Asa

 

I'd lost a lot of blood already, I could tell – my reflexes were slower, my muscles felt like sandbags. I'd taken my belt off, used it as a tourniquet on my leg, then pulled off a strip of cloth from my shirt and bandaged my arm, but I was still losing too much blood from the wound on my side.

 

With Anderson's pistol in hand, I headed down the hall after them. Lauren's cries for help had ended, but I could still hear her speaking loudly to her daddy. I hoped she was somehow convincing him to turn over the detonator, or better yet, magically convincing him to lay down his weapons and let us kill him. That was crazy talk, though. I knew there was no way he was going to do that. This wasn't going to end without more blood being spilled.

 

I hobbled through the tunnels, stopping at each branching intersection to listen for voices. I followed them for a while, their voices clear as day as they yelled back and forth. Soon, though, they seemed to quiet, like they were having a conversation I could only distantly hear. Then, the voices stopped altogether.

 

They had to be close. These underground passages couldn't go on forever. Up ahead, there was a bend in the tunnel. My boots scuffed as I walked up to the wall, my whole body tense and aching as I put my back against the concrete wall. Ragged breath after ragged breath came from my body as I fought to keep myself calm. He had Lauren. He had the bomb detonator still. I held the gun down low in front of me, my sweaty palms wrapped tight around the grip. I took a deep breath, raised my pistol, turned the corner.

 

Dalton Saylor lunged at me as soon as I cut around the turn, his bloody knife cutting the air in front of my face. My eyes went wide as I jerked back, bringing the barrel of the gun up to deflect his slash and turn the edge away. The blade scraped down the barrel, cut across the back of my fingers. He cackled as the gun dropped from my hand and clattered on the concrete.

 

The bastard had been waiting for me. I gripped my hand tightly, blood welling up between my fingers, as pain flashed through my mind. I sprang back and away from him, trying to keep as much distance as possible between us. Saylor waved the knife at me, keeping the tip pointed at my chest. In his other hand he still clutched the detonator. “You ain't gonna take my women folk, you piece of shit,” he slurred, that parody of a grin still on his face. “You ain't gonna get me, neither.”

 

I had to think fast. The pistol lay on the ground between us. If I went for it, I'd have to step within reach of his blade. He'd be able to get me with his knife, no problem. The only thing I could think about was the fact I didn't see Lauren. Had he done something with her? No, if he'd hurt her in the tunnel, I would have her screams, at least seen the blood on my way here. Had she somehow gotten away from him, then?

 

He made another lunge at me, the knife swiping low, across my belly. I jumped back and sucked in my bulk as much as I could, the tip of the blade barely slashing open me shirt as it dragged across. Too close – I was getting sloppy, and my wounds were taking their toll. The old man was fast, way faster than he should have been. No, playing a defensive game with him wasn't going to work. The longer this lasted, the more blood I lost. And fighting with Dalton was just going to make it worse. I needed to go on the attack, something he wouldn't expect, and get the knife and detonator from him.

 

He lunged again, cackling as he stabbed at me. I stepped out of the way, the blade whizzing past my side, as I went for him again. He cut back with the blade, barely missing my neck by a razor margin, and tried to attack a third time. I fell back as he cut again and again. My reflexes were slowing from the blood loss, and I knew it.

 

Suddenly he stabbed for my chest. I dodged to the side, but had to bring up my arm to block it from skewering me outright, and cried out as I took another jagged cut. I shook my head, the world seeming to move in slow motion, my stomach churning and nauseous.

 

“Just a matter of time, son,” Dalton Saylor growled. “Before long, there's gonna be more blood outside than in, and you ain't gonna be no one's problem ever again.”

 

He was right. I might not be able to take him, but maybe I could protect Lauren, make sure she could get away. I shook my head again and, before I could change my mind, I rushed him. He fell back, surprised at my sudden attack. He tried to get at me with the knife, but I caught him by the wrist and kept the blade under my control, forcing him back against the wall as I grappled for the detonator.

 

He growled in my face, his breath full of the smell of cigar smoke and rot as we struggled against the side of concrete passage. I slammed his hand that held the detonator backing into the wall, knocking the device free from his grip. It fell to the ground, bouncing away from both of us. He ignored the dropped detonator, instead bracing his knife hand and bringing it down at me again as he kicked at my knees, trying to break my stance. The old man knew his stuff – if I had tried to go up against him man-on-man back when he was younger I wouldn’t have stood a chance. I blocked his kick as best I could, protecting myself at the expense of my balance.

 

He was on top of me in an instant, forcing me back onto the ground with him on top, forcing the knife down to my throat, his teeth bared like a wild animal as the tip of the blade inched closer and closer with every moment. My muscles quivered and shook as I struggled and strained against him, desperately trying to the tip of the knife from my throat. I wasn't going to hold out, and I knew it. The blade inched lower, slowly moving to me. He grinned, knowing it would be just a matter of time.

 

My muscles were so fatigued. I was losing, and in my mind, I silently apologized to Richie – the thought of my best friend dying at the hands of this creep suddenly fired me up. “No!” I growled. “This is for Richie!”

 

“And this is for mom!” Lauren screamed from the darkness as a lead pipe came down out of nowhere, cracking him hard across the shoulders and the back of his neck. He shrank beneath the blow, roaring in pain and anger, but still the knife came at me. She hit him again and again, each time rearing back farther than before, the pipe slung back over her shoulder as she screamed with each swing.

 

With a final burst of strength, I threw him off me, flipping him over on his side. Lauren followed after him, pipe in hand, beating his head and arms. “Lauren, honey!” Dalton screamed in agony. “Lauren! Stop helping them!”

 

“Fuck you!” she screamed, hitting him again as he curled up into a ball.

 

My vision faded out as I rolled over and tried to rise to my feet. I stayed on all fours, my breathing ragged as I struggled to stand. Lauren came to my side. “Asa, are you okay?”

 

I waved her off as I slowly rose to my feet, my whole body screaming in agony as I swayed back and forth, floaters forming in my vision. “Get the gun and the knife, the detonator. Get 'em away from him.”

 

She tossed the pipe aside and picked up the pistol, then went over to her daddy's discarded blade. She kicked the knife to me, then stuffed the detonator in her pocket before going and standing over him, gun in hand.

 

“Do it,” I rasped, blinking long and slow as I watched her beautiful form aiming the pistol at her own daddy's head. “You wanted to do it yourself, now's your chance.”

 

She nodded, her eyes murderous as she glared down at her cowering father from behind the big pistol. She put her finger to the trigger.

 

I held my breath. “Do it,” I whispered. “Do it for Richie, for your mother. Do it for all the lives he ruined.”