Page 7 of Morgue

“Fuckin’ prick.” Clutch muttered his response, bracing himself on the bulkhead. “I thought you said three minutes. Has it even been that yet?”

“Yep. Hang on.”

“Watch out!” Deacon barked the warning just as more gunfire caught our side of the chopper. Three bullets hit the window, but the glass held. More dinged off the hull as the helicopter banked wildly with what I assumed was a combination of evading fire and the wind.

All of us not strapped in were tossed against each other. I had to catch myself on an overhead bar to keep from dropping my full weight on top of Dorothy. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave me a vacant look. She obviously wasn’t processing anything around her and that was probably a good thing. But it worried me.

“Stitches, I think Dorothy needs help.” I managed to hold my weight off her but didn’t want to move away from her yet. “Dorothy. Dorothy, honey.” I gently smacked her cheek, just hard enough to get her attention.

She blinked up at me. “Morgue…”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, Dorothy.” Stitches shouldered me out of the way, taking a penlight and looking at her eyes. “You remember Morgue.”

“He’s killed looootta people.” Her voice was slurred but she knew what she was talking about. Lucid, if impaired. “Hopin’ he added those fuckin’ bastards in that shithole to the tally.”

“I think she’s all right.” Stitches looked in her ears as well as her mouth before looking at her eyes one more time.

The chopper banked sharply again. Dorothy gasped, her eyes snapping open, but she didn’t cry out. Instead, her gaze darted around the interior as if looking for the threat.

“Easy, Dorothy. Easy.” I put my hand on hers again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re all right. Wind’s just a little rough.”

“Little?” Clutch snarled. “You call it a little rough? We’re on the edge of a fuckin’ hurricane!”

“Jesus, Clutch. You’re embarrassin’ me.” Brick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “What the fuck, man?”

“I don’t like helicopters, all right? Tin fuckin’ cans with a fuckin’ beanie on top.”

Dorothy gave a little giggle even as her eyes drooped. “I like that description.” She frowned. “Never been on a helicopter before.”

“You have now, honey.” Stitches patted her hand and smiled down at her. “If we’re lucky, it’ll be a relatively forgettable experience.”

“Clearly we’re not fuckin’ lucky, Stitches.”

“Never knew you were such a pussy, Clutch.” I couldn’t help the jab, especially since Dorothy seemed to be amused. If it took her mind off what had just happened to her, it would be worth Clutch’s dignity.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ pussy.” There was a beat of silence. “I like fuckin’ pussy, though.”

That got a chuckle from Brick and Stitches. Dorothy actually barked out a laugh before she groaned and clutched her side. Even though she was in obvious pain, she still chuckled.

Then, she started crying. Then sobbing.

“Stitches.” I gave our doctor a hard look. “Make it stop.”

“If you ever figure out how to make a woman stop crying when she has a good Goddamned reason, let me know, will ya?” He sounded put out as hell, like the whole thing irritated him, but he was too amused to commit to being surly. “I’m just glad she’s with it enough to realize she’s safe now.”

“Ain’t safe until we land. Safely,” Clutch groused. “Fuckin’ tin can.”

“We’re past the outer band,” Deke told us. “Still be a bit rough, but smoother.”

“How long until we get to Corpus Christi?” Brick demanded of Deacon. And it was a demand more than a question. One Deacon better know if the expression on Brick’s face was any indication.

“About three and a half hours. Unless Deke has to land earlier to refuel.”

“Should be good,” Deke responded immediately. “I think we’re runnin’ lighter than we expected. The kid’s right. Three and a half should be ’bout right.”

The flight was considerably less turbulent. Hopefully, Deke would be able to keep us on the outer part of the storm. Because I really didn’t want to listen to Clutch ralph all the way to fucking Texas.

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