A Horror at Pine Ridge by Craig McDonough

Author:Craig McDonough [McDonough, Craig A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Craig McDonough

While Dannie Rosario read reports, tried to regain composure and get over the taste of lousy pizza; Vladimir had stirred.

In the days since his return, Vladimir would take stock of himself when he woke from his short rest periods, of his surroundings, his condition, and the memories that came back. Fleeting glimpses of the past came to Vladimir during these brief periods of respite. Flashbacks of his past life, his associates, and his own ruthlessness came into his mind. Faces... faces he did not recognize—until today. He remembered the faces; they belonged to the asshole that killed him and the bitch that set him up. The recollections of the day he met his fate, became clearer with each waking minute.

Vladimir now knew what he must do—he had a mission.

He had become self-aware. He was much steadier on his feet than in the previous days. The blood of Steve Beaumont had rejuvenated him.

Blood, the elixir of life.

His next move was to wake Roy, who was not faring so well in the looks department. His dry skin had peeled and his face resembled a cake of old soap left out in the sun. Roy's lower lip had split open to the end of his chin as if struck with a machete—it wouldn't be long before it pulled away from the bone. A mortician had patched the bullet wounds Roy suffered when shot by the Detective in his apartment with a wax to make him somewhat presentable after his rushed autopsy. The thread used in the stitching had broken from the parched skin; the wax had fallen free, revealing a gaping wound.

"Time we go." Vladimir placed a hand on his companion's shoulder. Vladimir's command of the English language had never been great but having the ability to speak again in his condition was beyond all expectations. Add thinking, talking and walking—it approached a dark version of a miracle. Vladimir noted the deterioration of his confederates, but he knew what to do. He learned and remembered his observations of Besnick.

"You wait here.” Vladimir said as Roy stood up.

Vladimir walked into what was once a functioning kitchen at some point, rummaged through cupboards until he found an old coffee cup and a dull but pointed steak knife. Returning to where Roy was, Vladimir plunged the point of the knife into his left palm and dragged the rusted blade across his hand. Blood oozed from the self-inflicted wound like red molasses. Careful not to spill a drop of the precious fluid, Vladimir placed his bleeding hand over the coffee cup. When the cup was half full, he spat a generous glob into his palm and then clenched his fist several times as he tore out a piece of the inner lining of his jacket and wrapped it around the incision. He turned, searched the room until he found the bottle of grappa on the shelf near the three-legged kitchen table. Vladimir understood that if Besnick was present, so was a bottle of the "nectar of the spirits.

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