Chapter 36: A Quick Stop
Bontoc had pulled into the gas station on a whim, and was surprised to see Stefan Korzh’s truck there. He wasn’t sure as to whether or not the man would actually be in the curiously dark station, but it was worth a quick look.
When he opened the door, Bontoc found himself facing a filthy, foul man holding Anne Le Morte.
For one of the few times in his life, Bontoc was surprised by the situation that he had discovered.
That moment was short lived, ended as a thin young man hurtled out of shadow and slammed a shoulder into the man with the doll. The act, Bontoc realized instantly, was done to save him. And while the man who held Anne Le Morte would not have been a threat to Bontoc, he did appreciate the boy’s gesture.
Yet even as it occurred, the entire building shook as Anne let out an enraged shriek.
A girl behind the counter let out a short, terrified scream that ended abruptly. A swirling mass of dust and debris clouded his vision, and turned to wet, heavy plaster that clung to everything as Bontoc fell to his knees. The boy was sent sprawling into a display of chips, and the man with the doll somehow managed to get to his feet. The earth continued to shake, and parts of the ceiling fell. Alarms began to sound off by the pumps, and the pungent odor of gasoline reached his nose.
The safety valves on the pumps would let go, and the entire station would erupt into a fireball as the tanks beneath the concrete pads exploded.
Bontoc got to his feet and went forward, following Anne’s caretaker out through the emergency exit, where he grabbed the stranger by the arm.
He peered into the man’s mad eyes and hissed, “Listen to me, get her far from here. And do it now. Her work is not done, so neither is yours. Do you understand me?”
The man’s eyes widened, and he went to pull free, but Anne Le Morte murmured something in her patois that Bontoc didn’t catch. Her caretaker jerked his arm free of Bontoc’s grip and nodded his assent.
“Good. Get out,” Bontoc said, and he turned and went back into the store. He moved quickly through the debris, stepping through the scattered snacks and knocked over racks. His eyes darted about, searching for the boy who had helped him, and Bontoc saw the teenager at the counter.
The boy, who was so thin and so determined, was in the act of dragging the limp body of the cashier over the counter.
One handed.
Bontoc smiled, admiring the boy’s tenacity. He would have left the girl, but the boy—the boy was better than most.
“Go,” Bontoc said, taking her from the teenager, “I will carry her.”
The boy nodded, cradling his left hand against his chest as he picked his way out of the gas station.
“Do you smell the gas?”
“I do,” Bontoc answered. “Go across the street, to the abandoned McDonald’s. I can see Jersey barriers there that we can hide behind.”
The boy didn’t argue but only did as he was told.
Bontoc liked the child all the more for it.
They crossed the street and situated themselves behind the barrier. Bontoc gave the girl a cursory inspection and found that she had several abrasions on her head. She was concussed and would need medical attention.
As would the boy.
Bontoc put the girl down and turned his attention to the boy.
“How badly are you injured?” Bontoc asked.
Before the boy could answer, the gas station exploded.
The blast was terrific, knocking them both down, despite the protection of the barriers. Boards were torn from the McDonald’s, and the golden arches were sent spiraling into the forest behind the building. Remnants of the gas station went tearing through the air, smashing into trees and the McDonald’s. Bontoc’s ears rang and his head pulsed, his stomach twisted and coiled and had he eaten anything earlier, he would have vomited on the boy.
The boy was thrown as well, rolling several feet before stopping himself and scrambling back to the safety of the barrier. Bontoc watched, amused, as the boy leaned over the girl and shielded her from the minute the debris began to rain down from the sky.
From a distance came the sounds of fire engines and emergency vehicles.
“Your hand,” Bontoc said. “How is it?”
The boy held the injured limb up, and Bontoc saw it was in poor condition. Long strips of flesh hung down, revealing the bone underneath. Black splotches dotted the boy’s pale flesh, and Bontoc knew that he was looking upon frostbite. He had seen it before, on others who had handled possessed items for too long.
The boy would lose most, if not all of his hand.
“You are in poor condition,” Bontoc said.
The boy gave him a death’s head grin, all hate, and fury.
