I Didn't Mean to Kill My Best Friend

by Kamuela Kaneshiro

Fear is a great motivator, but when you couple fear with silence, then reality changes. Shadows become more sinister, sounds seem louder, and spaces between objects are exaggerated. Nothing fills this void. All that remains is a feeling of hollowness.

  Steve gave a low whistle.

  Is this what it is like to be dead? The car looks so familiar, yet the distance between me, the door, and dashboard seems so vast.

  Steve tried to breathe through his congested nose. “You ready for our mini road trip?”

  “We should have just done that to begin with.”

  “I suppose. But then we would’ve never gotten that footage of Maurice.”

  I laughed and Steve did as well. Soon we were laughing so hard, the simple act of breathing became difficult. Tears oozed from our eyes.

  Steve coughed. “Fuck. Shut up. I can’t see the road!”

  Life is made from a series of memories. Most are minor and forgettable. But you live life for the major ones. I know Steve’s great moment from tonight was catching Maurice on video. This is mine. No matter what happens to us, I’ll remember this fit of laughter for the rest of my life. However long or short the rest of my life is. Of course, I still feel remorse from killing Steve, and I will always want to change things to prevent that from ever happening, if given the chance.

  Remorse—that’s it. The remorse I have for killing Steve is the punishment that I must endure.

  I felt alive. I didn’t know exactly what caused this, but I was grateful for it.

  It’s a shame that we will never be able to tell anyone about tonight.

  “Ready?” Steve asked.

  “Let’s drive.”

  Steve clicked on his blinker, and we followed a sign that pointed us to the interstate.

  This is the typical rundown neighborhood that every city has. I have never really cared for this part of town. The sense of “dive” screams from the streets and decrepit buildings. Perhaps I hate the area because it’s stereotypical.

  Steve rolled the car up to an intersection. The bright red stoplight gleamed over us while an emerald light smiled down onto the empty perpendicular lanes below.

  It’s a shame that the actions from a handful of questionable people hold back this entire place. There’s really good food, if you know where to go.

  The emerald light changed yellow.

  A place that’s right around the corner from familiar streets. But this area is darker, a different world, where the walls seem to watch you.

  The yellow streetlight turned red.

  The type of place that has a cop on every corner.

  On cue, a police car sped around the corner and turned toward us, running through the red light. The cop continued in the direction we came from, the recycling plant.

  The guard from the recycling plant called the cops. But did he see the car? He must have—I took too long getting back.

  Steve glared in his rearview mirror as the peacekeeper increased his speed. “Be cool.”

  We turned onto the street the cop had erupted from. I looked back at the blazing squad car racing toward the recycling plant. As we completed our turn, the buildings obstructed my line of sight.

  The screeching of tires against asphalt broadcasted the enforcer had a new course.

  There was a thud as Steve’s foot stomped the gas pedal. The engine immediately roared, leaping us beyond the speed limit. Headlights flicked off. Every turn jostled me between my seatbelt and the door.

  Steve is an incredible driver. Behind the wheel of any car, he can always make it perform.

  Steve downshifted. “We’ll be all right once we hit the expressway.”

  “Okay, where—” My fingers clamped onto the dashboard’s cracked plastic as the car rocked and buckled, transitioned from asphalt to sidewalk to grass. We launched through a branchy section of worn-out hedge. The sharp jagged twigs scraped the windows and doors with high-pitched squeals.

  When the chalkboard shrieking ceased, loose gravel clanged and pelted the wheel wells. The car slid briefly, but Steve regained control and had us barreling down a rocky path while rows of tombstones flanked us. The sudden change of surroundings looked alien, as if we’d tripped into another dimension.

  The old cemetery.

  Steve quickly wiped the sweat from his brow. “There’s an on-ramp near the cemetery’s entrance!”

  Beyond the gravestones stood a tall hedge wall parallel to us, as continuous as the Great Wall of China. Through it the main road; a line of police car lights flashing cheerily, gaining on us.

  I felt my heart sink.

  Steve punched the dashboard. “Ah, for fuck sake! It’s a race for the border!”

  The police cars slowed and started veering right, away from us, forced to go around a large building blocking their progress. We sped ahead.

  Steve laughed. “We’re home free now!”

  I peered ahead, but could not see the alleged entrance to the cemetery we raced pell-mell toward. All I saw were more graves, the same tall hedge wall along the edge of the cemetery, and a small run-down house with a lit porch, fifty yards to the right and ahead.

  That must be the caretaker’s shack.

  Near the caretaker’s house, a car erupted from a break in the hedge, with a second car immediately following.

  They look too old and under kept for cops.

  “What the fuck?” Steve yelled.

  The cars merged from the grass onto the path in front of us, then careened toward the caretaker’s house. Steve didn’t alter his speed. From the hedge where the cars had entered, a police vehicle erupted with its lights repeatedly splashing the tombstones with ice blue and blood red. Another squad car tailed it. Both law vehicles illuminated the area like a dance club. Red brake lights shone from the two older model cars, only a few feet from the porch.

  Steve slammed the breaks. Gravel crunched beneath our tires as we slid off the path. Steve maintained control, keeping mostly off the grass, bringing us to a grinding halt. “What the—”

  Eight men jumped from the dated cars, and a jarring thunderstorm of gunshots exploded, its wrath falling upon the police.

