Ray Hoy - Jack Frost 01 - The Vegas Factor (14 page)

He staggered to his feet, his hands over his torn mouth. Blood gushed between his fingers. “You crazy bitch!” he screamed. He doubled over in pain. “Damn you, Felicia, you hurt me bad!” He straightened and glared at her. “You’re gonna die nice and slow for that, nice and slow, you hear me? And when you die, your baby’s gonna die, too!”
 

She looked at him in wild-eyed terror. “Noooooo! You leave my baby alone, you filthy creep!”
 

A roar filled Benny’s throat. He grabbed her by the hair and began pounding the back of her head against the cave floor, filling the interior of the cave with animal-like sounds.
 

“Shut up, damn you, shut up!” he said. He jumped to his feet and kicked her viciously in the ribs, listening to the screams change in intensity as he continued his assault.

Felicia vomited. Gagging, she twisted her head to one side to keep from choking. She wanted to double up with the pain, but the cords held her to the ground. She listened to the roaring of the huge madman as he continued to kick her. Red pain exploded in her brain.

Finally he stopped, and stood over her, breathing hard. He looked down at her, his face cruel. “I been waiting for this for a long, long time. And now I can do it all I want.” He straddled her, looking into her face. He lowered his hips to hers and prepared to thrust into her.

Chapter 22

As I ran toward the mine entrance I heard Felicia scream. I stepped into the semi-darkness, forcing my eyes to adjust quickly to the gloom. What I saw filled me with rage.
 

Benny Florentine straddled Felicia, preparing to rape her. Just as he became aware of my presence, I reached out and ripped off his left ear. He roared in pain and staggered to his feet, backing away from me until he slammed against the mine shaft wall.

I looked down at Felicia, saw the terror on her shattered face. She began screaming my name over and over.
 

Benny reached down and scooped up something from the sand. As he turned to face me, light glinted off the knife blade. For a moment he leaned against the wall, knees bent against the pain, both hands clamped over the left side of his head, his eyes glued on mine. Then he straightened and held the knife out in front of him.

I still held the ear I had torn off his head. With a snap of my wrist, I sailed it toward his face. It flew surprisingly well, a bloody Frisbee.
 

Benny recoiled with a hoarse cry. Then I saw the blade sweeping at me in an arc. Blocking the thrust, I slammed an open hand into his throat. He made a strangling sound and tried to cry out, but could not.

I shattered his right kneecap. As his knees buckled, he dropped the knife, screaming in pain. He tried to hit me a clumsy haymaker. I pulled back just far enough to let the blow whistle by my face, then I reached in and with a sharp, wrenching movement of my hand, ripped off his other ear. I stepped back and held it out for him to see.

I broke his left knee this time, with the instep of my left foot. He slowly settled to the sand, trying to scream as his full weight came down on both shattered knees. But only a hoarse whistling sound came out of his crushed voice box.
 

I crammed the right ear that I still held into his open mouth, then grabbed the top of his head in both hands and snapped it downward, while my right knee came up hard under his chin. His teeth crashed together, and pieces of his ear and broken teeth spewed from his mouth like watermelon seeds.

I stepped back. He brought his pathetic eyes up to me. They were filled with horror and disbelief, and what else was that—pleading? He received no comfort from me. I crushed his testicles with my right foot, two, three, four times, holding him upright with the palm of my left hand against his forehead as I did so. He shuddered, unable to scream and unable to fall. Suddenly gasping for air, he clutched at his heart and stared at me. Then the life went out of his eyes and he slowly fell forward.

I scooped up the knife and cut the cords holding Felicia. My eyes met hers, and I realized she had watched the entire thing. She was looking at me as if she had no idea who I was. “I’m going to get you out of here,” I said, in as reassuring a voice as I could muster. “Everything’s going to be okay; your baby’s going to be okay.” She began to hyperventilate.

I had nothing to wrap her in. I ripped off the long-sleeved shirt I was wearing, not bothering to unbutton it. I got her to her knees and put the shirt around her. She was going into shock. She was also having a difficult time getting her mind off her bruised stomach. “It’s not serious, it’s not serious,” I said. “The baby’s okay, Felicia, trust me.”

I lifted her in my arms. As I headed out of the cave, I spotted Ripper, sprawled motionless in a corner. I gritted my teeth and kept going.

With a good deal of effort, I got Felicia up on the horse, then got my left foot into the stirrup and swung up behind her. She leaned back against me, exhausted, her head rolling from side to side. I stuck my chin over her left shoulder, and pushed her head against the right side of my face for support. I reached around her big stomach and took the reins, then turned the horse and headed toward the stable at a walk, not wanting to jostle her any more than necessary.
 

She was in extreme pain. From time to time she screamed. All I could do was make stupid reassuring sounds that everything would be okay. I prayed the ambulance and doctor would be there when we arrived.

About a half-mile from the stables, the big roan suddenly reared, nearly dumping both of us. Liquid drained down the horse’s sides—Felicia’s water had broken!
 

“Oh God!” I moaned. We were so close to the stables that I decided to keep pushing on.
 

A few minutes later I breathed a sigh of relief. The ambulance was there, along with two white-coated attendants and a worried Doctor Morris. They helped me get her down off the horse. She was hemorrhaging; blood gushed down the insides of her legs. The doctor packed her with compresses and crossed her legs, as one of the attendants clamped an oxygen mask over her face. The driver closed the ambulance doors, then got quickly inside. Turning the red flashing lights on, he pulled out of the corral and headed up the dirt road, toward town.

