short as the butt of a gun whipped against the side of his head, dazing him and knocking him over.

“I thought I said shoot him if he talks!” Koller screamed. “Disc or no disc, shoot him.”

Nick pushed himself to his feet as Koller took up a position five feet away.

“Sorry pal,” the guard said, stepping forward.

“Wait,” Koller ordered. “Ladies, you have three seconds to show yourself, or we kill him. One…”

“Don’t come out!” Nick yelled, loud enough for his voice to fill the barn.

“Two…”

“I’m sorry, buddy,” the guard said again to Nick, “but this is war.”

“Three!”

Nick clenched his jaws. There was a loud gunshot, but remarkably, no pain. Nick looked up just as the guard reeled past him and Koller and slammed into the RV, smearing a broad crimson stroke on the white wall as he slid to the ground. Another shot rang out. They were coming from somewhere among the crates to Nick’s right.

Koller whirled in the direction of the first shot and fired a rapid spray. The second shot was accompanied by a muzzle flash that both he and Nick saw. The killer needed no more. He snapped off a four-shot volley aimed precisely at the spot. Junie cried out and pitched forward, face-first, collapsing a tower of crates and boxes on top of herself.

Slowly, agonizingly, Nick pulled himself to his feet.

At that instant, there was another scream, this one from the shadows overhead.

Jillian!

Koller spun around and peered up through the gloom at the roof of the RV. He was still raising his gun when several gallons of gasoline were poured down into his face. Nick was close enough to be splashed a bit, but Koller was doused. Nick scrambled away as the killer, screaming and pawing futilely at his eyes, stumbled and fell. In the dim light, he could see Jillian, kneeling on the roof of the RV, hurl a now empty metal bucket down on the man. The bucket hit Koller squarely on the top of the head, but the pain had to be nothing compared to the agony he was already experiencing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” he was screeching, though his words were barely audible through his violent gagging. “I’LL KILL YOU.”

Koller was on his feet now, spinning wildly, coughing, and rubbing fruitlessly at his eyes. Jillian, on her feet as well atop the RV, had one more surprise in store for the monster, whose thick, black hair was matted with gasoline.

“Paul Regis or whoever you are,” she screamed, “you killed my sister. Her name was Belle Elizabeth Coates, you son of a bitch!”

Nick was backing toward where Junie lay motionless when he saw Jillian light a match and drop it into the small cardboard box she held in her other hand. The matches within the box flared, illuminating her face and the beams above her.

At that instant she released her grip and let the container drop.

Nick felt as if he were watching the fireball descend in slow motion. It landed a foot away from Koller, but that was close enough. There was a moment of silence, and then an explosion of fire that lit every corner of the expansive barn, along with a tremendous sucking sound as oxygen rushed to fuel the flames. The pungent odors of gasoline and smoke were overpowered by the stench of Koller’s burning hair and flesh, carried skyward inside a towering pillar of fire. In seconds, flame swallowed his face and his skin charred off before it could even blister.

Koller’s saturated clothes were consumed as one, incinerating the flesh beneath them, which melted in places down to the bone as the killer continued to stagger around the floor of the barn.

Nick had to shield his face and turn away from the blast of heat. From somewhere within the pillar of flame, he thought he heard Koller screaming.

Then the cylinder of fire collapsed, as the flames receded. Darkness began to recapture the recesses of the barn.

Nick raced past the smoldering mound that had so recently proclaimed itself the master of the non-kill. He moved the crates aside and gently rolled Junie to her back. He knew the moment he touched her that she was alive. The bullet had entered her left chest just above her breast. There was no exit wound that he could discern. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing, albeit shallowly. Her carotids were still reasonably strong.

Jillian, having scrambled down the ladder at the rear of the RV, had raced to Nick’s side. Blood was forming an expanding circle across Junie’s shirt.

“Pulse?” Jillian asked, taking the woman’s hand in hers.

Nick shrugged. “Not so bad, actually,” he said. He leaned over, made a tube of his hand, and used it to check each side of her chest. “She’s moving air.”

“Hey, Junie Wright, it’s Nick and Jillian. Can you hear us?”

Junie moaned, and tried to open her eyes.

“Just lie still, sweetie,” Jillian said. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“Good thing she brought her van,” Nick said.

“Good point. How about if I go and get you some equipment?”

“I know where everything is in there. You keep pressure on this wound and a couple of fingers on her carotid, and I’ll get my black bag and some stuff for an IV. We’ve got a neat little crash kit, too.”

“You going to make it? You don’t look so good.”

“I can do it.”

“Find a phone in there and call nine-one-one,” Jillian called after him. “I’ll bet the guard inside has one.”

“Got it.”

“Flashlights, too, and turn on the headlights.”

Nick passed what remained of Koller, and paused long enough by the guard to affirm that he was beyond fixing. Minutes later, he had the RV’s high beams on, and was lugging the crash kit and some other equipment over to where Junie lay.