He spun himself off the bed a heartbeat before the suppressed spit of the pistol sent the bullet screaming into the pillow. Grabbing the plastic vase of flowers beside the bed he whipped them through the air, its flight fuelled by the momentum as he twisted away. The man's arm came up in time to shield his face from the vase, but it knocked the flowers into his face and gave Matt the precious seconds he needed to find his stance. Punching the flowers away, the gunman surged forwards, pollen clinging like a haze around his face. Matt smiled.
The gun sailed upwards, aiming for his chest. He darted closer, looping the cannula's tube around the offending wrist and jerking it up hard, lashing out with his heel and unbalancing his opponent. Embracing the raging burn in his chest he sailed forward, ducking under the outstretched arm, lashing back with is other foot and coming up behind the gunman, the tube now looped around his neck, his gun trapped against his head, pointing at the ceiling. A second bullet snapped free, burrowing itself through thin plywood and wires. Matt had time to hope it didn't hit anyone upstairs before Pollen's other elbow stabbed into his side, forcing air from his lungs and fuelling the fire in his chest. A stale crack ripped along his ribs. Pollen raised his arm again, readying a second blow and Matt spun away, needing space to suck in half a breath. He grabbed the gun and twisted it out of the sweaty hand, spinning it into the far corner, jabbing his other fist hard into his gut as he twisted past. Pollen grunted and Matt could feel the man's rage rising. He smirked.
He felt the tube unravel from his fist and clenched it harder, jerking his hand down hard. Pollen's head followed in quick succession, the tube tightening around his neck. With a rumbling growl he pulled the tubing off himself, lashing it out at Matt's face. He batted it away but the distraction worked: Pollen surged forward like a bull, his shoulder slamming into Matt's gut, evicting his air and pulling on his stitches. He tasted copper oozing beneath the gauze.
Before he could counter his back was crushed into the window, the sill biting into his lower back and pain lightninged through him. He tried to suck in a breath but his lungs were frozen, the fire in his chest surging into a wild, volcanic inferno, roaring at him to stop! He kicked his knee into Pollen's gut but the blow was too weak to matter. Wheezing in thimbles of air he hooked his right arm under the man's shoulder and pulled with all his waning might, twisting hard until the man fell sideways with a satisfying, squelching pop.
Matt braced himself against the wall, willing himself to rally. The morphine fog had been scorched away but pain was shorting his attention, sucking him seductively into unconsciousness, which right now, meant death.
The squeak of rubber on linoleum brought him back to the room. The scent of pollen rose, laced now with blood and sweat, from the floor. The rustle of nylon and the sudden biting taste of steel revealed a knife held securely in fuming fingers.
Matt held his position as man and blade flew towards him, spinning aside a second too late and feeling the cold metal rip more blood into the air. He gritted his teeth, holding his injured arm over his ribs, feeling the inferno blaze up a notch. He needed to end this now.
The knife came slicing back at him, this time aimed for his gut and he braced into the impact, grabbing Pollen's knife arm and guiding it harmlessly past his side while his knee kicked savagely into the man's groin. While he struggled for breath Matt twisted the arm hard, his own teeth clenched against a scream that roared through him. He was rewarded by the zinging clatter of the blade hitting the floor. He moved to kick it away, which was his last mistake.
Pollen was expecting it and jerked his arm out of Matt's grip, wrapping it around his knee and heaving him into the air. The man twisted and jumped, sending them both crashing into the hard ground, Pollen's full weight focused on his shoulder pressed into Matt's stomach. Any air he had clung to disappeared as the impact against his head and back sent blackness winking through his mind. He felt his arms go slack. Blood coughed into his mouth. The familiar tugging sting of ripping stitches burned under the soaked bandage while a similar, far more intense fire flickered inside him. Dimly, he heard a rhythmic thudding and wondered if it was approaching footsteps. Maybe Karen. God, please let it not be Karen.