I ran to the Jag. As I opened the door, I turned to Jane Withers, who was rooted to the ground, her face flooded with horror. “Follow the tracks. About three miles down you’ll see signs of a struggle, and tracks leading up to a rock formation against the cliff. There’s an old mine shaft there. Inside, you’ll find Ripper, dead or dying. Bring him to the hospital, either way.” I got in and slammed the door. “Got it?” I yelled.

“Yes! Now get going!”

“You’ll find a dead man there, too. Ignore him.”

“How do you know he’s dead?” she said, eyes wide.

“Take my word for it,” I said. I put my foot down, throwing a rooster tail of snow from the Jag’s rear wheels as I sped away.

When I caught up with the ambulance, I could see movement through its rear window. I caught a glimpse of the doctor as he hovered over Felicia. I tried to beat back the cold fear that clawed its way into my heart. I thought about the horrible prospect of her delivering the baby with internal injuries and a possible broken pelvis. I knew they would try to hold the baby back in an effort to get her to the delivery room for a Cesarean.

I thought about how this day had begun, just a few short hours ago, and how it was ending. As I followed the ambulance, my mind went back to the mine shaft. I thought of Ripper, hoping Jane could get to him quickly—if it were not already too late.

Chapter 23

It took a long time to get to Reno. The mountain road from Virginia City to the valley floor was dangerous, even in good weather, but covered in snow it was far worse.
 

Thankfully, there was no snow on 395 when we hit the valley floor, and the ambulance’s sirens and lights cleared traffic out of our path. Finally we pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital. I was out of the Jag on a dead run, opening the back doors of the ambulance before it rolled to a complete stop. As I swung them open, the sight that greeted me made my knees go weak.

Felicia lay on the stretcher, her eyes half open, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. Plasma ran into her arm. A blood-covered baby boy, just minutes old, the umbilical cord not yet cut, lay on her blood-flecked belly.

“Is she alive?” I yelled.

“Yes,” the doctor said without looking up. I could tell he was working against the clock. He clipped the umbilical cord, wrapped the baby in a blanket and handed him to one of the attendants. Then he quickly covered Felicia with a blanket and they got her out of the ambulance and carried her toward the emergency entrance.
 

I walked next to the stretcher, looking down at her. Her black hair was soaked with perspiration. I touched her forehead. Her skin was cold. She was in deep shock, her face a pasty white. And while I watched, her eyes closed as she slipped into unconsciousness.
 

They wheeled her into the elevator. When I insisted on going along, the young doctor turned on me with eyes that surprised me, his voice filled with authority. “You’ll just be in the way Mr. Frost. Grab some coffee. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

I stood there, never feeling more helpless in my life. When the elevator doors closed in my face, I took a deep breath and looked around.
 

People stared at me, then quickly moved away. I was bare-chested, wearing only jeans and desert boots. I had put my shirt around Felicia, in the cave.
 

For some reason I was aware of the arrowhead necklace hanging on the leather thong around my neck. I grasped it desperately in my right hand and took a deep breath, trying to get myself under control.

I walked outside, all the time thinking to myself with amazement that it was, indeed, a boy.
 

Well, of course it was a boy, she said it would be.

I reached into the Jaguar and grabbed a sweater and pulled it on over my head. I leaned against the car, sucking in the fresh air, feeling drained and scared. As I stood there, I heard a car coming fast. I looked up to see Jane Withers’ station wagon careen into the emergency lane and screech to a halt.
 

She jumped out and hurried to me. “She’s alive, but in bad shape,” I said to her wide-eyed questioning look. “She had a baby boy.”

Jane Withers stifled a sob, then set her jaw and walked quickly back to her car. She opened the back door, reached in, and as easily as any man, picked Ripper’s one-hundred-fifty pounds of dead weight off the rear seat. I reached for him, but she brushed right past me and walked into the emergency room. I followed, right on her heels.

She bellowed, “We need some help here!” at the doctor on duty as we entered.
 

The doctor stood for a moment, mouth agape. Then he walked slowly toward us, a condescending smile on his face. “Madam, we do not take care of animals, here.”

“You’ll take care of this one, by God!”

The doctor began to protest, then looked past her at me. Without another word, he went to work on Ripper. Ten minutes later he looked up and said, “He’s going to have a very bad headache for a while, but he’ll make it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked him and headed for the lobby. A nurse at the desk motioned for my attention. I walked up, hoping for some information on Felicia. She said, “Do you have insurance?”

I felt my blood pressure rising. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh, this won’t do,” she said, reaching for phone.
 

“It
will
do,” I said. I pulled out my billfold. “Tell me how much you need.”

She pushed a mountain of paperwork across the counter top and handed me a pen. I wondered what the hospital’s stance would have been had I not been able to produce a ton of cash and credit cards on the spot. I filled out the paperwork and paid a prodigious deposit.
 

When I turned around, Jane was standing there. She held out a cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. As I lifted it to my lips, the hot liquid spilled down over my fingers. I stared at my shaking hands.

She took me by the arm. “C’mon, Jack,” she said. We took the elevator to the surgical floor, where we sat and waited for several lifetimes, listening to the hospital sounds. I shook my head.
This can’t really be happening. This has to be a dream … it has to be.

Chapter 24

I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there, staring down at the floor, when I heard a voice calling my name.

“Mr. Frost … Mr. Frost.”

With a start I got quickly to my feet. I found myself staring into Doctor Morris’ tired eyes, set so deeply in his sad young face. His mask was pulled down below his chin, and he still wore the green surgical gown and cap.

I felt that cold knot in my belly again. I had become all too familiar with that feeling over the years.
 

Dr. Morris paused, then said quietly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Frost. She … she didn’t make it.”

I stood there, not breathing. For one moment I believe I went a little mad.
I must have misunderstood him. Now ask him how she really is. Ask him again. He doesn’t realize what he just said.