by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 52: ZEKE
Even if you’re trapped in a corner, you got options. “Trapped” isn’t a real word most of the time. Trapped is temporary. Think we’re trapped in here? That’s thinking small. Off the top of my head, I can think of three options: you can break out, wait till they let you out, or you could die. Trapped is just a state of mind, and it’s a state of mind I never visit. I live in a world of options, where I’m free to try this or sample that, become what I want, reject what displeases me. Well, except God, of course. You can’t reject God.
So I’m holding my arm. It doesn’t really hurt. The bullet had nicked fat for the most part, but a river of blood’s seeping through my fingers and I have a gun on me. So it’s over, right? Aha, there’s Sampson’s piece. Sure, I hear sirens in the distance, but all I gotta do is make it through the kitchen and blast my way out before they arrive.
I make my move. I take two steps and the fucker shoots me again. Right in the thigh. I fall to the ground.
I don’t feel it at first, like he nicked the fat again. Then the pain comes, fast and hard. I twist and turn. I start to sweat. I wanna vomit.
Meanwhile, he’s farting out these corny lines like, “Time to take out the trash. C’mon, show me a trick Houdini. Gimme me a reason to blow you back to the hell you came from.” He’s smirking like he’s badass, but the lines are bad and he’s an ass.
Like I said, options. So going for Sampson’s gun didn’t work. Okay, I’ll try something else. I’m holding my bleeding leg with my bloody hand and my torn up arm with my good hand, but I still got options.
I crawl to the window. The scumfuck won’t shut up. “Whatcha doing, princess? Gonna show me a dance?” Stuff like that. Real brutal digs. What an asshole. I’d never do that. He shouldn’t be wearing a badge.
I kind of push the dead kid out of the way. His head lands on Sutler’s crotch. Too bad I wasn’t in a laughing mood right then.
I try the window. It’s locked, so I prop myself up to reach the lock. Fuck it. It’s not working. I’m dizzy. Can’t get a grip. I’m covered in gallons of blood and I’m slipping all over the place.
I collapse next to the kid. We three are making a mess of the carpet, I can tell you that. Someone’s not getting their security deposit back.
Okay, so the window didn’t work either. Look, you can take what you’re given and bitch about it, or you can be like me, a man of action, and make an effort. The effort might not bring the results you want, but you never know if you never try. Sutler never tried. Look at him now.
The sirens are getting closer, but I’m not giving up.
CHAPTER 53: BRENDA
It wasn’t brave and it wasn’t impetuous. It was just something I did. I don’t think it’s fair to judge an impulse.
The last series of gunshots were too much for me to take. I heard sirens, but they were taking too long to arrive. What, did they stop for doughnuts and coffee? Sorry.
By now, a small crowd had gathered across the street. They yelled at me to stop, but I didn’t care what happened to me anymore. I needed to know if Adam was okay. Inside, I heard the cop on the second floor bellow gems like, “I’m gonna make you beg like a leper,” and, “It’s time to take out the trash.”
I don’t know what I expected to do. Nothing really. I just needed to see. I went up the stairs, came to an open door and that’s it. I’m done. I’ll sign whatever you want.
CHAPTER 54: DALE
I was taken aback to witness the bastard bleeding the same red stuff as you or me, not the ice water nor crude oil I had expected. He’d lost a substantial amount of the precious fluid too. If he had bled out before the ambulance arrived, I would have, I don’t know, burned down a church.
But he was surprisingly vibrant in spite of the holes in his body. Rather vociferously he begged me to kill him. He actually said, “Come on, I know you want to,” if you can believe it, which shows how little he knows me.
From nowhere, Brenda Sutler leapt into the scene. She pushed me from the doorway to enter the apartment. I pulled her back, but she had apparently caught a glimpse of her husband’s remains and was reacting as crazed as any sane civilian would. I contended with her flails and wails. Ravella didn’t want to help.
“I’m sorry, Brenda. I tried to save him but I killed him.” This guy couldn’t stop confessing.
She didn’t leave me an honorable choice. She forced me to grab hold of her and push. She hit the opposite wall, slid to the carpet, and dissolved into tears.
That interruption over, Ravella resumed his loud, suicidal pleads. From behind me, Mrs. Sutler was agreeing Ravella’s termination was a good idea in an equally powerful tone, if not slightly more shrill.
Thankfully, the screaming sirens drowned them both. The comforting red and blue lights flashed in the window, giving Ravella’s bloody hand prints the illusion of pulsating.
Sensing the approach of an objectionable end, Ravella completely broke down and began to weep, replete with twin trails of snot.
The cavalry was in the foyer.
“Why won’t you kill me?” He didn’t get it. I doubt he ever will. But I answered him with the truth anyway, for something like the same reason why I always do the right thing when no one’s watching.
“Because there are rules, Ravella,” I said, retrieving my badge and holding it aloft. “There are rules.”
###
About the author
Amos Gunner leads a thrilling life, which will be described in his forthcoming memoir. This is his first novel.
