S. Davis - 900 Miles

“I didn’t see it before…” Kyle said as he quietly ducked.

Following his cue, I sank down the rooftop. It took me a moment before I noticed Kyle’s eyebrows had arched down. He was looking all around as if trying to find some piece of evidence to prove his hunch was right.

“Whoever shot up this place, just did it. Those Zs would have made mincemeat of that guy by now if this happened longer than an hour ago,” he finally whispered.

“Shit,” I replied in an equally low voice as I realized what that meant.

In the same instant, a crack of gunfire tore me from the revelation, dropping my heart into my stomach. I already knew who it was. We heard the unmistakable noise from the weapon turret atop the pickup. Mr. Mullet sure as hell wouldn’t be blasting the dead with that thing… which meant we had company.

Sometimes pawns are sacrificed. Sometimes they are just enough to change the game.

For a moment, the deafening cry of the firefight rattled through the air. There were shouts and screams, and then the turret gun went silent, putting an end to the fight which was over as quickly as it had started.

I could already smell the discharged remnants of burnt gunpowder filling the air as Kyle and I darted across the roof toward the side facing the parking lot. Sliding into place at the edge, just out of sight, I watched as a few of the pebbles were pushed over the side. Holding my breath and digging my head into my arms, I found myself waiting for whatever or whoever was below to hear the noise.

Opening my eyes and slowly letting the deep breath out, I realized that if anybody had heard the rocks clatter across the ground, they hadn’t thought to look up. Lifting my head, I followed Kyle’s gaze down to the parking lot. A group of twenty or so men, all holding large firearms, was surrounding Mr. Mullet and the Three Amigos. Our friends were still alive. However, I felt my teeth grind together as I realized that Mr. Mullet had what appeared to be a bullet wound through the side of his stomach.

Blood dripped down his leg, pooling up into a sticky mess below his knees which were firmly planted on the pavement. He said something to the guy standing above him. I couldn’t quite make it out, but I guess the guy didn’t wholeheartedly agree with Mr. Mullet. Lifting a black machine-gun above his head, the guy swung it down, slamming the butt of his gun into Mr. Mullet’s chest, causing blood to burst from his mouth as he pulled himself back up in an attempt at defiance.

The Three Amigos, lined up on their knees next to him, started to jump up at the hostile act, but soon settled down as twenty of their new best friends all lifted their weapons in unison and aimed directly at them.

There were a number of vehicles circled around our Hummer and the pickup. These guys had been waiting for us. I found my mind racing to try to figure out why. That is until that son-of-a-bitch stepped out of his very own Escalade SUV.

At first, I couldn’t believe it, but there he was. Mind spinning, my eyes went wide as I realized it was Gordon Green standing there dressed in a red turtleneck covered by a black military-style jacket. He wore a matching red beret that covered a closely shaven head. He was confident but darker looking than I remembered. My hand was clutched around my rifle, and for just a moment, I had the urge to take a shot.

I wish I had…

Glancing at Kyle, I could see the anger building in his now red face. He shot me a look and mouthed the words “What the fuck” before we both turned our attention back down to the parking lot.

As Gordon began heading toward our friends, I noticed the cane that accompanied his right hand. Each step came down on the concrete with a subtle click that could be heard even from our perch.

Everybody was quiet as he stepped around Mr. Mullet to face the four men on their knees. He didn’t say anything at first, as he simply marched in front of them and stopped, lifting his cane up toward Mr. Mullet’s head.

“One of these things is not like the other,” Gordon shouted out to a roar of laughter from his men. “You’re not looking so good,” he said, making eye contact with Mr. Mullet.

Mr. Mullet pulled in a big honking swig of blood and spit it out toward Gordon’s cane.

“That wasn’t such a hot idea, my friend.” Gordon said, without alarm, as he wiped the blood covering the end his cane across Mr. Mullet’s shoulder.

He then nodded to a hulk of a man standing behind Mr. Mullet, who stomped forward and threw what looked like a reinforced dog catcher collar, attached to a pole, over Mr. Mullet’s head, locking it in place firmly around his neck.

One of the other Amigos tried to stand up in protest, but took a butt of a gun across his forehead, causing a gash to split open and pour a wash of blood into his eyes.

I heard the gravel rustling under Kyle, and looked over to see him sliding his gun into his shoulder, pointing it directly toward Gordon.

A shift in the shadows caught my attention down by the front door. I couldn’t completely make out Jarvis and Rodgers lurking in the darkness, but I did manage to see the muzzle of the AR-15 rifle that Jarvis carried peeking out just past the door hinge.

The hulk of a man pulled Mr. Mullet, who struggled and fought to no avail, and forcefully pushed him face down in his own pool of blood, directly in front of the Three Amigos. Pausing for a moment, making sure Mr. Mullet was done with the struggle, he then looked up at Gordon for his next command. Gordon held out his hand as if to say, hold on a sec, then took a moment and looked up at the sky.

The sick bastard was enjoying every second.

Taking a deep breath in and then exhaling, he looked over toward the school. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, Jarvis!” he screamed out, emphasizing “Jarvis” with what I can only describe as glee. “Come on now, I know you’re in there watching us. Why don’t you come on out? I’d like to have a chat with a dear old friend.”

Stunned, I noticed my hand shaking only when I heard my wedding ring rattling against the pebbles beneath it.

“You can tell your two buddies on the roof to come down as well. We’re not going anywhere until they you do. Kyle and John, isn’t it?”

Dropping my head down and closing my eyes, a new sense of fear finally made it all the way up my spine and entered the back of my skull. I started to hyperventilate before glancing back up at Kyle, only to see him raise his eyebrows while pulling his face into the sight on his gun. For some reason, his confidence had a calming effect on me. Kyle knew death well, and if anybody was going to put an end to this, I knew he would.

“Oh, I recognize the urge to go ahead and try to take a few shots at us from where you’re standing. I can promise that would be a mistake. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your dear friends at Avalon prematurely.” Gordon continued with a determined note to his voice.

From the shadows of the front hallway I heard Jarvis call out, “What do you want, Gordon? What crooked game have you cooked up this time?”

“It’s a good one, Jarvis, and you’re one of the key players. Please, come on out. Let’s not waste any more time here. Trust me when I say, there really is no choice.”

Nobody moved for what seemed like an eternity. Gordon sat patiently, waiting for Jarvis to make a move.

That’s when Jarvis emerged from the shadows of the hallway. “What are you planning to do, Gordon?” he spat with anger. “You could have killed us here if you wanted to.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for the details, old friend. What’s important is that you have a rare chance to save many lives by giving me back what you took from me.”