Hell Week

by Scott Medbury

  “I got one!” he shouted, stepping over me as I lay gasping for breath. “It’s the guy who gunned down Jack! I bet you wish you had a machine gun now, don’t you bitch? You little punk ass bitch!”

  He raised the bat, its wicked nails shining silver in the dimness of the parking garage. I held my hands up in a futile gesture of self-defense. Shit!

  I closed my eyes as he swung and waited for the blow. It never came. Instead, I heard a grunt of pain and surprise.

  I opened my eyes as the Tiger stumbled to one side, the bat now in one hand as his other struggled to reach around under his shoulder blade. Arthur was a few feet away, balancing on the balls of his feet but the Tiger was oblivious. His face, which had been etched with hate only a moment ago, was now pale. His eyes widened as he found what he had been reaching. I watched, hypnotized. Finally, he gained purchase on whatever he was reaching for and took a deep breath before jerking his arm violently.

  He looked at the bloody object in his hand in disbelief. I had seen throwing knives like it before on the racks in the academy attic. While he was distracted, I started to slowly crawl backwards away from him. I needed that gun.

  My attacker started to turn, as if he suddenly realized that if there had been a knife in his back, then…

  Arthur hit the man with a vicious kick to the same place the knife had struck. Roaring with pain and stumbling with the force of the kick, the gangbanger turned to face him while swinging the bat one handed.

  Arthur walked into the swing, and the thug’s arm, rather than his bat, slammed into Arthur’s side. Allowing this to happen was evidently part of Arthur’s plan, because he then brought his right arm down to trap the wrist of the Tiger and at the same time gave him a brutal palm strike to the chin. Bat-Boy didn’t even groan as he fell to the floor.

  “Are you all right?” Arthur asked, as I scooped up the revolver and scrambled to my feet.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I gasped. I was trying to regain my breath and stood partially bent over while I sucked wind. “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet,” Arthur replied. “But we should finish him off before we move ...”

  His words were cut off by three impossibly loud gun shots coming from behind the car to our side.

  I dropped to the ground, and heard Arthur drop behind me. I scrambled to the car and peered under it, scanning for the feet of the gunmen on the far side. I couldn’t see any.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered to Arthur, still straining to see. “Arthur?”

  I turned. Arthur was lying on his side, his eyes open and unblinking as a deep crimson, almost black, pool of blood formed around him.

  “Shit ... Arthur?”

  A scuffing noise brought me back to reality, and I quickly looked under the car again. This time, my gaze fell on a pair of red leather cowboy boots moving cautiously toward the car I was lying behind.

  Figuring the other Tigers were probably already on their way, I decided this was it. I was going to go out in a blaze of glory. I aimed my gun at the cowboy boots and almost as if he wanted to be shot, the wearer stopped perfectly still, one leg behind the other.

  “Roy?” he called.

  I pulled the trigger. The roar of the handgun was deafening.

  The bullet struck the Tiger wearing the cowboy boots in the right ankle and continued on through his left heel. There was a cry of agony as he collapsed to the concrete. His gun clattering away when he used his hands to break his fall.

  The wounded man turned his head and his eyeballs locked onto mine. For a moment that stretched on forever, we stared at each other. I knew the fear I saw in his eyes was mirrored in my own.

  He reached for his pistol.

  I shot him in the forehead.

  26

  I’d taken my first human life less than 24 hours before, and now I’d taken two more. It seemed I was on a roll. Maybe I was responsible for another, as well, I reminded myself. Arthur.

  I felt sick.

  Arthur was only here because I had wanted to come this way. It may sound strange, but right at that moment, Arthur’s death weighed on me more heavily than the lives I had actually taken. As I lay on the cold concrete in shock, I thought about Karen. If I managed to get back to the academy in one piece, I was going to have to tell her that Arthur was dead.

  As I’d watched them together over the week, I remembered thinking how lucky they were to have each other as the world was falling apart around them. Now, because of my decision, Karen was going to have to face this shit-hole of a world alone. Is this really what being a leader is? Getting people killed with the choices I make? The thought frightened me. Who would ever willingly accept such a responsibility?

  I waited a minute but didn’t hear or see anyone rushing my way. Warily, I slowly pulled myself up into a crouch and peeked over the hood of the car. My luck ran out. In the gloom of the garage ahead, I saw two figures appear.

