Another loud thump sounded from outside the door.
She crossed the room, feeling a surge of relief. "Gideon, is that you?"
She wanted it to be him.
Prayed it was...until she heard the metallic snick of the lock, then the door opened and a large, blood-and-sweat-soaked body slumped in onto the floor.
"Oh, my God. Gideon!"
Savannah raced to him. She dropped down beside him, horrified at his condition. His hair and face, his hands--every exposed inch of him was covered in black ash, sweat and blood. So much blood.
He tried to speak, but all that passed his lips was a rasp of sound. "Keaton," he wheezed. "Minion...he's dead...can't hurt you now."
She blew out a curse that sounded more like a sob. "I don't care about him, damn it. All I care about is you."
He tried to sit up, only to slump back down onto the floor in a heap. Blood was pooling under him, pulsing out from scores of shrapnel wounds and a very severe injury in his thigh.
She glanced down at his leather weapons belt, cinched as a makeshift tourniquet around the upper portion of his leg. She could see muscle in the open gash on his thigh. Holy shit. She could see bone in there too.
"Gideon," she cried. "You need help. You need a hospital--"
"No." He snarled the word, his voice sounding unearthly, lethal.
His eyes were on fire, swamped completely in bright, glowing amber light. His pupils had thinned so much they almost weren't there. His fangs filled his mouth, stretched sharp as daggers between his parted lips as he struggled to drag air into his lungs.
"Get away," he gasped when she reached out to smooth away the soaked hank of hair plastered to his brow. His skin was pale white and waxy. His face contorted in pure agony. "Stay away."
"You have to let me help you." She leaned over him to try to lift him up.
Gideon's eyes rolled hungrily to her throat. "Stay back!"
The hissed command made her flinch, recoil. She stared at him, unsure what to do for him and half-afraid he was already too far gone.
"Gideon, please. I don't know what to do."
"Order," he said thickly. He recited a string of numbers. "Go now...call them."
She tried desperately to remember the sequence, repeated them back to him to be sure. He gave a vague nod, his eyelids drooping, skin growing ever more dangerously pale. "Hurry, Savannah."
"Okay," she said. "Okay, Gideon. I'll call them. Stay with me. I'm gonna get you help."
She flew into the bedroom to retrieve her wallet from her purse and a pen to frantically scribble the digits onto the palm of her hand. Then she raced out of the house and down the street, praying the battered pay phone on the corner wasn't out of service.
Fumbling change into the slot, she then dialed the number Gideon had given her. It rang once, then silence as someone picked up on the other end.
"Um, hello? Hello!">Then, nothing.
That's all she could remember of the past couple of hours at least.
Sorry had to do it like this, he'd written in his note.
Damn him!
Savannah vaulted off the bed. She threw on her clothes, ran to the front door. She yanked on the latch. It wouldn't budge.
He'd locked her inside?
Pissed now, she went to the windows and tried to open them. Sealed permanently shut, each of them shuttered from outside. The whole house was locked down, she realized, making a frantic perimeter check of the entire place.