Free Web NovelChapter 256: Chapter 255 - Gone
The shot hit Lance in the stomach.
For one second, Marybeth did nothing.
Not because she was calm.
But because everything split at once.
Iyisha was being dragged toward the back room. Lance was folding to the floor. Outside, the first gunshots cracked across the street, and Malcolm was somewhere beyond the broken window.
Marybeth took one step after Iyisha.
Then Lance hit the floor.
She turned toward him.
Then she turned back to the rear door.
Iyisha’s hand caught the doorframe. Her nails scraped against the wood before the soldier yanked her through.
Marybeth opened her mouth to shout for Malcolm.
Another burst of gunfire hit the front of the store. Glass broke inward. A rack snapped sideways. Marybeth ducked on instinct, one arm over her head, and the shout died in her throat.
If she screamed, the soldiers outside would know exactly where she was.
If she ran after Iyisha, Lance would bleed out.
If she stayed, Iyisha would be gone.
Lance made a wet sound on the floor.
That decided it for her body before her head did.
Marybeth dropped to her knees beside him and slapped both hands over his stomach. Blood pushed up between his fingers, hot and fast, and she shoved down harder until Lance’s whole body jerked.
"Sorry," she said, breathing too fast. "Sorry. Don’t move."
"Go," Lance forced out. His eyes rolled toward the back room. "Iyisha."
"Shut up."
"Go."
"I said shut up."
She looked once toward the rear door. Empty. The soldier had pulled Iyisha through. The other two backed after him, rifles still raised, and one fired into the store before disappearing. The shot ripped through hanging clothes and punched into the wall behind Marybeth.
Outside, some answered the shots. Maybe they got the guns.
Marybeth’s head snapped toward the window.
"Malcolm!" she shouted.
Gunfire swallowed her voice.
She did not know if he heard.
Lance tried to move under her hands.
"No." She leaned more weight onto him. "Stay down."
His blood kept coming. Then something shifted under her palms.
Marybeth froze.
At first, she thought he was convulsing. His stomach tightened under her hands, and the skin moved in a way skin should not move. The muscle pulled hard, then dragged inward beneath the blood.
"What the hell?"
She lifted one hand just enough to see.
The wound was moving.
Not healed. Not clean. But closing. The torn edges twitched and pulled together like something inside him was trying to stitch him shut from underneath.
Lance arched once, teeth clenched, then his eyes rolled back.
"Lance."
No answer.
Marybeth pressed her hand back down because she did not know what else to do. Her hands were slick to the wrists now. The blood was still coming, but slower. The skin under her palm kept moving.
That bullet was wrong.
Outside, the gunshots started moving away from the front of the store. A vehicle engine roared somewhere behind the building. Then another. Tires dragged hard against the road.
Marybeth looked toward the back room.
Iyisha was gone.
She looked toward the window.
Malcolm was out there.
She looked down.
Lance was unconscious under her hands, his body doing something impossible.
For half a second, she still did not know which way to move.
Then Malcolm came through the broken front window. He hit the floor hard, rifle up, eyes already searching.
His gaze landed on Lance.
Then on Marybeth’s bloody hands.
Then on the gun on the floor.
His face changed.
"Where is she?"
Marybeth opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her hands were still pressed on Lance’s stomach even though the bleeding had slowed under her palms. She looked at the back room instead.
Malcolm followed her eyes.
"They took her," she said.
For one second, he did not move.
Marybeth saw the decision fail in his face. Lance was on the floor. Iyisha was gone. Gunshots were still cracking outside. His hand tightened on the rifle until his knuckles went white, and his body leaned toward the back room before his feet moved. fгeewebnovёl.com
Then another shot cracked behind the shop.
Malcolm ran.
He shoved through the back room door so hard it hit the wall. Marybeth stayed on the floor, dazed, staring down at Lance. His shirt was soaked. Her hands were red to the wrists. She could still feel something moving under his skin, but her head would not catch up to it.
Arnulf came in next with Aljun behind him.
Arnulf saw the back door open and went straight after Malcolm. Aljun dropped beside Marybeth and grabbed her shoulder.
