Page 74 of Cole: Bloodlines
“It’s Cole!” he choked. “Cochise… he’s… he’shurt!Where are you?”
“Hurt? How bad?”Clint’s voice strained with real fear. “How bad?!”
“It-It’s bad,” Cole stuttered. “He was shot. He needs help—now! Where are you?”
Clint swore sharply through the radio. “I’m in the fucking basement! One of those fuckers locked me inside. I can’t fucking get out! Cochise was on his way back to let me out.”
Cole looked around desperately, his frantic eyes shifting to the dark void around the machinery, where quiet, eerie tittering giggles emanated. “Jitterbug…” Cole trembled. “Please… help me…” he swallowed, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “For Savannah… these are her friends… they came here to help her.”
Jitterbug crept from the shadows, a maniacal grin splitting his face, baring his pointed teeth, with bits of Byrne’s bloody flesh caught between them.
Cole shivered at the sight. “Her friend… he’s locked in the basement… can you… can you let him out?”
Jitterbug slinked closer, and Cole knew he was just as likely to attackhimas he was to help him. Madness flashed through his green eyes, and Cole steeled himself—when the littlecreatureabruptly dashed across the large room and out the door.
“Cole!”Clint shouted through the radio.“What the fuck is happening?!”
“Just… Just hang tight,” Cole mumbled. “Someone’s coming to let you out. Just don’t…” His eyes darted to the giant. “… don’t hurt him.”Or we’re all fucked.
Don’t hurt him?
What the hell did that mean? Clint stood in the cold chamber outside the small office, the radio clutched in his fist, about to shatter beneath the pressure of his grip. The fear and desperation in Cole’s voice scared the fuck out of Clint. He raised the radio to his mouth. “Who shot him?” he growled, a deadly tremor running through his body.
“The Mangler,” Cole said, his words shaky. “My… dad.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s down… maybe dead,” Cole said. “I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“I can’t explain right now.” Cole’s voice pinched, as if in pain.
“Are you hurt?” Clint asked.
“Yeah,” Cole rasped. “But not as bad as…”
Clint’s breath surged. “Is hebreathing?”
“Yes… barely. But he’s not moving.”
Clint inhaled deeply, trying to calm the chaos invading his mind. “Who is coming to let me out?”
A short pause. “His… His name is Jitterbug,” Cole murmured. “He’s… different. Kind of… scary. But he helped Gabe and me, and the kids.”
“Is Gabe there with you? Is he all right?”
“He took the kids to find a way out of here. He’s injured, but he’ll be all right.”
Clint pressed the radio to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, his control wavering. He cleared his throat and lowered the radio. “Where was Cochise shot?”
“In the back. Between the shoulder blades.” His voice shuddered. “There… There’s no exit wound in the front.”
“Is he bleeding?”
“What?”
“Is hebleeding—”Sound outside the door silenced him. His pulse quickened when the outer lever screeched as it disengaged.“He’s here,” Clint said into the radio. “I’ll be there soon.” He clipped the radio to his belt and slowly drew his weapon, keeping his distance from the door as it inched open with a squealing protest of the rusted hinges.
