A Necessary Kill

by James P. Sumner

  He looks across at the men standing by the sofas, who I notice are now standing up straight like they’re proud fathers. He strokes a hand across his chin, as if choosing his words carefully. Ever the politician.

  I notice his other hand stays hovering over the laptop.

  “Adrian, quite frankly, you lack the mental capacity to understand why this is happening. You don’t see things the way I do. You don’t appreciate the scope of a situation. All you see is the end of your gun, whereas I look miles beyond the target.”

  “Do yourself a favor and try not to patronize me, alright? You think you’re safe in this room right now? You think you can relax because you’ve got six armed Secret Service agents with you?”

  He shrugs and smiles.

  I don’t like how confident he is. Let’s do something about that…

  In the same fluid, expert movement as before, I aim the gun and fire once, hitting the agent on the far left of the room in the face. The bullet strikes just above the right side of the jaw, shattering his mandible in two. His head snaps back violently as one half flies away, spraying a thin trail of blood in the air. It hits the far wall beneath the portrait of a former president. The other half is still attached but hanging loose. The agent is dead before he hits the floor.

  Straightaway the gun’s back against Cunningham’s forehead. “Sorry, five agents… Are you starting to see where this is going?”

  The rest of the agents are getting twitchy, and I can understand how hard it must be for them to ignore their instincts and obey an order they don’t agree with.

  “Okay… okay. I’ll tell you, Adrian. I’d like you to understand why I’ve done this, I really would. But before I do, I need you to know that you’ve got me all wrong. You see, I’m not a coward. I’m the president of the United States. I’ve dedicated my life to making sure these events unfold exactly as they are. Years and years of meticulous planning and strategy have been poured into this.”

  “What do you want? A fucking medal?”

  “Not at all. I’m not doing this for recognition, despite what you might think. I’m doing this because it’s what the people need.”

  “And who are you to decide what’s best for everyone?”

  “Adrian, I’m the president. It’s why I was elected.”

  “Yeah, you’re the president of this country… not the entire world! You can’t just enforce your ideals on everyone because you think you’re right. Did you not pay attention in history class? It never works. And the people who try it end up dead.”

  He smiles. “History simply teaches us if you start with nothing, that’s exactly what you’ll end up with. Hitler… Stalin… even bin Laden… The problem they had was that they started trying to—how did you put it—enforce their ideals at the same time they were rising to power. That never works because the people who would object to a leader’s beliefs can see him growing. They can simply monitor him and step in when they need to. There is no surprise, no shock—they just prepare for the day when they would inevitably have to stop him. But me… I rose to power first. Only then did I start to implement my plan for a new, better world. I started when I was already in charge, so the things I’m trying to do are more easily accepted. See, it’s easy to stop someone from running for the throne when you’re running alongside them, Adrian. But it’s much harder to approach that throne when they’re already sitting on it surrounded by their kingdom.”

  I raise an eyebrow. My arm and shoulder are starting to ache a little from holding this gun to his head for so long. But I’m not moving it.

  “Huh… did you, like, write that little speech beforehand? Have you been rehearsing it every day in case you get a chance to reel off your bullshit to someone? You’re a whole other level of crazy, Chuck. You’d be better off in Stonebanks…”

  “Actually, I think we’re a lot alike, you and me. We’re both smart, we’re both driven. We’re also very instinctual. I’m somewhat of a gambling man. I go with my gut when I need to, just like you. Like now, for example. You’ve shot two members of my security detail. Rather impressively, I might add. But I don’t think you’ll shoot me. In the same way you’ve thought that flash drive around your neck would keep you alive this whole time, I think you’re banking on staying safe while you have a gun to my head. But you’re wrong, because I am prepared to die for my cause. I will not let anything or anyone stop me. Not now. And I will not be threatened by the likes of you. So tell me, Adrian Hell, what do you intend to do… now!”

  He holds my gaze and smiles as he presses the Enter key.

  32

  21:27 EDT

  No… He can’t have… He’s… Tori is… I have to…

  “No!” I yell out, watching the screen in horror.

  My arm drops to my side and everything around me fades away. The gray image in front of me still shows the quiet, dusty road running through the center of the town I’ve called home for the last two-and-a-bit years.

  The small shape of a person walks into view from the north and turns into my bar a moment later.

  Huh… she must’ve got the place reopened. Way to go, babe!

  I smile, thinking about—

  Sweet Jesus!

  A long, thin line flickers into view from the east, and a split-second later a bright flash covers the entire display.

  Is that… was that it? I don’t understand. Did I just see…?

  The glare fades, revealing…

  My eyes go wide. “Holy mother of God…”

  There’s… nothing! It’s a goddamn wasteland—just fire and debris for miles.

  I turn to look at Cunningham. He’s still in his seat but any visible tension is gone. I stare into his eyes. There’s a glint in them… pride, I think. He’s relaxed, leaning back in his chair like it’s a Sunday afternoon and the family is around. He thinks he’s won. He thinks I’m beaten, and he viewed me as the last remaining obstacle in his path.

  The room slowly fades back into view. The desk, the carpet, the men by the sofas, the Secret Service agents…

  Oh shit, the agents!