  They were moving slowly, one holding some form of handgun and the other a rifle or shotgun, I couldn’t tell which. I swung open the cylinder of my .38 and, with trembling hands, shook the four spent cartridges into my hand and carefully set them on the floor. In my pocket I found some new shells and reloaded the revolver. I was trembling so much as I closed the chamber that I was almost in disbelief that I hadn’t dropped any shells.

  Staying low, I moved toward the back of the car, trying to find a better position from which to make my last defense.

  They kept coming, as bold as life, walking to the middle of the lot, slow and deliberate. They were about 20 yards away from where I looked over the trunk of the car, ready to duck if they aimed at me. I knew instantly that one of them was the leader Chen, the brother of the one I had killed in the alley.

  How did I know? I’m not sure, except to say that his fearless and self-confident march toward my hiding place marked him as a leader. He was tall and well-built and despite the cold, wore a black, sleeveless muscle shirt.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I yelled, trying to sound more confident than I was.

  The man walking with Chen stopped instantly, but the leader sauntered on.

  “Stop!”

  This time he did, but not in a submissive way. He planted his feet, and kept his hands by his side, the shotgun pointed safely at the floor. I took in his hard face and slicked back hair. Then he laughed at me. Of all the things that I expected, this was not one of them. I felt myself redden; as a child I hated kids at school laughing at me when I wasn’t in on the joke. It had made me feel weak and stupid. In the vulnerable state I was in right then, his scorn succeeded in doing just that.

  “Well, what have we here? A little man with a big gun. Why don’t you come out and we’ll talk about all this nonsense?”

  He actually sounded reasonable and I almost stood up, but then I spotted his buddy take a step.

  “I said stop!” I yelled and fired a warning shot into the air. It hit the concrete above me and the bullet ricocheted dangerously close. As the chips of concrete and dust fell onto the car, I was gratified to see a look of uncertainty flash across Chen’s face as he waved the other man back.

  “No need for that, little man,” he said smiling. “I just want to talk to you. I believe you knew my brother?” Unexpectedly, he crouched and put his shotgun on the floor. When he stood he began to walk toward me again, this time with his hands up. I raised my gun and pointed it at his head.

  “Now, now. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you?”

  He judged correctly. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – shoot a man who was unarmed with his hands up. My gun hand was shaking, and I knew he could see it.

  “Stop ... I said stop.”

  It sounded weak and he didn’t stop.

  “It’s okay, we’re just gonna talk, little man,” he whispered, as he reached the other side of the car. I felt like I was under the control of a snake charmer. I knew he was lying. As soon as he was within reach of me I was as good as dead.

  That was when the truck screeched aroun
d the corner behind them and the parking garage was flooded with light. Chen spun around as the fast-moving vehicle sped toward us.

  Chen’s partner raised an arm to shield his eyes from the bright headlights as the rifle in his hands barked. He was too slow. The truck struck him and, even though it was a glancing blow, he flew off to the side like a rag doll as the truck came barreling on. Chen was a lot quicker. He glanced at me, the soothing look on his face transformed into one of venomous hatred.

  “Not over, bitch!” he spat, before sprinting to the safety of the stairwell. The truck locked up its brakes and screeched to a stop beside me. The passenger side door opened, and Luke held out his hand.

  “Hurry up, get in!” he yelled. “Where’s Arthur?”

  I grabbed Luke’s arm and he helped pull me up into the cab. A rifle shot sounded behind us and we heard the ping of a bullet ricochet off the back of the truck.

  “Where’s Arthur?” Sonny repeated, glancing over from the driver’s seat.

  “He ... he didn’t make it,” I replied, a sob escaping my throat. Sonny’s face spasmed in anger before he stepped on the gas again and we lurched off. I nearly fell out as we took the corner fast, but Luke gripped me tight and managed to pull the door shut as we careened down the ramp.

  I heard a number of shots ping into the back of the truck, but we met no more Tigers as we roared out of the parking garage and skidded onto the icy street. Sonny drove erratically, taking random turns, I assumed in order to confuse any pursuit, but he soon began to slow down.

  “Sonny, what are you doing, dude?” Luke asked, looking at our driver.

  With my hurried entrance into the cab of the truck, Luke had shuffled across and was right next to him now. Not only was Sonny driving slower, but he was hunched over the wheel and seemed to be having trouble keeping the truck straight.

  “Is there something wrong with the truck?” I asked.

  “No, the truck is fine,” he gasped. “Can either of you drive? I’ve been shot.”

  End of Episode 1

  America Falls continues in Episode 2 - On the Run available here.

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  Thanks, Scott