Notorious Nineteen(68)

“I’m not allowed to die until Ranger and Kinsey die. Only part of me burned in the explosion. The rest of my mortal body is waiting.”

“Why weren’t you found with the rest of the men in the truck?”

“I was captured and caged. After years of imprisonment, when I realized my purpose for living, I escaped. I inched my way out of the Middle East, to Europe, to rehabilitate myself enough to complete my mission. And here I am.” He said this very matter of fact, his hands folded in his lap. “Imagine how saddened I was to learn that Ranger and Kinsey had infected two women with their evil. Although in a way it enhances the process for them. They’ll have the additional agony of knowing someone they loved had a painful and early death. Perhaps it will save them from eternal hell. So you see I’m not actually a zombie. I’m an angel.”

I was sure he believed it. He believed everything he said. The whole crazy jumble of devil and divine intervention and abandonment.

“I’ve brought this fire starter,” he said. “I thought I would burn you a little at a time. Let you enjoy the pain. Allow you to see your flesh blister and melt away. I don’t want to go too fast and rob you of the experience.”

“I could help you,” I said. “Counseling, drugs, a religious advisor, a girlfriend.”

“I don’t need help. I’m in a good place. I just need to finish my task. It’s taken me years to get to this point. It’s all I’ve worked for.”

He grabbed my ponytail and set fire to it.

I shrieked and tried to jerk away but he held fast. I smelled my hair burning, felt the fire burning my neck. And over my shrieking I heard someone pounding on my door, ringing my doorbell.

“I hate this sort of distraction,” Orin said.

He yanked me up by my hair, shoved my head under the faucet, and turned the water on to put the fire out. He went to the door and looked through the security peephole.

“It’s a man,” he said. “Tell him to go away.”

I went to the peephole and looked out. I’d expected to see Hal but it was Brody Logan. “Go away,” I said.

“I want Tiki. I got a bad feeling. Tiki’s sending out weird vibes. I want to see him to make sure he’s okay.”

Orin had me by the arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Go home,” I said to Logan.

“I don’t have a home.”

“Then go to your tent.”

“No way. I want to see Tiki.”

“Help!” I yelled at the door. “Get HELP! Call the police! Get the Rangeman guy!”

Orin grabbed me by my bound wrists and threw me across the room. He opened the door, yanked Logan inside, closed and relocked the door, and drew his gun.

“Dude!” Logan said, eyes wide.

I struggled to my feet, got a running start, and head-butted Orin, knocking him to his knees.

“Do something,” I shrieked at Logan. “Do something!”

Logan went spastic, arms flailing, feet not knowing which way to move. He spotted Tiki in the kitchen and lunged for him, lifting him off the counter, wrapping him in his arms.

Orin stood and pointed his gun at Logan. I knocked into Orin again, jostling the gun, and Orin drilled two rounds into Tiki.

Logan let out a roar and charged Orin, bashing him in the face, using Tiki like a battering ram. Blood gushed from Orin’s nose, and Logan immediately rammed Orin again, catching him square in the chest. I heard something go plink onto my tile floor. I looked down and saw that it was a pin to one of the grenades. Time stood still for a moment while we all stared at the pin.

Orin grabbed at the live grenade still taped to his gun belt, and I kicked him hard in his prosthetic. The prosthetic flew off and Orin lost his balance, wheeling around on one leg. Logan and I dove into the kitchen, and Orin fell facedown and blew up in the foyer.

I was stunned, sitting on the kitchen floor with my ears ringing. Logan was next to me hugging Tiki.

“He shouldn’t have shot Tiki,” Logan said. “Hawaiian gods get even. Did you see what Tiki did to his foot? It flew right off his leg when you kicked it!”

“It was a prosthetic,” I said to Logan.

“I guess that would make it easier,” Logan said.

I have a metal fire door with four deadbolts, but Orin had only thrown one of the locks when he closed the door. I heard someone put his foot to the door from the other side, and on the second attempt the door crashed open against the wall. It was Hal. He took a couple steps in, gun drawn, avoiding what was left of Orin, and looked in the kitchen at me.

“I’m okay,” I said.

I thought there were sounds of elephants running in the hall, dimly heard over the ringing in my ears. It was Ranger and two more Rangeman guys. Not as big as elephants, but the two men with Ranger could easily have made the NFL playing defense.