She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,89

the coffee.

The cracked pot was at my feet, black liquid pooling out.

Lurline Waldrip lay beside the mess on the floor.

I dropped to my knees and gently turned her over, rolling her onto her back.

No less than six red spots bloomed on the chest of her pink uniform. Deep red at the center, where the bullets had gone in, less so directly surrounding each spot. One of the spots was between her breasts, at her heart. I knew she wasn’t breathing, I knew that bullet had killed her, but I pressed two fingers against her neck anyway and felt for a pulse, finding nothing.

I heard Dunk then.

I’m not sure how I knew it was him, but somehow I did, a muffled cry a few feet to my left. I didn’t want to leave Lurline like that, lying on the floor in so much filth, but I also knew I had little choice. Breathing was growing harder by the second. I wouldn’t be able to stay inside much longer.

I stood and shuffled through the upended furniture and other obstacles I didn’t want to identify toward the booths that lined the far wall, toward the one closest to the door, Dunk’s favorite.

I found Dunk lying sideways on the booth seat, the lower half of his body crammed under the table, his face and legs covered in blood. Henry Crocket sat across from him, his back to the door, his face pressed against the table, eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on a half-full cup of coffee. A plate of toast and butter was at the center between them both.

The back of Crocket’s head was missing.

A ragged tear started just past the center at the top of his head and ended at the base of his neck, as if a giant had reached down and twisted it off with a large thumb and forefinger. His back was riddled with bullet holes. The booth seat between him and the front of the diner was shredded, a mess of red pleather, stuffing, and plywood, chipped away and splintered.

Dunk groaned again.

I reached down into the booth and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling his bulky body toward me until we both fell back onto the tile floor at the aisle. He fought me at first, his body going rigid, followed by a scream as the pain of movement washed over him. Then he went limp and silent.

I scurried to my feet again, and my vision went momentarily white. My legs disappeared from beneath me, and I collapsed. I wasn’t getting enough air, and I was going to pass out. If I passed out in here, I wouldn’t be leaving.

I forced myself to stand. Wobbly legs be damned.

I grabbed Dunk under the arms and pulled him toward the front of the diner, toward the missing window, while trying to ignore the slick, red stain his body left on the floor behind us.

What came next is a bit of a blur. I think I nearly passed out again. I remember falling or the feeling of falling. I can’t be sure. Then I remember other arms around me. Hands groping, fingers grabbing at whatever they could. I remember being pulled out of the diner, over the concrete sidewalk, and out onto Brownsville Road.

“Breathe, kid, breathe,” someone said. “We called 911. Just lie still.”

I saw a face hovering over me. A middle-aged man in glasses and a plaid shirt.

My head rolled to the side, and I saw Dunk lying there, unmoving.

I took a deep breath.

Although the smoke was thick here, too, clean air was thicker and my lungs welcomed it. Strength began to seep back into my arms and legs, the fog over my thoughts began to lift.

That’s when I remembered Krendal.

I remembered Elden Krendal and knew he was still inside.

The middle-aged man in the plaid shirt tried to stop me. So did others. He grabbed at my shoulder and tried to press me back down to the pavement when I forced my body to stand. At that point, others in the growing crowd grabbed at me, too—apparently what I planned to do was evident in my eyes.

I stood anyway and drew in a deep breath.

I shook off the man in the plaid shirt, I pulled out of the grip of the others, and I ran back toward the diner with the sound of sirens wailing somewhere behind me.

Without the large plateglass window at the front of the diner, the growing fire had no trouble finding food, and when I passed