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There is no way I can sneak up on him, so I look for a distraction. I see one in the shape of a small rock near my foot. Picking it up, I throw it against the back window. It makes just enough of a sound to alert the arsehole.
His slow footsteps echo in the silence. I hold my breath and arrange my hood low over my brow. The barrel of his machine gun is the first thing I see as he cautiously walks through the hallway. Focusing his attention on the window is his error because before he knows what’s happening, I strike out and elbow him in the face, blinding him.
Before he can fire his weapon, I snatch the machine gun from his limp grip and knock him out cold. I catch him before he hits the floor and quietly rest his unconscious form against the wall. He stays upright for now.
With machine gun in hand, I commence my walk down the hallway, the carpet muting my footsteps. With a deep breath, I prepare myself for anything as I kick open the bedroom door, gun raised, ready for battle. But I only see Cian and my grandparents.
Where is everyone?
I can ponder on that later.
“Cian?” I whisper, gently slapping his bloody cheek.
He moans in response as bloodied spittle dribbles from the corner of his mouth. They beat him good.
“Punky?” Keegan wheezes as he shifts in the chair he’s tied to.
“Shh.” I place my finger over my lips. “Where are they?”
“Havin’ a feg,” he replies. “There’re two of them.”
I quickly cut through the rope binding his feet and wrists. “Can ye walk?”
He’s beaten just as badly as Cian, but I need him to help me get Imogen out of here. She’s unconscious and doesn’t look to be in a good way.
The stubborn aul’ lad nods and ignores his shaking legs as he stands. I reach out to help steady him. “They think he’s ye,” he whispers, gesturing to Cian. “They kept sayin’ she told them so.”
She?
Who the fuck is she?
Quickly cutting the rope binding Imogen, Keegan lifts her limp body into his arms. “My friend is out back. He’ll help ye.”
Keegan doesn’t need to be told twice. “For what it’s worth, thank ye, lad. I know we letcha down. But ye still came for us.”
“I didn’t come for you,” I blankly reply, not interested in playing happy families. That time has come and gone.
He nods, accepting this for what it is, and staggers out the door.
Cian moans, and when he shifts, I see blood spurting from his side. He’s been stabbed.
“Always gettin’ yerself in trouble, aren’t ya?” I say, attempting to deflect the severity of his injuries as I carefully cut him free.
He coughs, a winded breath leaving him as he tries to speak. “She. Who’s she?”
“Shh, mate. Save yer energy, all right?”
He flops forward when I cut the rope at his wrists, unable to hold up his weight.
Reaching out, I slip my arm around his waist and help him stand. He leans against me, panting. He’s hurt really bad. I doubt he’ll be able to walk down the hallway, so I look at the window. It’s not a great option, but it’s the only one I have.
However, when I hear the front door open, followed by jovial voices, I realize there is another option; one which saved my life.
“Cian,” I whisper, dragging him toward the wardrobe. “Y’ve got to hide.”
“Naw, lemme fight,” he argues, attempting to dig in his heels.
This conversation hits too close to home.