  I look up as they advance toward me, guns raised but fingers outside the trigger guard. I’m too close to their boss to risk a shot. But if they get close and surround me, I’m finished.

  Tori…

  Anger and sadness fill up inside me in equal measure. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to simply drop to my knees in grief. Let them take me. I don’t care anymore. I’ve lost. At the press of a button, Cunningham took away everything I had. Everything I worked to get since starting my new life.

  There’s nothing left for me now.

  There’s just—

  Hey, Adrian. It’s me. Satan. Your Satan. Have you finished? Because I can come back if you’re still wallowing…

  I frown to myself.

  Are you… are you good? Okay, listen up. You see that gun in your hand? Well, when you’ve finished being a dick, take a moment to think what Adrian Hell would do with it… Not winning isn’t the same as losing, man. Tell you what… I’ll make you a deal. You get us out of this, and I’ll leave you alone to grieve. Sound fair?

  I smile to myself. I think I’ve finally been tipped over the edge… There’s a voice in my head actually insulting me!

  Boy, I swear, if you drop to your knees now, me and you are through! These pussies can’t take you. No one can. Now wipe that dumbass smile off your face and start shooting people. They haven’t won yet!

  I look down at my hand and examine the weapon. It’s a Sig Sauer P229R. Two shots fired, which leaves me nine in the mag and one in the chamber. I count nine people in the room, not including me.

  It’s like it was meant to be…

  I take a breath and stand tall as my lungs fill with air. Time slows down and I move backward, stepping around Cunningham as I open fire. No need for me to keep track of ammo… I won’t be wasting any.

  I fire the first two rounds one-handed, taking out the two agents on the right of the group. Both cat
ch a bullet in the chest—a nice big target for quick aiming, and lethal pretty much wherever you hit, so it’s the obvious choice.

  I quicken my pace, moving around the desk and putting Cunningham on my right, between me and the remaining agents.

  Keeping my gun focused to the right of the group, I fire two more rounds in quick succession, this time with both hands on the gun. With the steadier aim, I put each bullet in an agent’s head. The two were moving fast so they slide forward a little as they drop to the floor, their momentum carrying them to Cunningham’s feet.

  One agent left. He’s had plenty of time to figure out what’s happening, which his colleagues didn’t—I started shooting with zero warning—but he won’t fire at me. Cunningham’s still in his chair, shocked and subsequently unresponsive at this stage. I’m directly behind him, with a gap no larger than two yards between us. The three stooges over by the sofas have fallen back into their seats looking scared for their lives.

  As they should.

  I pause and allow the scene to resume normal speed. The sole remaining agent is shaking, his body is that tense. His gun is wavering in front of him, and the sweat is glistening on his brow.

  I fire once, hitting him in the center of his forehead. His eyes turn blank almost instantly, and he drops back, lifeless before he lands.

  I place the barrel on the back of Cunningham’s head. “Any last words, asshole?”

  He turns, glancing at the others by the sofa. I look over at them. “I’ll deal with you two in a minute.”

  The one I vaguely recognize steps forward. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure—”

  “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “I’m Gerald Hes—”

  “I don’t care, shut your fucking mouth. I have no intention of trying to get away with anything. But I will make damn sure you don’t, either.” I look at the others. “So who are you two shit-stains?”

  “I’m Dennis Atkins, the Director of National Intelligence,” says the man to Heskith’s immediate right.

  I shake my head. “Whatever. And you?”

  “I’m… I’m Bruce Fielding, the United States Secretary of Defense. And you are a terrorist, who will be brought to justice. I’ll see to it personally that you—”

  I fire once, hitting him in the clavicle just left of center. He spins counterclockwise and falls, crashing through the small table between the two sofas. Cunningham jumps in his chair from the shock. Heskith and Atkins stand rigid, like statues, terrified to move.

  “I liked the old secretary of defense better.” I place the gun against Cunningham’s head once more. “Now, you—stand up nice and slow.”

  He does.

  “Turn around and face me.”

  He does.

  I look into his eyes. I see the belief and the passion within them. He know’s through and through that what he’s doing is right. And that’s the scary thing.

  He’s about my height, and he’s wearing a dark blue suit. He’s a handsome, clean-cut politician. He looks… normal. It’s hard to believe he’s the greatest terrorist and mass murderer the world has ever seen.

  And now he’s going to die.

  I walk toward him, stop an arm’s length away, raise the gun, and level it right between his eyes.

  “You’re done, Charlie. It’s over. And these are the last few seconds of your life. Believe that, don’t believe that—I don’t care. These two retards aren’t gonna stop me, I can promise you that. Any last words?”

  The door behind me, in the opposite corner to the one I kicked in, bursts open, and bodies pour into the room. I don’t move an inch, but out the corner of my eye, I can see the SWAT lettering on their uniforms. They form a wide semicircle around the room and aim their M4 carbines in my general direction.

  Jesus, there must be twenty of them, at least!

  “Adrian, stop!”

  Now I move. I look over and see two people, a man and a woman, standing side by side across the desk from me. The man, I recognize immediately—Ryan Schultz. He looks out of breath and stressed. His cheeks are flushed crimson and he’s frowning.

