Everyone Dies in the End #12

Artemis

Chops pitched face-first onto a pile of VHS tapes, the clattering loud, the blood spilling from his shredded back, profuse. Susan screamed and Artemis jumped back from the falling body as if it would attack him. Which of course it wouldn’t, the thing that had been Chops 10 seconds previously was just a shredded lump of blood and meat, its machetes sliding on the tile of the Best Buy floor. Neither did Chops’ still-very-much-alive friend look as though either the jumping Artemis or the screaming Susan were his number one priority. Although Artemis had no idea what was going on, Spikey did, and he spun to face the chunky young man in the door, just as the newcomer’s shotgun spoke for the second time in as many seconds.

Artemis saw the muzzle flash, and with the sight came the instantaneous pain of a swarm of bees biting his arm. Big, angry bees.

The force of the blast knocked him onto his back, and the pain was unlike any he had ever known. White hot and burning, it felt as though his entire arm was on fire, his mouth was dry, its tongue swollen, and someone was ringing a dull, but persistent bell in his ear.  But he was a lot better off than Spikey. The red-haired ganger had caught the brunt of the shotgun blast, and through the strange variance of violence, now lay beside Artemis, his chest a confused mess of nylon webbing, the 9mm bullets the webbing contained, and pulpy red flesh.  Artemis noticed that the chest still moved, and he used is legs and good arm to push himself away from the ganger’s body, even though he knew the gesture was fruitless, one more shotgun blast and he would be dead.

“Hey, take it easy there.” It was the chunky guy with the shotgun, and judging from its angle, it didn’t look like Artemis was next target. “Yeah, take it easy,” added a soft voice he had come to know so well over the last few weeks.

Susan! God, he had forgotten about her. She knelt beside him, her face smeared with blood, but judging from her relative calm, Artemis doubted it was her own.

“Are you…are you okay?

She bit her lower lip and gave a slight nod, her attention focused on his arm. “Oh God, Arty, you’ve been hurt.”

She turned toward the chunky man, “You son of a bitch, you shot him!” Artemis had never heard her raise her voice, let alone utter a curse word. Jeeze, Susan, he thought, don’t yell at people who carry shotguns.

Chunky man shrugged. If appearances were any indication, it took more than an enraged college kid to anger him. His voice was calm, steady. “Hey, I didn’t shoot him, schoolgirl. I shot the guy who was gonna shoot him, and in case you didn’t notice, I also shot the guy that was about sixty seconds from making you the mother of his child.” He smiled; the gesture broad and genuine. “So, I’ll assume that ‘You son of a bitch, you shot him’ is just your way of saying thanks.”

Susan didn’t answer, once again turning her attention to Artemis. “Sweet mother, Arty, you’re a mess.” Her hands worried over the fabric of his shirt, tearing it from his wound. Her teeth worried with her lower lip. She is so, freaking beautiful, he thought. But he said, “Your bedside manner is lacking Nurse Susan.” Her eyes flicked to his face, and he forced a grin.

“You’re supposed to encourage me, tell me it ain’t so bad…you know, good stuff. Definitely not ‘Arty, you’re a mess.’ stuff. If I was…” He stopped, she wasn’t listening. Her eyes had closed, and she muttered soft words, words he had never heard. A language he didn’t know. Her small hands were light against his flesh, her touch cool, calming. The words continued.

“Matris Terra vigoratus is vulnus. Permissum meus diligo unguentum suus poena.” Softly the words fell from her lips. Soft words, soft lips, the encircled pentagram stark black against her pale face, her angel face. He concentrated on that face and the pain began to recede. The ringing stopped first, then the fire subsided, no longer searing his entire side, only his arm, then only his bicep, then it was gone, a dull throb the only reminder of the previous agony.

The words stopped. The hands remained, so soft. She breathed, her rhythm matching his. One breath. Two. Her eyes fluttered open. The hands departed. Her eyes locked his, paying his wound no mind. “There,” she sighed, “all better.”

“Dude.” It was the chunky guy. Artemis didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to pull his eyes from Susan’s face, but he did.

He stood over them, eyes incredibly wide, mouth a small “O” of surprise, pointing at Artemis. “Dude, your arm.”

Artemis looked. Where there had been blood, shredded skin, and pain, there was now only the smooth flesh of a perfectly healthy arm.