“Strive to live,” the redhead whispered between breaths. “Please, lover, live.”
Straddling the man, Mildred began pounding on Ryan’s chest with both fists clasped together. The thumps sounded hollow and empty.
“Follow my mark!” the physician commanded. “One, two, three, mark!” She punched as Krysty exhaled.
“Again!” Mildred commanded. “Again! Again!”
A minute passed, then another with only the sounds of the fists hitting flesh disturbing the silence of the dark street. The crackling light from the burning Walker cast bizarre shadows on the walls of the pre-dark buildings.
“Give it up, Millie,” J.B. said softly. “He’s gone.”
“Fuck that!” she raged, and slammed the man in the chest even harder. “Live, you son of a bitch! I’ve lost enough patients in this godforsaken hell. You’re not gonna be one of them! Come on, you one-eyed bastard! Live, goddamn it! Live!”
Suddenly, a tremor shook Ryan’s body and his eye fluttered open. He drew in a ragged breath. Krysty pulled back, as the man began to cough, then weakly turned on his side to lose his breakfast over the bumper.
“Motherfucker” Ryan panted in a whisper, gasping for breath. “Whathit me?”
“Got electrocuted,” Mildred said, grabbing his wrist to check the pulse. The beat was irregular, but getting stronger. “It, ah, knocked you out for a while.”
Accepting a canteen from Dean, Ryan washed out his mouth and spit, then drained the container to fall onto his back exhausted from the effort.
Krysty took his hands and held them to her breast. “Glad to have you back, lover,” she whispered.
“Thanks. Hurt worse than losing the eye,” Ryan croaked, then impossibly slid off the minivan and stood on wobbly legs, one hand palming the damaged hood for support.
Astonished, Mildred couldn’t believe the sight. Anybody else would need bed rest for a few days.
“I don’t doubt it hurt like blazes,” the physician said, massaging her hand. Punching the man in the chest was like punching a bag of potatoes. Solid muscle. “Back in my day, we used to kill criminals by electrocution until the folks realized just how horrible a death it was.”
“Feeling okay?” Dean asked, handing his father the dropped blaster.
“Sure.” It took him a few tries, but Ryan got the SIG-Sauer in its holster. “Kind of weak,” the man admitted, wincing as if the sound of his own voice was causing him pain.
“That’ll pass soon enough,” Mildred said, rummaging in her med kit. “Here, take these aspirin and suck on this piece of C-4.”
Not quite sure he heard that correctly, Ryan stared at the items lying in his palm. “You want me to do what?” he demanded uncertainly.
“Consume plastic explosives, madam?” Doc rumbled askance. “What voodoo is this?”
“Stuff it, you old coot.” Mildred scowled and turned to Ryan.
“C-4 is mostly nitroglycerine. That’s good for the heart and yours just had a hell of a strain.”
Hesitating for a moment, Ryan dry swallowed the pills and tucked the whitish-gray lump of plastique in his cheek. Immediately, he made a face at the horrible taste, but a few moments later there was a rush of color to his cheeks and the man stood straighter with renewed strength.
“Nuke me,” Ryan said, giving a rare smile. “I feel better.”
“Using C-4 for a bad ticker,” J.B. said, kissing Mildred on the cheek. “That’s a new one on me.”
“Only for an emergency,” she answered. “It can kill as easy as cure.”
Unexpectedly, Ryan pulled his blaster and jacked the slide. “Where’s the Walker?” he demanded, looking around in the stygian blackness. The headlights of the bikes threw great swatches of light across the parked cars, the beams crisscrossing one another.
“Dean and I terminated its prime functions with extreme prejudice,” Doc answered, busy reloading the blaster. Then he raised his head to grin. “And we did so with great pleasure, my dear Ryan.”
“It’s chilled, Dad,” Dean agreed grimly, his long-blaster resting on a shoulder.
Stepping from the darkness into the beams of the headlights on the humming motorcycles, Jak nudged the physician. “He aced,” the teenager stated. “You fix. How do?”
“The technique is called CPR,” Mildred said, struggling to finally clear the jam in the Thompson. The bent brass sprang clear and flew away to land on a car with a metallic ring.