Luke turns. He barely noticed the shambling footsteps. The slow rise of Roy. His hateful eyes lifting to them.
A cry rasps from Sal. “Luke, watch out, he has a knife—”
Even as weak as she is, Sal tries to position her body in front of Luke.
The knife appears in Roy’s hand, slicing air as he charges them. Desperate to get at Sal. To kill.
Luke’s ready.
Whip-quick, he reaches for the neck of the broken guitar.
Only Sal’s there first.
She barely has the breath to breathe, and yet, in one swift motion, she grabs up the guitar stake. Staggering to her feet, her body blocking Luke, she meets Roy head-on.
And drives the jagged stake through Roy’s neck.
Luke’s up, beside her, helping her, giving her every last ounce of his strength for that final push into muscle and bone.
A stream of blood sprays across the room.
Roy sways, as if stunned, then his body tumbles to the floor with a final, sickening thud.
He’s down. For good.
Forever.
Slowly, Sal turns to face Luke.
“Sal,” he croaks, pressing a hand to his heart to show her it’s him, to show her she’s safe. She’s finally safe.
She doesn’t respond, and he sees she’s having that same realization. She’s safe. It’s written all over her face, in her ever-widening eyes, in her stunned expression. Relief, sheer relief.
Then Sal gasps. Her body’s had its limit, and as her adrenaline plummets, her legs give out. Luke’s instantly before her, catching her in his arms.
“Stay with me, Sal,” he begs, lowering her to the floor. Her pulse is thready, her breathing agonized, her face unnaturally white. Too white. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking.
Sal’s hand, cold and trembling, finds Luke’s cheek.
For a second, her glassy eyes hold on his face, then a pained sigh escapes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut, her body goes limp.
And Sal sinks into unconsciousness once more.
Luke cradles her against his chest. Holding her heartbeat against his body. Holding his wife in his arms and praying that this time, he wasn’t too late.