Adam Drake - The First Day

Martin quickly ducked into a crouch, pistol held up like one of those models you see on the covers of spy novels. “What is it? They coming?”

Nate shook his head, his eyes locked on the front door. “Not from this way.” He glanced down the wall to the other corner of the building. The back lot was dimly lit by the distant apartment fire, but he could still see.

Martin suddenly pitched over, clutching his stomach.

“What? Did you get hit?” Nate asked.

Martin wretched, spewing a thick stream of vomit onto the ground.

Nate shook his head and kept watch. “The first time is always the hardest. You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”

Panting, Martin stood straight and wiped at his mouth. “Really? You got sick, too? It feels like I got a flock of angry birds fluttering around my stomach.”

“Take a few deep breaths. They’ll be coming at us soon,” Nate said. The truth was, he didn’t get sick when he made his first kill. In fact, he had been overjoyed. His father deserved what he got so why should Nate have felt sick about it?

“They will?”

“I would,” Nate said, casting another glance down to the other side corner. They were exposed from there. If Orson decided to flank them that’s the direction he’d come.

“How many bullets do I have left?” Martin said, looking at his gun with mild confusion.

“Enough,” Nate said. He reached over and pulled Martin by an arm. “Come here. Stand there and keep watch on the door. Shoot at anyone who sticks their head out, okay?”

Martin moved into position and peeked around the corner. He swallowed, blinking tears from his eyes.

“Stay solid,” Nate said. He didn’t need this guy to suddenly implode on him. He can do that later. “I’m going to check the other side.”

“O-okay,” Martin said, nervous. But he kept his eye on the front doors.

Nate stalked down the side of the building toward the other corner. When he got closer, he peeked around.

The moment he did, he saw a man skulking along the wall toward him, machine gun raised.

Nate fired his shotgun and ducked back. The other man fired and a burst of bullets peppered a line on the asphalt by Nate’s feet.

“Whoa,” he said, backing away and pressing up against the wall. Without looking he stuck his shotgun around the corner and fired blindly.

A scream was his reward and Nate laughed. It had been a cowardly thing for him to do, but screw it. There were no rules when your life was on the line.

Another burst of fire, this going wide and hitting the wooden fence down at the other end of the lot. Nate looked the fence over. It was high with a stack of pallets nudged up against it. Beyond was a thin line of trees. Past that, he couldn’t see in the darkness. A possible escape route.

He looked back at Martin. The man had not moved a muscle throughout the entire exchange, keeping his one eye locked on the front door. Nate felt a sudden burst of pride. This guy may not be a natural killer, but he was managing to keep his shit together fine enough.

A voice from around the corner called out. “You son of a bitch!”

It wasn’t the man he’d just shot, too far.

“You killed my brother!” the voice shouted.

It was Orson. He sounded somewhere near the back door. Was there any cover down there? Nate couldn’t remember. Maybe he could hide behind Unger’s corpse. It was big enough.

“Why?” Orson wailed. “Why did you murder him?!”

Grinning, Nate shouted back, “He had shitty taste in beer!”

Suddenly, Martin fired the pistol, a single shot.

“We cool?” Nate called over to him.

Martin kept his pistol raised and his eyes widened. “I got him! I got another one!”

“Damn, soldier. Nice shooting,” Nate said. If his math was right, that left two men, including cry-baby Orson. Nate’s grin grew wider. This was shaping up better than he could have anticipated.

Not wanting Martin to have all the glory, Nate risked a quick peek around the corner.

Orson was ten feet away, running toward him, eyes filled with rage.

“Oh, shit!” Nate said, and fired. But Orson shot first.

Bullets hit the corner’s edge, spraying pieces of brick into Nate’s face.

With a shout of pain, Nate fell back, stumbled and landed on his back. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t see.

By the time he could blink away the crap in his face it was too late. Orson stood above him, machine gun pointed at Nate.

“You bastard!” Orson screamed. “You killed my brother! You’re dead!” He raised his gun up a little and looked down the barrel at Nate.

Panic seized Nate and he couldn’t raise his shotgun. He was going to die.

Two shots rang out.

Orson grunted in pain, dropping his gun and clutching his stomach. Blood gushed through his fingers. He looked up and past Nate.

Stunned, Nate looked, too.

Martin stood with the pistol in both hands, legs spread apart like he was in a shooting range.

“Fuck you and your brother,” Martin said, and fired again.

This bullet hit Orson in the forehead and the big man fell backwards on the ground, dead.

Martin ran over to Nate. “You okay, boss?”

Nate blinked at the pain that burned across his face. “Yeah, I’ll live. Thanks.”

As Martin tried to help him up, Nate waved him away. “There’s still one guy left. Watch that door!”

Martin nodded and ran back to the corner. The moment he peered around it, he raised his pistol and fired again, shouting in surprise.

A scream of pain was followed by a burst of gunfire. Martin ducked back behind the building as bullets tore through the brickwork.

Nate pushed himself up to his feet, shotgun still in hand. He looked at Martin with concern. “You okay?”

Martin blinked in amazement and looked his body over. “Yeah! Not a scratch.”

The screaming continued then died down.

“I’m gonna finish this,” Martin said and Nate didn’t argue.

With another quick look, Martin could see that the other man was dying on the ground, and no longer a threat. He calmly raised his pistol, aimed, and fired.

“That’s that,” Martin said as Nate hobbled over.

“That was all of them,” Nate said, and tried to grin, but the pain of his face made him wince.

Martin cringed when he looked at him. “Damn, boss. Looks like your face is messed up.”

“At least it’s not my pride,” Nate said. He looked down the front of the building.

Two more bodies had been added to the carnage. One at the front door, the other about half way down the building. Nate shook his head. Imagine that. Martin pulled his weight and then some. Now he was glad he hadn’t killed him earlier. Without him this show would have ended a lot differently.

Smoke began to froth out the front doors of the bar.

“It’s burning,” Martins said.

Nate said, “That’s Spectacular.” He winced as he tried to laugh at his own stupid joke. “Come on, let’s grab as much of their stuff as we can carry.”

“And then what?” Martin asked, eagerness on his face.

“Then we start to build an empire.”

There were no more trees, just towering buildings, dark and cold. Had they even been there?

Did he just run through a forest, bullets flying all around? He couldn’t remember.

The sound of rushing water roared in his ears.

He was on the side of a river bank which snaked its way through the city. The rumbling waters vanished into the black maw of a tunnel a short distance from where he was. Hard concrete pressed against his body, not the soft wet dirt of a forest. His clothes were soaked through, but he didn’t mind.

I escaped, he thought.