Patrick D'Orazio - Coming the Dark

Bobby saw him coming and tried to level the rifle at him. The second shot went wild as they tumbled to the ground. Jeff grabbed for the weapon and got a single hand on it as Bobby’s knee came up. They landed awkwardly, with Jeff twisting to the side. The blow knocked the wind out of him, but he avoided the knee intended for his crotch. Despite the pain of the attack, he managed to keep his hand tight on the rifle, even as the boy tried to wrench it free.

* * *

When George heard the van door open behind him, he shifted, fearful it was the other gunman. That was all Fred needed. He ran toward his son as Bobby fired the first shot. George heard it as well and then saw Megan dive into the van directly above him. He was relieved it was her but was already in a panic at having lost sight of Fred. He began trying to dislodge himself from his cramped position between the two chairs. As he did, he heard the distinct sound of one of the minivan’s side doors opening in its slow, methodical way. Panic jarred him, and he began struggling even harder. He started to yell, but it was already too late.

“Jason! No!”

* * *

Fred wasn’t thinking about his lost rifle as he reached the spot where Jeff and Bobby were fighting. He lashed out with his foot and landed a grazing blow to the back of Jeff’s head, which snapped forward. Jeff crumpled to the ground. Barely conscious, he let go of the rifle and put his hands over his skull to shield it from further blows. Bobby was pushing him away, and Fred helped drag the boy out from underneath the bleeding man. Jeff rolled over onto his back, a dazed look on his face. Bobby scooted back as his father grabbed the rifle away from him.

Fred pointed the weapon down at Jeff, a sad look on his face.

“Fred?” Jeff’s eyes were blurry, and he wasn’t sure who was standing over him. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow, but dizziness claimed him, and he couldn’t manage it. “Fred, is that you?” The words were slurred, as if he were drunk.

Fred put the rifle butt up against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jeff. But no one attacks my boy.” He lined up the sights, slipped his finger into the trigger guard, and took a deep breath.

The world exploded. Jeff was trying to say “no” to the man he thought might be Fred when the man’s entire left side disappeared. He bucked forward, and a gout of blood burst from his chest. There were a couple of screams-one filled with anguish, the other more pitiful. Suddenly the man was falling.

* * *

George finally wrestled free of the captain’s chairs and was face to face with Megan.

“Give me the gun!” she shouted, and he tossed it to her on his way out the door through which Jason had just exited. He had not seen where the boy went, but he heard the shot ring out so close that it felt like his eardrums would burst. He went cold at the sound.

George stepped out of the van and saw Jason standing there, Fred’s dropped rifle in his hands, the end of the barrel smoking.

“Jason? Jason, what happened?” George felt a sickening dread wash over him as he looked past the boy. When he saw Fred’s bleeding body, he stumbled backwards.

“Oh my God, what have you done?”

He turned away from the gruesome image and looked at Jason again. The twelve year old was still staring in the direction of the man he had shot, but his eyes were blank. His legs began to wobble, and George rushed up to catch him as he let go of the rifle. Jason looked at him with dull eyes and did not seem to recognize the man with whom he had spent the last month. George suppressed a shiver and pulled the boy close, hugging him tightly as he pulled him toward the van. He heard someone starting to scream behind him.

* * *

“Dad?”

Bobby, who had been on the ground watching his father, crawled over to where Fred had fallen. The entry wound was small on his back, and he hoped it was minor. The bullet had pierced his father below the shoulder and plowed into his left lung. The teen touched the wound and pulled his fingers back as if stung.

“Daddy?” Frantically, he rolled his father over, only to discover a massive exit wound. It was hard to tell how big the hole was with all the blood pouring out. Bobby slapped his hand over it, desperately trying to staunch the flow, but Fred’s left lung had already collapsed. There were a few short wheezes as the last of the sticky liquid gushed out of his chest.

Bobby’s scream coincided with his father’s final shuddering breath. He lifted Fred in his arms and wailed in agony. He raised his head and looked back at the van. In an instant, he was standing, his father’s blood smeared across his shirt and pants.

“You fucking bastards! You murdered my daddy!”

He spotted George and Jason and saw his father’s rifle at their feet. He reached toward his belt and undid the snap holding his hunting knife. Pulling the large blade out, he walked toward them. As they moved into the van, he began to run, the knife clutched in his raised hand.

“Bobby!”

He barely heard his name as he picked up speed. He was almost to the van.

“Bobby, stop! I don’t want to shoot you!”

He howled and raised his weapon above his head, his eyes trained on George’s back.

Megan’s first shot spun Bobby sideways, but he didn’t feel it. He staggered but righted himself, his eyes never leaving his target. Her second shot went wild, missing him by a foot. He began to move forward again when she pulled the trigger for the third time. Teeth and shards of bone disintegrated as the.357 slug tore through his jaw. Bobby’s head twisted sharply away from his body, and he collapsed to the ground.

Shaking violently, Megan rounded the van and kept the gun pointed at the fallen boy. He had dropped his knife, and his face was buried in the dirt. He shuddered spasmodically and then went still.

Megan stared down at Bobby, watching his blood form a distorted halo around his head. She stared at him for a few more seconds, wiping a bitter tear from her eye before she moved to where George was comforting Jason inside the van.

“Could you help me with Jeff? We need to get out of here.”

George looked at her and nodded. The dullness in her eyes was far too familiar; it was the same look Jason had.

He did his best to ignore the bodies, especially the young boy’s. He strode purposefully past the first corpse, his eyes locked on Jeff’s prone form. Fred’s torn body was next to him. The smell of coppery blood was overpowering, and George had to turn away and bend over to quell his rebellious stomach.

When Megan spoke from directly behind him, George felt like jumping twenty feet straight up. “Can you get Jeff? He’s too heavy for me, and I’m going to get the rifles and any bullets they had.” Megan shoved the handgun into her pocket as George stared back at her with confusion in his eyes.

“George?” She touched him delicately on the shoulder, and he recoiled. Her dead-eyed stare had diminished, and Megan was registering concern for him, but he was still trying to comprehend what she had just done.

“It’s…I’m okay. No, really, I am. I just…I just need a minute.” He stuttered and stumbled his way through the words. It appeared to placate her.

Jeff came to much more easily than George thought he would. He had been clocked pretty good, but the bleeding had stopped. He asked about Megan, so George gave him a shorthand account of what had happened. Jeff was too dazed to react but seemed to understand. He got to his feet with George’s help, and they climbed into the back of the van, where Jason sat quietly.

Megan forced herself to do a quick search of the two bodies. She did not move them, but patted their pockets and found a few rounds of ammunition but not much else. She looked over at the small house but decided not to bother with it.