John Gilstrap - No mercy

“You could have killed him!” Julie accused.

“Woulda, coulda, shoulda,” Boxers growled. “But didn’t. He’ll be fine.” With the wound exposed, he poked around the rest of the leg and gave a satisfied nod. “Damn, I’m good,” he said. “Bone’s fine. No arterial bleeding.” He winked at Jonathan. “Bullet went just where I put it.”

Thomas’s jaw dropped. “Nobody’s that good a shot.”

Jonathan smirked.

Julie slapped the back of Thomas’s head. “Don’t admire them,” she snapped. “They tried to kill us.”

Boxers laughed.

Julie’s eyes grew hotter.

“All respect, ma’am,” Jonathan said. “When we try to kill, people die. You’re not dead.”

Boxers ripped open a HemCon package. “I ain’t gonna bullshit you,” he said to Stephenson. “This is gonna hurt like hell.” He didn’t wait for a response, moving with skill and purpose to stuff the gauze into the hole made by the bullet.

Stephenson howled in agony. He squirmed and kicked, but there was no refusing Boxers, who held his patient down with his hips and his left arm while he used his right pinkie to cram the HemCon into the wound.

“Stop!” Julie commanded. “You’re hurting him!” She took a step to intervene, but again Thomas was able to stop her.

“Let them do their thing, Mom,” he urged. “They’re the good guys. Really.”

“They’re hurting him!”

“We’re helping him, ma’am,” Jonathan said. “It’ll be over in a few seconds.”

“There,” Boxers said, sitting upright. “We’re done. Only took one pack. Still with us, Steve?”

“It hurts,” Stephenson said.

“Of course it hurts,” Boxers said. “You’ve been shot, for God’s sake. It’s supposed to hurt.” Mister Bedside Manner. “Now try not to move. I need to s other hand. “You can. You should. And take Thomas with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thomas objected.

Stephenson faced his son. “This isn’t your fight, Tommy.”

“The hell it’s not.”

Julie’s voice took on a pitiful, pleading tone. “We’ve had enough of this nightmare, Steve. I can’t take anymore.”

Stephenson eyed Jonathan. “We can off-load the truck and the two of them can drive away together.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“I can’t go without you,” Julie whined.

“You have to.”

“ I can’t.”

Jonathan interjected, “Where will you go?”

Julie shot him a glare. “This is none of your concern,” she snapped.

“Yet the question remains. Where will you go? You’re a murderer, remember? Sooner or later, you’re going to be recognized. Then what? With your bank accounts frozen, you won’t be able to hire a lawyer. That is, if you even get the chance. You have exactly zero friends and fewer resources past the threshold of that door.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to have lost the words. “Steve?”

He shrugged. “Think of the evil these people represent. I have to stay.”

Julie’s face showed raw betrayal. “Do you hear yourself? You’re buying into this insanity. You’re going to get yourself killed. I’m going to be a widow. For what?”

“For everything,” Stephenson said.

“We’ll go to the police,” Julie begged. Her voice rose, and her words came faster. “We’ll tell the whole story. Every detail. They’ll have to believe us.”

Jonathan stepped in. “They won’t. They can’t. They’ve got to keep you quiet. There’s plenty of evidence against you for the Caldwell murders, and what they don’t have already, they can manufacture. I’m telling you, Mr. Hughes-”

“Steve.”

“You have no option.”

“What about the video?” Stephenson reasoned. “Won’t that exonerate us?”

Jonathan shrugged. “If I were the prosecutor, I might just use it as evidence of your desperation to get Thomas back. I’d argue that a desperate man wouldn’t hesitate to kill the Caldwells and their nanny as a means to learn the whereabouts of your son.”

“You see?” Julie said, her voice full of hope. “At worst, they’d see a case of justifiable homicide.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Thomas said. His face and his tone showed anger. “They’d see premeditation.” He glanced to Jonathan. “Right?” You don’t watch as much Law amp; Order as he did without learning something.

“That’s the way they designed this thing,” Boxers chimed in. “These guys we’re after, they’re very damn good at what they do. We either stop them, or they keep going. They keep going, your family never gets to rest.”

“You don’t know that,” Julie objected. “You just want your vigilante justice. You want to avenge your wife.”

“That doesn’t make me wrong about the re“ These are bad people. There’s going to be shooting, and the bullets are going to be real. There’s no video game do-overs.”

“I don’t want those bastards chasing me for the rest of my life.”

Julie shouted, “Stop it! All of you stop it! This is crazy!” She started to cry, but Jonathan sensed more anger than sadness. After a few seconds, the tears dissolved to sobs. She buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved with the force of her emotions.

Stephenson moved to her, kneeling at her side as he tried to comfort her. “Honey, there’s no choice,” he cooed, but she shook him off.

“Don’t talk to me!” she shrieked.

Jonathan and Boxers stood together. “Let’s unload the equipment,” Jonathan said, striding toward the front door. Boxers fell in step three feet behind him.

“Wait!” Thomas said, also rising. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Boxers started to object, but this time backed away from Jonathan’s admonishing glare. Clearly, the kid wanted to get out of there. Probably needed to. What was the harm?

“Don’t you think you should be staying with your folks?” Jonathan asked as they walked. “They probably don’t need any more worry than they’ve already had.”

“Shit,” Thomas scoffed. “Worry is all they’ve got. And they’ve earned every bit of it.”

“Watch the attitude, kid,” Boxers scolded. “Those people went through a lot for you.”

Thomas glared. “They didn’t do anything for me. They didn’t even think of hiring you.”

Jonathan gave a disapproving scowl. “They tried their best.”

“And that worked well, didn’t it?”

“It’s not their fault.”

“Their way would have gotten me killed.”

“They were trying, Tom. Sometimes, that’s the best you can hope for.”

Thomas stopped short in the middle of the tall grass. “Are you really that blind?”

Jonathan and Boxers exchanged looks. “I guess I am.”

“Dad knew what his company was making. He knew about this germ crap. He had to.”

“He says he didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he knew about the GV whatever. They were making bombs or missiles or some such bullshit murder machine, and he never once stopped to ask himself what the fuck was going to happen with what they rolled out. It’s all about killing. Good guys, bad guys, Arabs, Americans, what difference does it make? It’s still about killing people.”

Boxers seemed to grow taller as his defenses kicked in. “Makes a hell of a lot of difference when you’re the one being shot at.”

“As I’m going to find out, apparently,” Thomas conceded. “I got kidnapped because my dad worked for a company that manufactures shit that kills people. If he was working at a drug company, or at a lawn chair manufacturer-”

“Then there might have been some nutcase who objected to animal testing, or an idiot with a jones for lawn chairs. These people are crazy. opped and turned on Jonathan. For the first time in all their hours together, the kid seemed on the edge of losing control. “You don’t get it!” he shouted, punctuating each word by driving his forefinger into Jonathan’s chest. “I’m a musician! I’m a poet! I write songs! I don’t want any of this shit! I never did! When I left my house to head off for school last summer, I told myself I was never going back. I told the world that I was never going back.”