"Where’s the wound?"
She looked at him.
"Marybeth," he snapped, shaking her once. "Where’s the wound? Press on it."
She looked down at Lance’s stomach and slowly moved one bloody hand.
Aljun froze.
The hole was gone.
Not healed clean. Not right. The skin had dragged itself closed into a thick, ugly patch, raised and red, like new flesh had been forced over the wound too fast. Blood still smeared across his stomach, but there was no open bullet hole under it.
Aljun stared. "Where?"
Marybeth’s fingers hovered over the closed skin. "It was there."
Aljun looked at her, then back at Lance. "He was shot?"
"In the stomach."
"This is not a stomach wound."
"I know what I saw."
Lance lay unconscious between them, pale and sweating. His breath came rough, but it came. His hand twitched once against the floor, then went still.
More gunshots cracked from behind the shop.
Marybeth flinched.
Then the shooting stopped.
The silence after it felt wrong.
Arnulf came back first. A gun in his hand, and his face was tight. Malcolm followed him a few steps behind, breathing hard, rifle low in one hand and Iyisha’s gun clenched in the other.
Marybeth looked at Arnulf. "Where is she?"
Arnulf shook his head. "Car’s gone."
Her stomach dropped.
"Gone?"
"Too far," Arnulf said. "They had it waiting in the alley."
Malcolm stopped beside them.
Marybeth looked up at him and almost pulled back.
His face scared her.
Not because he looked like he would fall apart. Because he did not. His eyes were hard, his mouth tight, and his breathing came too fast through his nose. Blood ran down one side of his arm. He looked at Marybeth, and for one ugly second, she thought he might hit her.
He did not.
He dropped to one knee beside Lance.
"How is he?"
Marybeth blinked.
The question came out rough, but it was still a question.
She pointed at Lance’s stomach with a shaking hand. "The gunshot’s gone."
Malcolm looked down. His anger shifted. He leaned closer and stared at the closed patch of skin. His jaw tightened.
Aljun swallowed. "It closed while she was pressing on it."
Malcolm looked at Marybeth.
She nodded once. "I felt it move."
Arnulf crouched on the other side of Lance. "That bullet was meant for him?"
Marybeth shook her head. "No. It was meant for us."
Her eyes went to Lance’s face.
He was unconscious, pale, mouth slightly open as he dragged air in and out. Blood covered his shirt. Blood covered her hands. His pipe lay under the rack where it had rolled after the shot.
"He swung first," she said.
Her voice went rough.
"He tried to stop them."
No one answered.
Marybeth pressed her lips together. Her throat tightened, and she looked away before the others could see too much.
What an idiot.
He had been bleeding, weak, barely standing, and still moved before she did.
She had stood there.
She had watched Iyisha get pulled back.
Malcolm’s fingers closed around Iyisha’s gun. The metal creaked under his grip.
Marybeth looked at the gun, then at his face. "She put it down because they said they’d kill us. She didn’t go willingly." freewebnσvel.cѳm
"I know."
The words came low.
Malcolm looked at Lance again. His face did not soften, but his hand moved to Lance’s neck and checked his pulse. He held there for a second, then let go.
"He’s alive."
Marybeth let out a breath she did not know she was holding.
It did not help.
Malcolm stood.
Arnulf looked up at him. "We need to move. Shots will bring everything close."
Malcolm stared at the back room.
Marybeth knew that look. He was already chasing the car in his head. Streets. Turns. Distance. Blood. Speed. Failure.
Arnulf stood too. "Malcolm."
He did not turn.
"They had a car ready," Arnulf said. "They knew where to take her. Running blind gets you killed."
Malcolm’s grip tightened around the rifle.
Marybeth forced herself to stand. Her knees almost gave, but she caught the rack beside her. Blood dripped from her fingers onto the floor.
"We know where they’ve taken her."
He looked at her.
Marybeth swallowed.
The lab.
Outside, walkers groaned louder.
Closer.
Malcolm looked down at Lance, then at the ugly closed skin on his stomach, then at Iyisha’s gun in his hand.
His face went flat.
"Move."
