Patrick D'Orazio - Into the Dark

Michael’s flunky did not look surprised. He backed up, the shotgun still pointed at Jeff.

“I mean it! Drop the shotgun, now!”

As Marcus moved back a few more steps, Jeff could see George clearly. He had the other man dead to rights, the rifle pointed at Marcus’s chest. Jeff could also tell that his friend was shaking like a leaf. Apparently Marcus could see that as well.

“Now why in the world would I do something stupid like that, George?” Marcus asked, backing away from Jeff. George backed up as well, and Marcus grinned again. The shotgun dropped a few inches, but was still pointed toward Jeff.

“I said drop the shotgun. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

A full-on belly laugh burst forth from Marcus’s gut. He leaned forward and spat on the ground and then proceeded to dig the remaining tobacco out of his mouth. After shaking away the brown residue from his finger, he turned toward George.

“You know something, George? I don’t want you to have to shoot me either.” Marcus inched closer to the big man, but George stood his ground.

“Stop moving, damn it! I will shoot you if you don’t drop the shotgun!”

Marcus stopped where he was. He had turned his back completely on Jeff and Ray and was now toe to toe with George. His hand rose in a placating gesture, but the other remained wrapped around the trigger of the shotgun. His smiled widened, and all his darkly stained teeth were on display for George to see.

“Marcus, please, I don’t want-”

“Don’t want to what?” Marcus squinted at George, waiting, as he moved the shotgun into position. “You don’t have the stones to do anything to me, George, you pathetic piece of shit.”

The big man’s eyes were glued to the shotgun, his hands quavering on the old Springfield rifle. Marcus shook his head in contempt as he took aim at George.

Jeff jumped, the explosion causing him to nearly trip over his own feet. He closed his eyes and dove to the ground. As he did, there was another explosion, much like the first. He covered his head, not sure who was shooting, but knowing for certain that he did not want to get caught in some sort of crossfire.

When the third shot came, Jeff realized it had come from behind him. He tried to get back up, but his legs felt like jelly. He lifted his hands off his face and looked in front of him. Marcus was face down on the asphalt, blood running out of his body in tiny rivers, the result of three holes in his back. Beyond him was George, standing stock still, eyes bulging, rifle still in his hands.

Jeff rolled over and looked back at the wall of the general store. Ray had moved slightly so he could fire around Jeff with the Beretta. The barrel was smoking, and the teen looked prepared to fire another round into Marcus if he got back up. While everyone else was paying attention to Marcus and George, Ray had been busy reloading his gun.

Ray looked at Jeff and spoke quietly. “I got the bastard.”

There was bitterness in the words, and his pale lips were pulled back in a snarl. It was as if all his pain and fear had disappeared, replaced by rage.

The next sound Jeff heard was the rifle clattering to the ground. He swung back around and saw George staring at Marcus’s body. Jeff also saw that Teddy was looking on in awe at his friend. He still looked wobbly, a clenched fist held over his gut where Marcus had kicked him, but he was getting up to move toward Ray.

“George? George!” Jeff said as he climbed to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Jeff felt like slapping the other man, but George was snapping out of his daze, his eyes blinking furiously.

“I couldn’t… ” George paused, still trying to get his wits about him. He had a look of despair on his face. “God forgive me, but I couldn’t do it.”

Jeff touched his friend’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay, man. You distracted that prick long enough… ” He hesitated, not willing to finish the sentence. The sound of moaning, growing even louder, could be heard in the background. “But now it’s time to go.”

George nodded dully, a haunted look in his eyes. He reached down and ignored the rifle, picking up the bag filled with supplies from the store instead.

Jeff tightened his jaw and swallowed hard. Turning, he moved to Marcus’s cooling corpse and took a deep breath. Grabbing the dead man’s sweat-stained shirt, he rolled him over to gain access to Marcus’s front pants pockets. He ignored the man’s staring eyes and the ragged holes in his chest as he went about the task of searching for shotgun shells. He reached into a bulging pocket and pulled out several rounds for the Mossberg pump-action. Stuffing them in his pants pocket, Jeff grabbed the shotgun and looked at Ray.

Teddy was kneeling next to him, talking. Jeff walked up and gave them a few seconds before he spoke.

“We have to get out of here, guys.” They both looked up. Ray held the Beretta in his lap, as if he were too tired to lift it. Teddy looked star struck, as if Ray had become larger than life. Jeff brought his hand down on Teddy’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go get your rifle? I need to talk to Ray for a second.” Teddy hesitated. He did not look so sure about leaving his friend, but Ray nodded, and the other boy relaxed and got up, moving toward George.

Jeff glanced down at Ray’s leg. He fought to keep the emotion off his face, but it was hard. The blood had soaked through most of the layers of shredded shirt he had wrapped around it. The bleeding might stop, but the virus was already racing through the kid’s system.

Hearing a new noise, Jeff lifted his head and noticed several shapes in the field behind the building. They were moving through the thick grass at a slow clip, but were only about a hundred yards away. He looked back down at Ray, who was pale but lucid. Ray feebly lifted his weapon, his hand flopping over on its side.

“I think you better take the gun. I don’t think I can fire too well anymore.” He held the Beretta out with a blood-drenched hand.

Jeff shook his head. “Nah, you keep it. I think you know how to handle it pretty well.” He stared at Ray, who had been trying to pull out the last clip from his pants pocket but stopped at Jeff’s response. “Besides, I have this.” He held the shotgun up next to him and smiled down at the teen.

Ray tried to return the smile, but nodded instead, the arm holding the gun dropped into his lap, his eyelids fluttering. He had no energy left to argue. Jeff worried that he was about to pass out.

“Ray?” The kid’s eyes opened again, a questioning look on his face. “You ready to go?” Jeff propped the shotgun on the wall as Ray nodded and reached for Jeff’s hand with his own. The boy’s hand was covered in blood, but Jeff didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Ray’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. Ray was heavy, but Jeff was able to carefully lift him to a standing position. Ray whimpered, and his head swayed, but he stayed conscious as he put his weight on his left foot and balanced himself. Jeff stood still for a few moments, half expecting the teen to collapse. When he didn’t, Jeff snatched up the shotgun and inched forward, testing Ray’s ability to move. Again, the boy seemed strong enough to handle the activity.

“Let me carry him,” George said as he moved up next to Jeff, sliding the pack off his arm.

Jeff shook his head firmly. “I’m taking him out of here.”

George began to protest, but Jeff cut him off. “I’m responsible for him, George. Get Teddy and move out.”

“Jeff, this is crazy! I’m stronger than you. Let me carry him!” George pleaded, but saw the look in Jeff’s eyes. It was clear that unless he wanted to waste precious seconds arguing, Jeff wasn’t letting Ray go. As the sounds of moaning grew louder all around them, George nodded, his shoulders slumping as he picked up the pack he had just dropped.