Page 62 of Collin: Episodes 13-15
Richard was down, flat on his back, blood on his face.
Émeric was fighting with the man guarding him.
Mikhail was getting to his feet, gun in hand, waving it blindly. His face was burned and dusty. He pointed the gun, mouth moving. Recoil traveled up his arm.
He’s shooting.
Collin pushed off the ground and charged. He caught Mikhail in his midsection. They went down together. Mikhail’s arms seemed to be everywhere. Collin tried for his hands, but his own were still bound together. Grabbing was hard when his one good hand was strapped to his shattered one.
They broke apart. Mikhail pulled the trigger, but he was pointing at nothing. Collin slammed his knees into Mikhail's jaw. The gun tracked toward him again. Collin swung both his hands against Mikhail’s face. Mikhail sprawled on the cracked asphalt.
Collin staggered after him. Mikhail was still trying to lift the gun. Collin dropped to his knee on Mikhail’s stomach, right at the bottom of where the edge of his bulletproof vest rode up.
Mikhail’s body jackknifed. He let go of the gun, reaching for Collin’s knee. Collin slammed his elbow into Mikhail's face.
Something hit his shoulder. He fell back on the ground. Above him was the guard that had fallen away. But the guard was already falling, clobbered from behind by Émeric.
Collin rolled for Mikhail’s dropped gun. It felt light, like the clip was almost empty. He only had one hand. His other could only clumsily brace the weapon. Collin staggered toward Émeric and the guard wrestling on the ground.
Émeric’s eyes met his over the guard’s shoulder for a split second. Émeric dropped away to the side. Collin fired.
It was point-blank range. The gun bucked in his hand, and the guard dropped. Émeric pushed away the body. Collin staggered, checking for Mikhail. Found him. He lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.
Nothing. The gun was empty. Mikhail must have used all but the last bullet before Collin grabbed it.
Mikhail was blinking hard. There was blood on his mouth, but he was up and mobile, his lips moving in harsh syllables. Silent ones. Because there was no sound in Collin’s ears. Mikhail rushed him. Collin tried to raise his arms. They were so slow. The force of Mikhail’s body against own sent them sprawling on the ground. They rolled, Collin bucking, Mikhail reaching for his throat.
Émeric threw himself on Mikhail from behind. Collin struggled back and brought his legs under him. Émeric clamped Mikhail’s hips between his thighs, but Mikhail was punching him in the belly. A belly Émeric couldn’t protect because his hands were still trapped behind him.
Collin slammed the empty gun against Mikhail’s face. It was all he had. And the world was blurry and sick. Just colors of dust and blood. He smashed the gun down again. And again. Until Mikhail didn’t move. Until the need ran out. He looked around. Émeric was staggering toward Richard. Collin tried to rise but couldn’t. On his hands and knees, he followed. Just a few yards. But so many fragments of asphalt and bloodied grass.
Richard’s eyes were closed. Émeric has his fingers against Richard’s neck. Collin reached out to touch Émeric’s hand.
Émeric nodded. Alive. Collin’s cracked lips parted in a smile. Émeric smiled back a real smile. Collin slumped forward, his head finding a place to rest against his Master’s chest.
Alive. They could do alive.
They were all alive.
Episode 15
There were shadows. Collin pulled his feet under him and raised his head. Police carrying riot shields moved down the alley toward him. He couldn’t hear them. Everything was like a film with the volume on mute. They were moving so slowly. It felt like he could see the dust rising from their footsteps.
Guns drawn, they entered and spread out into the courtyard. Their mouths were moving. They must be yelling. Not that it mattered. One of them pointed their gun at him. He stared back. It didn’t matter. Whatever they were saying, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t move. Reality had turned into dream the moment he’d confirmed Richard’s life.
More men entered the area, coming through the sides of the courtyard and from the surrounding buildings. Mr. Reevesworth’s private security. Most of the faces he recognized. But he couldn’t remember names. All he knew was that he knew them. He knew he should know them, but that also carried no emotional weight. It didn’t matter.
The police lowered their weapons and turned outward, leaving the private security to approach. One of them checked Mr. Reevesworth’s pulse and patted him down. They spoke to Collin.
Collin gazed back. Talking was a thing he was supposed to do, right? There were no words inside him; just a vast vault of nothing. Help was here. That was enough. The world was cold and quiet.
A hand tapped him. He looked up. A man held up his hands and then gestured to Collin. He reached Collin’s wrists and pulled out a knife, cutting through the rope. He cradled Collin’s broken hand in one of his palms.
It probably hurt. But all he could feel was how cold everything was. His skin was cold. It had been since he’d been taken, but now he was just cold all the way down to his marrow. As if he were turning to ice from the inside.
The man checking him tapped his knee, urging Collin to let him see the rest of him. He couldn’t. There was nothing inside him that would let him. No energy that would move his limbs. In the end, the man manipulated Collin’s body himself.
Wind kicked up. There was rhythmic pressure against Collin’s skin like an external heartbeat in the sky. A red helicopter with a bright white medical cross on it was descending one building over. Dirt and dust filled the air. The man tried to shield Collin’s face.