He felt Pollen pull backwards, onto his knees. His heart was quick and decisive, his rage thundering through his veins, eager for release. Matt supposed it must be pretty aggravating, shooting a blind guy who somehow pulled through, then having to finish the job only to get his ass kicked. He didn't have time to enjoy being a nuisance in this scumbag's life; his meaty fists were pounding into his face, his stomach, his bandaged wound, his jaw, his cracking ribs. Each beat resounded through him, the vibrations ricocheting from his skull to the floor and back. Each blow pummelled him deeper into blackness, pushing him further and further away from warmth, from scents, from air. His right arm was pinned under Pollen's legs and his left only twitched as he tried to make a fist, sending red shocks of fire through his breast.
Get up, Matty.
A distant metallic clanking. Squeaking, clicking footsteps. The vaguest hint of sunshine and sandalwood. Pollen shifted, his knee pressing hard into Matt's chest as the fists reached around his throat.
Come on, get up.
An echo that should have been a shout. A warbling clang and the pressure on his chest lifted. The crunch of bone. The thud of a slender body hitting the far wall. A scream.
"Matt, get up!"
He clawed in a breath, trying to make sense of the indistinct flurries battering his senses. Familiar hands curled around his shoulder and dragged him painfully away from the panting sound of punches. He blinked. Gasped. Focused through dense, swirling scented fog.
Claire was pinned against the wall, her teeth bared in a snarl as she lashed out at the man holding her, but his hands were tightening their grip on her throat.
Get up, Matthew! NOW!
He heaved himself onto his elbow. His stomach convulsed and a waterfall of sickly, thick blood forced itself over his tongue. Blackness sucked at his mind, pain at his chest, but that did not matter, nothing mattered but getting to Claire now.
He tensed to rock himself forward and kick Pollen's leg away but a hand with painted fingernails appeared on his chest, pushing him back into the ground. His eyes widened in horror as he felt Karen rise to her feet and lunge at the assassin. He tried to speak, to shout at her to get the hell away, but the only thing in his lungs now was blood.
The sickening snap as Karen's heel lashed into the man's calf. His cry was cut short by her punch and his fingers relaxed around Claire, who slumped, coughing, to the ground. Matt's arm gave out beneath him and the cold linoleum pressed into the side of his face. No, get up, Matt. Get up. They need you. Get up.
Pollen spun – or turned – and struck Karen hard with his fist – or his foot? Her cry morphed into a vicious growl and she hit him back, landing a solid-sounding punch ... somewhere.
Get up ...
Claire caught her breath with a venomous snarl and suddenly she was on her feet, her heat merging with Pollen's with a bodily thud. Something sharp and plastic arced through the air and the man grunted. Karen punched again. One of the heartbeats slowed unnaturally.
Matt felt the vibrations of something heavy landing hard through the floor, zipping into his cheekbone, rippling through the pool of stinking blood that grew larger as another involuntary heave sent a new wave of thick copper slithering from his lips. His mind felt like wet cotton. The few sounds that reached his ears were distorted and echoing. All he could taste was his own burning blood.
Hands reached him. Turned him on his back. They were ice against his skin. One slipped behind his neck and raised his head so the next surge of blood oozed over his chin. The hand became knees. Ice burned against the suffocating fire where his lungs used to be. He could hear words, quick, low, urgent. Their meaning sailed by him like leaves on a breeze. Bleeding ... chest cavity ... collapsing ... suffocate ... help ...
A shard of ice pierced the fire and he felt it swell in outrage. The pressure shifted and wisps of flames were sucked away through the ice. He blinked slowly. Something cool snaked its way through the blood that was once his throat. Was that air? It felt wrong, barbed and freezing. More blood welled around it, lazily drowning it in sickly heat. The inferno in his chest seemed tamer now, or maybe that was just the smoking haze surrounding him, pulling him away?
The ice on his skin melted. The fire receded. The world echoed into stillness, replaced with a dense, heavy, and engulfing layer of black.
And then that disappeared too.
