The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(95)

When he had met the jaguar he had known, during one crystal-clear instant, that he needed to fight back now or he’d be killed. And he had fought, rousing all his strength, all his feverish need to survive, into one single blow when he sunk the knife into the head of the creature.

Bloodied, on the floor, with pain racking his body, Montgomery pushed his way out of the agony. He’d done it once. He could do it again.

Eduardo raised a leg, intending to stomp down on Montgomery’s face, and Montgomery raised both hands, caught the man’s foot and twisted his ankle with a satisfying crunch. Eduardo screamed and threw himself away from Montgomery. Montgomery reached for the knife and sat up.

He spat and showed Eduardo his teeth, looking wilder than any of the hybrids. The taste of blood in his mouth spurred him forward, because he was not going to die that night. Not like this, not by the hand of fucking Eduardo Lizalde, so he clutched the knife and he grunted through the burning pain and he knew his face must be that of a madman right that instant.

The young man’s eyes narrowed, but he had no gun, and he stepped back, limping. His courage had deserted him. Montgomery heard the man moving, away and down the hallway, in the direction of the doctor’s room.

Montgomery wanted to simply collapse on the floor. Every breath he took hurt and his head was throbbing. But he couldn’t remain there. Eduardo would return with a weapon. Carlota and Lupe might still be somewhere in the house.

He clutched his midsection, pulling himself up a bit, then fell back again. He breathed in, straightened his shoulders, and forced himself up with a grunt. Montgomery tottered forward like a poorly wound-up toy and bit his lip.





Chapter 31


    Carlota


She slammed her hands against the door to no avail, and the more Carlota screamed, the more her strength seemed to desert her. The fever she was running now seemed to reach the point of boiling, and she slid down against the door feeling as though she’d spent the whole day racing through the paths near Yaxaktun. Carlota clutched her hands and pressed her knuckles against her lips, praying.

“Carlota!”

“Lupe?” she muttered, at first thinking she was imagining the voice, then pressing her cheek against the door. She scrabbled against it, pushing herself up. “Lupe, I’m locked in here.”

“Move away from the door.”

Carlota stepped back. She heard a loud thumping as Lupe banged something heavy against the door until splinters flew through the air and she had made a hole, and the entire doorknob came tumbling down with a resounding clang. Lupe opened the door and rushed toward her.

“Lupe, you came back!”

“Yes, for the last time, I hope,” Lupe said, but she was smiling. “God, you do get yourself in trouble! Come on, we better run to the horses and hope Montgomery and the doctor find us quick.”

“He’s here?”

“He’s with your father. He’ll get the doctor, don’t worry.”

“My father can’t walk.”

“The stretcher is still in the room, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Come on! The others are waiting!”

Carlota was trembling. “The others? They’re well?”

“They’re fine. Come on, I’ll tell you later.”

Carlota wasn’t sure Montgomery would be able to get her father anywhere, but Lupe looked scared, and they couldn’t stay in the room. She took a few steps but stumbled as if she had been imbibing aguardiente for hours and hours.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t breathe right,” Carlota muttered. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her body tingled. It was like before, like her other fits. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time.

Lupe wrapped one of Carlota’s arms around her shoulders and pulled her up, with her free hand she clutched the rifle. “I can’t get you smelling salts so you’ll have to help me here. Come on, take a step. There, yes.”

She obeyed Lupe, even though she felt as though someone was sticking needles into her skin. They shuffled forward in the dark. When they were about to reach the courtyard a man with a rifle stepped in front of them and without preamble fired at Lupe, hitting her in the leg.

Lupe yelped and pushed Carlota away. Carlota hit the wall, feeling boneless. She let out a scream that made the man pause, startled.

Before the man could shoot again Lupe leaped forward and swung her rifle, hitting the man in the head with it. The man yelled and tried to raise his weapon, but she hit him again and he dropped his rifle. They struggled mightily; Lupe clenched her teeth as he tried to punch her and she swung at him, slamming the butt of the rifle into his stomach, which seemed to do the trick. Then she hit him again and again, going for the stomach first, then the head. His limbs flailed, reminding Carlota of the pigs when they butchered them.

Blood spattered across the floor, staining the tiles. The man had grown still, and Lupe let the rifle fall down with a loud clatter. She turned to Carlota.

Carlota lay with her back pressed against the wall and had slid down, sitting on the floor. The scent of blood assailed her nostrils, making her stomach churn in revulsion.

“Come on,” Lupe said and extended her arms, trying to help her up, but when Carlota leaned on Lupe she winced.

“My leg,” Lupe muttered, and she clutched the wall. “We’ll have to go slow.”