Ten Plagues

Paul and Keren were closing the distance fast. Pravus screamed in frustration and leaped to his feet. He threw the weapon at LaToya, in one last desperate attempt to be granted the victory of killing her. Keren fired again and Pravus turned and fled. Paul got to LaToya’s side first. Keren slid to her knees beside them. LaToya lay unmoving on her side; a sculptor’s chisel protruded from the center of her back. Blood flowed from the wound. Keren shouted over the storm, “Call an ambulance!”

As she knelt there, scrambling to find a pulse, she felt the ground turn to life under her. LaToya’s body crawled with something living. Keren realized something squirmed under her. The sky lit up and she saw frogs—hundreds of little frogs crawling and hopping over every inch of the ground.

Paul shouted, “I’ve got a heartbeat!”

Their eyes met over LaToya’s battered body. Paul snarled, “Give me your gun.”

“My job, Rev. Call for backup and get an ambulance out here.” Keren jumped to her feet and ran after Pravus.

“Keren!”

Keren shouted over her shoulder, “Don’t let her move. That chisel might have hit her spine.” She ran in the direction Pravus had gone. She could feel him. She knew unerringly which way to go. She shouldn’t go after him alone. It was completely against procedure, but she couldn’t stand to let him go without pursuit. Stopping him was too important.

The park ended in a rundown neighborhood that led to Paul’s mission.

Keren dashed up an alley that vibrated with Pravus’s presence. Normally she would have slowed down and gone into the pitch-black alley carefully, but she heard pounding footsteps ahead, still running. She came out the other end of the alley, ran across a deserted street, and disappeared into another alley. She thought she caught sight of movement ahead of her. She picked up her pace. As she came out of the dark bowels of the back alley, she heard a car roar to life through the next alley. She ran across the street and dived back into the darkness, putting every ounce of strength she had into getting there, getting her hands on him, getting off a shot, at least getting a look or a license plate. She barreled out of the alley, and twin headlights bore down on her.

Unable to stop her forward motion, she hurled herself up. The car hit her feet. She landed with a bone-cracking thud on top of the car. She rolled, bounced on the trunk, and slammed onto the unforgiving pavement. With a sickening snap her skull hit concrete. Tumbling, she clung to her gun until she stopped.

With pure willpower, she rolled onto her belly, focused on the disappearing car, and fired at the rapidly disappearing vehicle. No light shined on the license plate. She heard glass break and a taillight went blank. She unloaded her weapon at the car, then it skidded around a corner, and in the streetlight she made out the shape of the lights and the silhouette of the car, a sedan. Dark. Four doors.

They’d said the car Murray was driving was a dark-green Malibu. Keren thought this might be it.

It sped around a corner, and Keren shoved against the pavement, to go after him.

She made it as far as her knees before her head began to spin. She stared at blood dripping onto her hands and had a vague idea that it wasn’t a good sign.

She was only distantly aware of the lightning and thunder as the storm broke and rained down on her collapsing form.

Paul couldn’t leave LaToya’s side. He gave the 911 operator directions with his cell in one hand while he tried to stem the gushing wound in her back and hold her still with the other. An ambulance siren sounded in the distance.

“Hurry,” Paul prayed as he carefully avoided touching the chisel, afraid he’d make it worse. How could it be worse? He laughed harshly. It wasn’t a sound he’d heard come from himself for five years. But he recognized that cynical cop laughter well.

He felt something crawling inside his shirt but he didn’t have a hand to spare for himself. The creeping feeling of the trapped frog seeped into his guts and filled him with loathing.

The blinding lights of the ambulance swept across the park. Following Paul’s careful directions, it drove straight out onto the grass and sped toward them.

LaToya’s pulse was weakening. Her breathing was so shallow he had to lean right next to her mouth to hear it. The rescue squad skidded to a stop. Paramedics raced toward him. He thanked God for the rapid response. They pushed him aside. He yelled instructions about the chisel.

“I’m here with a police detective. She went after him,” Paul shouted at the first responding paramedic. “You have to keep it quiet that she’s alive.” He grabbed her arm and shook the poor woman until she threatened to belt him. Then, knowing he had her attention, he said, “The man who tried to kill her is the serial killer who blew up that building last week. He’ll come after her if he knows she’s alive.”

With soothing tones that Paul knew she practiced, the woman said, “We can put out the word she died. I know the guy you’re talking about.”