RUSTY | frank castle

EIGHT

"Piss off!"

Rusty was about to end the call when the man shouted, "No, no, no, no, no! Please. It's him. Frank Castle needs medical attention."

Rusty was sceptical. Her mouth was agape, and she didn't believe the man on the phone. She stayed silent heard the man on the other end of the call sigh. 

"Listen, my name is David Lieberman and yours is Rusty Mallard. You have two dogs, one is Fender and the other Lexi. Now, I have Frank castle bleeding out on my table and I know you studied medicine so I need your help."

This sudden flow of information caused Rusty to frown and her heart rate elevate. 

"Please. Frank needs your help."

Rusty, her eyes wide with the realisation that this man was either telling the truth or trying to lure her into a trap. Either way, he knew too much and needed to be dealt with. "Alright." She mumbled in her husky voice. "Get me all the medical equipment you have and send me your address."

"Thank you." The man sighed, though he couldn't say much else when Rusty suddenly ended the call. 

She took two guns, and put a knife into her pocket. Taking her phone into her hand and the keys of a black Honda CRV she 'borrowed' the other day, the woman left her house after her dogs. 

  •••  

"No!"

"I figured I'd die in these woods anyways."

The lamps were yellow and bright; they looked like neon in Frank's sleepy eyes.

"I'm gonna get you off this mountain."

Sweat was trickling down his body.

"Bury me, man."

The screens were so bright, they were blinding.

"Just bury me. Promise me you'll bury me, okay?"

His breathing was slow and shallow. Frank was exhausted.

"You stay here. I'll be back. I'm coming back, Gunner. You stay here. I'm coming back, Gunner."

The metal was rusty. It was a beautiful kind of dark, fiery orange. Just thinking of the word, Frank felt relaxed; like he was safe, at home. Rusty.

David was muttering to himself, his hands close to shaking as he counted the seconds in his head. "Come on, Mallard. Come on."

He looked over at Frank; he was half conscious. His shirtless torso was shining with sweat. He was muttering to himself, his mind elsewhere as his body suffered the influence of the arrow in his shoulder. 

"Shit." David said to himself. "Shit!"

The door then flew open, the sound resonating in the garage. With both dogs at each leg, a tall woman with distinct, short, curly hair entered the warm space. Her glock was up in front of her face, her arms and hands so still you would think she was sculpted out of marble. An unzipped coat was on her frame, and her black Dr. Martens were barely heard on the concrete floor. 

Clicking of the dogs's nails was were heard as they got closer to the kitchen. 

"Hands on your head." She called to the Lieberman, her voice so strong it made David shiver for a second. His mouth was agape, but he puts his hands slightly in the air. He stared at her two sinister-looking large dogs. 

"Frank's dying." He called to Rusty, his movements slow as he walked past Frank and to her, all while the woman's eyes didn't leave him for even a split second. "He needs your help."