CHAPTER 35
Dmitri parked the bike in the backyard.
“Okay, baby, we're safe now,” he whispered into Sonya's ear, nudging her to get up from the seat.
Sonya had been conscious enough to hold her own head up, leaning back against Dmitri's shoulder as they rode. But her eyes had been closed the whole way, and now that she opened them, she blinked long and hard several times, with a look of confusion, like a little kid waking up at the end of a long drive.
"Where are we? Where did you come from? How did you know where I was?" Sonya asked in a bewildered voice.
"We'll talk about that later. Let's get inside first," Dmitri responded, as he lifted Sonya over his shoulder with one arm, while wincing with pain and letting out a low grunt.
"Are you okay?" Sonya said.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
The back door had been broken into. But Dmitri could tell it was an amateur job, maybe some neighborhood kids breaking in to drink beer and smoke weed out of view of the authorities, or for the hell of it. It could've happened years ago.
He pushed the door open with his foot and carried Sonya inside, walking past one bedroom, which was mostly unfurnished, to another, which had two twin mattresses. There he lay Sonya down on the first bed and pulled a blanket over her.
"Hold me," she said softly, motioning for Dmitri to get into bed with her.
"Not now."
Sonya started to protest, but she didn't have the energy to say more. She was fast asleep within seconds. Dmitri stood over the bed, looking down at her with adoration.
Now that he could relax, for a moment, he felt the exhaustion that had been building up in him like a wave before it breaks onto the shore. But he couldn't sleep yet. He had to fix something. It wasn't only fatigue he felt, but pain.
Dmitri walked into the kitchen, got a steak knife from a drawer, and went into the little bathroom. The mirror behind the sink only reached up to his chin. But that was okay, he wasn't worried about his face.
He couldn't lift his left arm anymore, not without the adrenaline and endorphins of combat to numb the pain, if only a little. So he poked the tip of the knife through the front of his shirt and ripped through the fabric, tearing it off with his right hand until the shreds fell to the floor.
Dmitri caught a bullet in the shoulder during the shootout in the hallway. If Sonya had been more aware of what was going on, she would have noticed his blood was mixing with al Hamar's, which had splashed onto his shirt and arms as he gutted the sheikh.
Dmitri had stuffed his ski mask inside the sleeve of his tight shirt to staunch the blood flow, but it didn't help much. Blood had been pouring down his side for an hour now. Maybe longer. He'd lost track of time.
There was no electricity in the house. The electric company had shut off the power years before. So Dmitri could only see with the sunlight coming through a small window above the shower. The wound looked bad.
He'd been injured before. Stabbings, bludgeonings, a few shotgun pellets in the thigh. But nothing ever hurt like this. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. And the pain radiated down his arm and chest.
He touched the back of his shoulder. Just as he thought, no exit wound. The bullet was still inside of him. It hit mostly muscle, luckily, but also grazed the bottom of his collar bone, sending the lead ricocheting throughout his shoulder.
Dmitri knew he had to get it out.
You can't have a bullet sitting around in your body, right? Maybe it would be better to leave it alone. But I have to do something, he thought, his mind in a daze.
He was almost delirious now. He took the steak knife and held it under the faucet. No water. The water had been shut off, too.
He found a pair of pliers in the kitchen and went outside. He knew a little trick. After lifting the heavy iron lid off of the water meter in the sidewalk, he reached inside and unscrewed the valve the water department uses to shut off water.
Some people pay for water. Losers.
He was too weak to grin, too dizzy to chuckle.
Back in the bathroom, he ran the knife under the cold water of the tap, smeared some soap on it too. Not much of a sterilization technique, but with no electricity for the water heater or stove, it would have to do.
The entrance wound was small, as they often are. The heat of the bullet had burned the skin and outer muscle, helping slow down the blood loss just enough to keep him alive this long. But that only made what he was about to do even harder.
Dmitri placed the tip of the knife at the opening of the wound and pressed inward. One inch. His stomach did a somersault, and he took a deep breath to keep from vomiting. He pressed again. Two inches now.
Maybe this is what it feels like for a virgin.
He managed to grin, or grimace, at his joke this time. Maybe the endorphins of laughter helped a bit with the pain. He wiggled the knife, and it tapped a chunk of lead. Pure agony shot to Dmitri's fingertips and down his spine like he'd just stuck the knife in an electrical outlet.
How the hell can I even get the bullet out with a damn knife?
He couldn't think straight. He'd lost too much blood and had been awake for as long as he could remember.
Dmitri wiggled the knife again. Pain exploded through his body like lightning. He collapsed to the floor, crashing into the toilet along the way.
Now the gunshot wound was bleeding faster than ever, and his head was bleeding too. He had no chance to live.
Unless somebody helped him.