feel helpless. If I move, he’ll shoot me, but not to kill me. If I don’t make a move, I’ll have to watch him kill Alannah. One of those is worse than the other. I’d rather die trying to save her than watch her be killed right here in front of me. I’ve got to do something.
I look at Alannah as Abram turns to face her. She doesn’t look at him, though, she looks at me. We lock eyes, and I can tell she’s trying to communicate still, so I look down at her hand. She’s still wiggling it, and the ropes are starting to give way. She keeps her eyes on me, and I know what’s next. I raise myself off the floor some more so I can be ready.
All of a sudden, Alannah’s right hand breaks free of the rope with one quick jerk. The second she has it free, she reaches up and grabs ahold of Abram’s gun, and I jump into action. I hop to my feet and spring towards him. I hit the Russian with a linebacker style tackle that sends all three of us crashing to the floor in a heap, one on top of the other, while the gun goes skidding down the hallway. Abram quickly tries to go get it, but I hold him down and punch him in the face with everything I’ve got.
The pain of the bullet in my shoulder steals my strength, though, and the impact isn’t as strong as I’d hoped. Abram recovers from the blow with ease, and quickly turns the tables with a punch of his own, knocking me off of him. Alannah struggles on the floor next to us as we wrestle, trying to keep the other away from the gun. I swing a right hook and it lands in Abram’s ribcage, knocking him back, then I throw a left cross that hurts my shoulder, but it connects with Abram’s temple and he collapses. In that moment, I remember I’m not totally unarmed.
I pull the knife from my pocket and jump on top of Abram, who uses both hands to try to keep me from stabbing him. I aim the knife at his throat and push down with everything I’ve got, but he’s got a death grip on my wrist. We struggle for far too long, and my shoulder is getting weaker by the second, but I won’t quit until he’s dead. I keep pushing, but Abram’s attention shifts to my shoulder, and he takes a hand off my wrist and plunges his finger into the bullet hole.
I let out a blood curdling scream as I succumb to the pain and my arm goes limp, releasing the knife. Abram punches me in the chin and tries to scramble to get up, but I gain my balance and grab him from behind. I wrap my arms around his neck and start to squeeze.
I dig my forearm into his throat and squeeze every muscle in my body. It hurts like hell, but I don’t let go, even after he tries to dig his fingernails into my skin, I keep squeezing. His legs go kicking in every direction as his air supply is cut off, but I don’t stop—not until he stops moving all together.
It only takes a few seconds, and then the kicking stops. Abram’s arms go limp and drop to his sides, and in that exact moment, my muscles seem to reach complete failure and I have to let go. I push Abram off to the side, and fall backwards, completely exhausted.
I can hear Alannah struggling still, and trying to talk behind the tape, so I muster up some strength and pick myself up. I grab the knife off the floor and use it to cut the rest of the rope off of her and she pulls the tape off herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She looks me in the eye and as tears start to stream down her cheeks.
“You’re asking me if I’m okay, and you’re the one who got shot,” she says as she rubs my face.
“I’ll be fine as long as you’re alright.” I help her up off the floor, and we both look down at Abram, whose eyes are closed, but fluttering.
“He’s not dead. He just passed out. We have to call the cops,” Alannah says. She looks at me, wondering what I’m going to say. I can tell she knows what I’m thinking, and it sure as hell isn’t to call the