  The woman, I’ve never seen before, but I can hazard a guess who she is. In front of me, Cunningham visibly relaxes as he turns away from me and my gun.

  “Secretary Phillips, thank God you’re here!” he says. “This man has launched an attack on—”

  “Hey! Asshole! I’m still here—don’t turn away from me!” I step toward him and reattach the barrel to his temple. “How many times—stop acting like you’re safe and you’ve won!”

  He smiles. “Adrian, you’re done. This is Elaine Phillips, my secretary of state. And these gentlemen are a very well-trained SWAT team, clearly here to apprehend you. I am safe. You, however, are in a lot of trouble.”

  “You know what makes what’s about to happen even sweeter, Charles? That smug, arrogant look on your irritating fucking face.”

  He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  “All that evidence Matthews gave me? I read it all, you know that, right?”

  “So?”

  I gesture at Secretary Phillips, who’s standing patient and authoritative. “Where do you think I sent it?”

  He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, and then I see it. The exact moment when he realizes the SWAT team isn’t here for me. The realization that the CEO of GlobaTech Industries is standing beside her.

  “How you doing, Ryan?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Cunningham.

  He sighs a heavy breath. “I’m tired, son, but I’m damn sure glad this is over.”

  “Is Josh alright?”

  “Heh… ain’t he always?”

  I smile. “Yeah. How’s that whole North Korea thing going?”

  “I can tell you that GlobaTech peacekeepers have pushed them back in almost all major areas of conflict. We’re still taking casualties, but not as many as they are. They came in angry and well-armed, but very underprepared. Hell, they never stood a chance!”

  I wink at Cunningham. “You hear that, you piece of shit?”

  Secretary Phillips steps forward and places a piece of paper facing us on the desk. “President Cunningham, I’ve just come from an emergency session of Congress.” She points to the paper. “This is a declaration, agreed to by an overwhelming majority of people not involved in your conspiracy, giving me authority to invoke the Twenty-Fifth Amendment, removing you from office with immediate effect. You will be taken into custody and tried for war crimes. You will answer for what you’ve done.”

  He shakes his head. “No… you can’t do this to me! I’m your president! I order you to—”

  I flick the butt of the gun forward, cracking him hard on his nose. “Shut the fuck up, Charlie.”

  A man walks in the room wearing a suit and tie and looking very nervous.

  Secretary Phillips gestures to him. “This is a judge, here to swear in the next president of these United States.”

  “You’re not fit for this office, Elaine! You won’t be able to handle the backlash of what I’ve done!”

  She holds her hand up. “I agree with you completely, Mr. President.”

  He falls silent and frowns. I admit, I’m a little intrigued as to where this is going…

  “I have no wish to be your successor, despite the chain of command dictating that I am. Under these exceptional, unique circumstances, I put it to Congress that they approve someone outside of that chain as the next acting president.”

  Ryan Schultz steps forward.

  My eyes go wide and I laugh with disbelief. “Ryan? Holy shit! Good for you, man.”

  He nods but stays silent.

  Phillips looks at me. “Adrian, I need you to stand down, put the gun away, and come with us. Your efforts in trying to stop this conspiracy have been noted, but you’re wanted for the murder of over twenty government agents.”

  Oh, yeah… them.

  It’s probably closer to forty—I think she was being generous.

&nb
sp; I look at all the SWAT guys, aiming at me quietly and professionally. A couple of them have secured Atkins and Heskith, sitting them down on the sofas and keeping a gun on them.

  Phillips is staring at me expectantly. Schultz looks a little more worried, but, then, he’s met me before, so that’s understandable.

  Finally, I look at Cunningham. He’s distraught at the fact his grand plan has fallen at the final hurdle. Ironic, given the speech he gave me before. For all the atrocities this man has committed, it’s his most recent that I can’t move past. He launched a missile at US soil, destroying my bar—my life—and killing the woman I love in the process.

  He doesn’t deserve to stand trial for war crimes. He doesn’t deserve the justice of the world born in the wake of his endeavors.

  My finger tightens on the trigger.

  He deserves my justice.

  “Adrian, stand down,” urges Phillips. “This doesn’t have to be the end for you. But I need you to be smart here. I need you to do the right thing. Stand… Down… ”

  I can’t look away from him. I’m relishing every second I spend looking into his eyes and seeing fear.

  “I can’t. Not now. Charlie, you made this personal. Even after everything you’ve done… all I can think about is what I’ve lost. My girlfriend, my bar, my dog—everything. Does that make me selfish? Does that make me crazy?” I shake my head to myself. “No, that makes me human. That makes me who I am. This is the only way I can think of to stop myself from eating a goddamn bullet somewhere down the line. I blame you, Charlie. Everything that’s happened, to me, to everyone, is on you. And making you stand in front of a grand jury before letting you rot in a cell is not justice. It’s not what you deserve. All these SWAT guys can’t protect you now. I want you to know… I want you to understand, to believe, you’ve lost. It’s over. Finally. And I want you to use these last seconds to think about all the great things this world is gonna do to get back on its feet after you fucked it up.”