Page 62 of So Hollow

Faith knew that if he reached her before she reached him, he would snap her neck before Faith could stop him. She sprinted toward him, angling herself so she could cut him off before he reached his would-be victim.

It was close. Damn it, it was close. His hands extended like claws. The woman reached a sitting position. She swayed in place, using one hand to rub her head, not entirely aware of what was going on.

Faith cried out and dove for the killer's waist just as his hands reached the victim. She dragged the killer to the ground and leaped on top of him. She rained blow after blow down on him, grunting with the effort as she tried to render the killer unconscious.

The killer shrugged off her strikes like they were nothing. He caught her wrists and pulled her downward, driving his forehead into Faith’s. Their heads connected with a sound like a bowling ball hitting pins.

Her head buzzed. She saw the world spin as she fell to her back, stunned. Blackness swirled on the edges of her vision, and she gasped and rolled over, struggling to remain conscious.

She heard a growl and, a moment later, another yell. She forced herself onto her knees but could go no further. Her vision swam dangerously.

As her sight focused, she saw the victim slowly coming to. The victim got to her feet and stumbled backward, nearly falling from the stage as she watched Turk fight the killer.

Turk gave up trying to overpower the killer. Either the man was on drugs that gave him superhuman strength for his size, or his desperation lent a force that he wouldn’t have otherwise. Whatever the reason, Turk avoided a contest of strength, instead using his superior speed to dart in and out, snapping at the killer’s ankles and calves, leaping to nip at the killer’s flailing arms, and finally, when he saw the opportunity, leaping into the air and planting all four paws on the killer’s chest. He pushed off of the killer, somersaulting in the air and landing easily on his feet.

The killer fell backwards, and Turk turned to Faith. Faith must have looked worse than she felt because Turk’s eyes widened with concern. He left the killer and rushed to her side, barking urgently.

“I’m fine,” she said. Her voice croaked, and she took a breath to steady it. “I’m fine, go get him.”

She heard a cry and turned toward the victim. The woman was staring at the killer, her face white. Faith heard another cry and realized it wasn’t the victim making that sound but the killer.

She turned back to the killer and found him on one knee, clutching his chest. His face was red, and his eyes were wide with terror.

“No!” he gasped. “No! Please no! Not now! Please, I was so close!”

He extended the hand not clutched to his chest toward Faith. His fingers grasped as though Faith might extend her hand and save him from whatever was happening to him right now.

“Please!” he cried. “Help me! Please, I’m not ready! I’m not—”

He cried out, and fell forward, his head pressing into the stage. He gripped his chest and gasped. Faith got to her feet, but blood rushed to her head, and she had to stop to regain her balance before she could go to his aid.

He took a huge breath, then shouted, “PLEASE!”

Then he fell onto his back. His hands clawed at the air. He writhed and shook for a few seconds longer.

Then he stilled.

Red powder trickled down his chest from the vial that had broken in his death throes. Therubedowas complete.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

“Look straight ahead for me, please.”

Faith complied. And, of course, the paramedic immediately shone a blinding white light into her eyes. She grimaced and squinted, and he repeated calmly, "Look straight ahead for me, please."

“I’m doing my best,” she growled, “I would just like to retain my ability to see, so maybe don’t blind me the moment I look where you tell me to.”

The paramedic had no doubt handled hundreds of uncooperative patients before. He took Faith’s snappishness with the patience of a saint. “I know, I’m sorry. We just need to make sure you’re not concussed.”

“I’m not concussed.”

“I know. I just need to make sure.”

Faith frowned. The other option was to go to the hospital and get an EEG. She didn’t want to end up shanghaied into an overnight stay, so she forced herself to cooperate. After a moment, the paramedic nodded and switched off his light.

"You're fine," he said. "Bruised up, and you have a nasty cut on your right hand that I'll need to disinfect and bandage, but I can do that right here. You'll be happy to know you don't have to go to the big scary hospital."

Faith glared at him. “Has anyone told you that you have crappy bedside manner.”

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