David Morrell: First Blood

'Look at him. His eyes,' another said. 'He's gone crazy.'

Still staring, Trautman gestured for them to be quiet.

'I told you I'd outguess him, didn't I?' His voice was a victorious child's. He did not like the sound of it, but he could not stop himself. Something inside him was rushing it on, getting it all out, the secret. 'He was up there by the side of that porch, and I was the next house down beside that porch, and I could feel he was waiting for me to come. Your school trained him well, Trautman. He did exactly what he was trained to do, and that's how I outguessed him.' His wound was itchy, he scratched it, his blood pooling out, and it was more fascinating to him with every moment how he could go on talking this way. He should be gasping, squeezing out each word, he knew, and here they were coming on and on in a fluent rush like an unspooling ribbon. 'I pretended I was him. Do you see? I've been thinking about him so much it's like I know what he's doing. And just then, the two of us beside the porches, I was imagining what he would do and suddenly I could tell what he was figuring — that I wouldn't come for him on the street side where there was light from the fires, that I'd come around the back through the yard and the trees. Through the trees, Trautman. Do you see it? Your school trained him for guerrilla fighting in the hills, so he instinctively turned to the trees, and the lawn, and the bushes back there. And me, after what he did to me in the hills, I was God damned if I'd ever fight him again on his own terms. On my terms. Remember that's what I told you? My town. And if I was going to get it, I was going to be on my street near my houses with the light from my office burning. And I did it. I outguessed him, Trautman. He took my bullet in the chest.'

Still Trautman did not speak. He looked so long at it before he pointed to the gore of the stomach wound.

'This? You mean this, you're pointing at? I told you. Your school trained him well. My Christ, what reflexes.'

Off in the night, beyond the roar of the fires, there was a full roaring ca-whump that illuminated all that part of the sky. The echo from it rumbled in return over the town.

'Too soon. It went too soon,' the one deputy said in disgust.

'Too soon for what?'

Kern was coming from behind the house, scrambling down the slope of lawn to the sidewalk. 'He isn't back there.'

'I know. I tried to tell you.'

'He shot some guy in the shoulder. That's what the woman was yelling about. My men are looking for a trace of him. There's blood they're following.' He was distracted, glancing at the waves of light in the sky at the side of town.

'What is it? What was that explosion?' Teasle said.

'God, I doubt they had enough time.'

'Time for what?'

'The gas stations. He set two of them burning. We heard on the radio about the fire department over there. The pumps and main buildings are so deep in the flames that they couldn't get in to shut off the gasoline. They were going to disconnect the electricity to that whole part of town when they realized — if they stopped the pumps, the pressure would reverse the fire down into the main tanks and the entire block would go up. I called a squad of my men over to help evacuate. One of the fires was in a section of houses. God, I hope they were in time before it went, and there's another one yet to go, and how many will be dead when this is over.'

A shout from the side of the house: 'He went across a playground over here!'

'Well, don't yell so loud that he knows we're onto him!'

'Don't worry,' Teasle said. 'He's not in the playground.'

'You can't be sure of that. You've been lying here too long. He might have gone anywhere.'

'No, you have to be in his place. You have to pretend that you're him. He crawled through the playground and pushed himself over the fence there and he's in the wild raspberries, the brambles. I got away from him through brush like that, and now he's trying it, but he's wounded too bad. You can't believe the pain in his chest. There's a shed there some children built and he's crawling toward it.'

Kern frowned in question at Trautman and the two policemen. 'What's been going on with him while I was back there? What's happened?'

The one policeman shook his head queerly. 'He thinks he's the kid.'

'What?'

'He's gone crazy,' the other said.

'You two watch him. I want him quiet,' Kern said. He knelt beside him. 'Hang on for the doctor. He won't be long. I promise you.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Try. Please.'

There were bells clanging and more sirens as two big fire engines lumbered up the square, slowing heavily to a stop beside the police cars. Firemen were jumping off, rubber-coated, running for tools to open the water hydrants, reeling out hoses.

Another shout from the side of the house: 'He went clean through the playground! There's blood all through it! There's some kind of field and bushes!'

'Don't shout, I told you!' Then, down to him on the sidewalk. 'O. K., let's find out for you. Let's see if you're right about where he is.'

'Wait.'

'He'll get away. I have to go.'

'No. Wait. You have to promise me.'

'I did. The doctor is coming. I promise it.'

'No. Something else. You have to promise me. When you find him, you have to let me be there for the end. I have a right. I've been through too much not to see the end.'

'You hate him that much?'

'I don't hate him. You don't understand. He wants it. He wants me to be there.'

'Jesus.' Kern looked astounded at Trautman and the others. 'Jesus.'

'I shot him and all at once I didn't hate him anymore. I just was sorry.'

'Well of course.'

'No, not because he shot me, too. It wouldn't have made a difference if he shot me or not. I still would have been sorry. You have to promise to let me be there at the end. I owe it to him. I have to be with him at the end.'

'Jesus.'

'Promise me.'

'All right.'

'Don't lie. I know you're thinking I'm so badly hurt that I can't be moved up to that field.'

'I'm not lying,' Kern said. 'I have to go.' He stood, motioned to his men at the side of the house, and they joined him, spread out, starting nervously up the street toward the playground and the field beyond.

Except for Trautman.

'No, not you, Trautman,' Teasle said. 'You want to stay out of it yet, don't you? But don't you think you ought to see? Don't you think you ought to be there and see how he finally maneuvers himself?'

When Trautman now spoke at last, his voice was as dry as the wood in the courthouse must have been when it caught, tinder for the fire. 'How bad are you?'

'I don't feel a thing. No. I'm wrong again. The concrete is very soft.'

'Oh.' Another full billowing ca-whump lit up the sky over there. Trautman watched it blankly. The second gas station.

'Score another point for your boy,' Teasle said. 'My yes, your school really trained him well. There's no question.'

Trautman looked at the firemen hosing the flames of the courthouse and the police station, at the jagged hole in Teasle's stomach, and his eyes flickered. He pumped his shotgun, injecting a shell into the firing chamber before he started up the lawn toward the back of the house.

'What did you do that for?' Teasle said. But he already knew. 'Wait.'

No answer. Trautman's back was receding through the reflection of the flames toward the few shadows that were left at the side of the house.

'Wait,' Teasle said, panic in his voice. 'You can't do that!' he shouted. 'That's not yours to do!'

Like Kern before him, Trautman was gone.

'Dammit wait!' Teasle shouted. He rolled on his stomach, pawing the sidewalk. 'I have to be there! It has to be me!'

He groped to his hands and knees, coughing, blood dripping from his stomach onto the sidewalk. The two policemen grabbed him, pushing him down.