  Both of us ducked, but peeked over the dashboard. The first squad car suddenly halted. The second, still in pursuit, slammed into the back of its leader. The impact caused the initial car to drift forward, while the rear one stopped.

  The lead car rolled helplessly while its driver’s side door opened. The pilot flopped to the ground as the passenger struggled to get into the driver’s seat. Once situated, he managed to close the door.

  A couple of the fleeing men took cover behind the porch while the rest continued their ranged attack on the officers. More gunshots erupted as two police from the second car returned fire at the shooters, using their vehicle as a shield.

  The driver from the initial vehicle lay motionless on the grass.

  More of the gunmen joined their party behind the porch. Two of them fell. Six remained; four shot at the coasting vehicle as it slowed to a stop. The remaining two shot at the rear squad car.

  Through the hedge barrier on my right, I saw the distant glint of light from the line of police cars we saw earlier.

  They’re reinforcements. They were never after us.

  Over near the shack, the rear-ended police car’s driver’s side door opened. The officer rolled out and took shelter behind the front tire. He crunched his body as much as he could behind the limited cover, holding his shotgun against his body. The hail of lead continued from the porch. The officer stood from cover and opened fire on the perpetrators. The roar of the shotgun echoed like a vengeful giant awakened by the miniscule rapping of irritating pests.

  All six suspects turned their attention to the shotgun, but two were cut down.

  A set of shotgun blasts rocked from the second police car. The new volley of projectiles hit one of the fugitives and shattered the porch light he stood under. As the bulb exploded, orange sparks cascaded onto the gunman below. He spastically jolted from the buckshot teari
ng apart his body. Three criminals remained.

  The officer from the first vehicle regained cover.

  The fugitives’ muzzle flashes ripped through the dark warzone, creating a strobe light effect. At the rear car, the shotgun enforcer was struck by multiple rounds, causing him to jerk and twist as he fought to stay on his feet. This eerie image completed a macabre dance hall illusion. His partner returned fire with his pistol, successfully hitting one of the three suspects.

  From the lead car the officer stood and fired. He took down one of the perpetrators at the same instant the man shot him.

  The final lawman finished reloading and emptied his clip on the lone gunman. But with his last gasp, the perpetrator managed to squeeze a shot which immediately dropped the officer. The criminal then collapsed.

  The last echoes died away, and then all was quiet as the joyful red and blue squad lights flashed.

  Steve and I sat. Motionless as the bodies in the field before us. The whine of sirens gradually filled the dead void.

  We still have time!

  I stretched my foot over and slammed the gas pedal. The tires spun, but gained traction.

  Steve steered. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Just go!”

  As we reached the first cop car, I could barely see the police lights through the opening in the hedge. I released the gas pedal. Steve’s foot pressed down on it.

  “No!” I yelled. “Stop!”

  Steve stomped on the breaks and skidded on the path again.

  I threw open my door and turned to Steve. “Steve, pass me Steve!”

  I slid halfway out the door as Steve’s arm with the duffle cleared the front bench seat. I grabbed the strap handles then dashed to the porch.

  Why does it seem lighter than it did from the industrial area?

  The police sirens grew louder.

  My footsteps were hollow sounding like a knock on the cold gates of Hell as I jumped on the porch. I scanned the area. The dim landing concealed most of the shapes around me. I felt hesitation begin to fester. “Hello?”

  Slow gargling was followed by a weak cough. A hand rose up a few yards from me. I went to the hand.

  This guy might be armed, but I have to risk it.

  Hurdling over various limbs, I almost tripped over the person I was getting to because his body was unnaturally contorted.

  The man shook and glistened with moonlight reflecting from blood. He looked at me in hope through watery eyes and raised his other hand toward me. A large smile formed, causing the whites of his teeth to shine a skeleton’s grin in the dark.

  The police sirens wailed like an oncoming train.

  “Help me,” the gunman pled with trembling, outstretched, gleaming hands.

  “Hold this,” I calmly said as I lowered the duffle bag into his bloody hands.

  The broken man fumbled the bag, smearing his blood all over its sides and fidgeted the zipper with a fever that his life would be spared if he could just open it.

  I should smother him out of mercy. No, I can’t. I’ll never kill again. Once was more than enough.

  The criminal began shaking violently. A cough erupted, spraying the duffle bag he held with blood and spit, and then he lay still.

  I took one last look at the dead man before leaping back to Steve’s car. He waited outside his open door when the flurry of lights and sounds exploded around us. Squad vehicles swarmed from the hedge and cemetery entrance.

  From the porch I had seen the street and had gotten a glimpse of the on-ramp sign, waiting for us.

  Men and women shouted, “Get down! Hands up!” and guns were clicked. It all overwhelmed me, and I became lost in a wave of sensory overload.

  I saw Steve yelling, but I heard nothing. I couldn’t hear him even when the cops tackled him to the ground. I could see the officers peering along the barrels of their guns at me. Time seemed to slow. I put my hands up and dropped to my knees.

  I swear, I said, “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed!”

  But my ears failed to work.

  I shouted, but there was only silence.

  An officer tackled me. My face was pressed against dirt cooled by the night. Soon it became mud created by my tears and saliva. Through the mud I heard what I was screaming: “I found my friend! I found my friend!”

  Chapter Nine