Never Far Gone, page 9
“I’m good, yeah. Heard the shot, so I left the kids upstairs and ran out to help, y’know?” he says, crossing his arms in a way that suggests he’s waiting for me to scold him about leaving the kids.
I put one of my arms over his neck as I lightly pound his chest with my fist like King Kong would then proceed to slowly grab the rifle he had picked up from outside. “Nah, man. You did great, you hear me?” I reassure him as his look of concern fades away. “You looked out for me when I needed you, and I won’t forget that,” I say in a low tone so others won’t ease their way into the conversation. I can see people glaring at the men with distrust and skepticism.
“Why don’t you show these guys where they can get some food, yeah? When that one is done, see if you can escort him to the Nurse’s office on the second floor, alright?” I ask after briefly pointing at the man with the bleeding ankle wound before nudging JB forward a little on his back with my free hand. He agrees and begins speaking Spanish while leading the way to the cafeteria line. I shoot a quick look at Renata and Vito. Their demeanors changed from that of joy to that resembling discomfort.
I take a few steps back, rifle pointed downwards with my right hand, and toward the entrance of the cafeteria as Derrick, with the second bolt-action rifle leaning against his thigh, starts rubbing his biceps to create a little bit of heat.
I guess that tank top isn’t as warm as I thought it was.
“Keep an eye on ‘em…” I instruct with a whisper as I glare over at the men, who are now grabbing trays from the short stack I had gotten mine from earlier. With my eyes remaining glued to them, I continue speaking to Derrick discreetly. “I’m going to drop this rifle off in the office, then check on the other kids, hold the fort while I’m gone, yeah?” I ask as I break my glance away to look at Derrick. He nods before walking toward the group without so much as a word; his own newly acquired rifle is resting in his arms. I glance over to Simon, who’s sitting near where Charlotte had been sitting earlier this morning. He keeps giving a side eye to our newest arrivals. Not wanting to take another look at Simon, I turn around and exit the cafeteria before making my way outside to the hallway.
After propping the rifle against the mahogany desk in the Principal’s office - the same room I am discreetly storing all of the other recently confiscated weapons - and closing the door behind me, I head up the west stairwell and swing open the heavy oak wood door leading into the third-floor gym. The first thing I notice is the five kids playing dodgeball with one of the balls taken from inside the storage closet. I can see Hope and David watching the kids together while sitting against the gates designed to block the windows from the children’s access, so I start making my way over to them.
I try to avoid the balls as I jog past the kids playing in their respective, but uneven teams, yet one of them beams a slightly deflated blue ball at my head and giggles as he runs away, leaving me with a headache that is now worse than the one I had just seconds ago.
This is why I can’t have kids…
“Hey, guys,” I mutter as I continue rubbing my head with my right hand. “How long have you guys been here?”
“Oh, howdy Miles,” I hear Hope say with an adorable jitter, accompanied by a little bit of concern trailing in her voice. “We came up together after we heard a gunshot a few minutes ago, but… is- is everything okay? I mean, we didn’t know what to do or where to go and-“ she says before I cut her off. I don’t want her or any of the kids to worry.
“Yeah, no, we’re alright. No need to worry,” I reassure Hope as I can hear her take a long exhale through her nose. I can see David is a little uncomfortable.
Am I third-wheeling?
“There were some men who were lost. We brought them in, at least for now, so I have Derrick and Pancho watching them in the cafeteria until they’re ready to talk with us,” I say as I put my hands on my hips. “Just wanted to make sure everyone was okay, that’s all,” I say as I voice my concern.
“Awe, well, we’re alright,” she says in a Southern accent as she tucks a small strand of blonde hair behind her ear. With every word she says, I can tell she’s not from around here. “I’m just looking after the babies,” she declares in a friendly manner as she looks at the kids, who are now arguing about who gets who while they begin to switch teams.
I give her a side grin as I reach behind me after a long pause. “I… uh, I want you to have this,” I say as I unclip and turn over the .357 Smith & Wesson I had been carrying in my rear holster. At first, she looks bewildered, but as I kneel in front of her, I can see her face turning a little red.
“But… I- I’ve never shot a gun before,” she admits as she looks back up at me, awaiting a response.
A Southerner who doesn’t know how to shoot? That doesn’t seem right.
“I promise I’ll teach you once we have a little more time, alright? For now, I don’t trust anyone else to look out for these kids as much as you,” I say as I recall Hope consoling Charlotte and Vito after what happened with Jayden. I extend the weapon out to her while it’s still in the holster and can see David turning his face away as I do so. I guess I was right about him feeling uncomfortable. I usher her a slight nod of approval as she looks up at me. She slowly grabs it with both hands; the weight undoubtedly catches her by surprise as her eyes nearly pop out of her head once she has a good grip on the stainless steel revolver.
“Now, it’s a little heavy for someone who’s never held one, but you pull this thing back and then pull the trigger when you’re ready to fire,” I explain as I point to the hammer followed by the trigger. I can see her nodding as I explain it to her. “My one rule though: Never point this at anyone you don’t want to hurt, alright?” I ask in a serious tone while I look into her eyes for confirmation that she has registered what I said.
“I won’t let you down,” she says as she places the holstered firearm in her lap and shoots me a smile. Her blonde hair seems to glisten in the sunlight, and I notice a faint smell of perfume as I begin to stand up.
“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you would. Thank you, Hope,” I say as I give another glance at David, who seems preoccupied with his fingernails, then glance at the kids before making my way down the rear staircase and back to the cafeteria.
I land on the first floor and make my way through the westside stairwell before I hear the distant but unmistakable sound of arguing. Coming out of the stairwell through a poorly painted wooden white door, I see Derrick pointing the Remington bolt-action rifle at one of the men whom we had brought inside no more than twenty minutes ago. The man in question has his arm around someone’s neck.
Oh shit… shit, shit…
My foot is almost caught on the doorframe as I begin running down the hallway, unholstering my Kimber in the process. I can see a large group of people around the man, which blocks my view of who they are holding.
“Get back!” I yell to the crowd as many are caught off guard by my sudden appearance. The crowd begins to disperse as the shouting gets louder, and the previously inaudible dialogue from the onlookers becomes clear. I keep my handgun pointed toward the ground as the people around me continue to clear a path. It doesn’t take long before I have a clear visual of what’s going on.
To my dismay, I can see one of the previously unarmed men we had encountered earlier is now shielding his body behind Pancho, his attacker holding a Glock 17 to his head which was undoubtedly stolen from JB’s duty belt when he was grabbed.
“Let him go!” I command as I begin to align the sights of my handgun with the attacker’s head and flip off the safety. I can’t get a clear shot with Pancho in the way. Derrick doesn’t seem to react to my arrival at all, but the hostage taker gets startled when he sees I’m armed.
Crap, there’s kids here…
As I constantly flick my eyes back and forth between the assailant and the crowd surrounding us, I notice Renata standing directly behind Derrick as she covers her son from harm.
“Renata, take the kids out of here!” I bark without any hesitation or deviation in my tone of voice. I meant what I said. I can see her grabbing her son and another little girl nearby, probably a few years younger than Vito, before she makes her way behind me and pushes through the door leading into the closest stairwell.
With the children gone, my focus is immediately back on the assailant about twelve feet in front of me as I repeat my instructions to the remainder of the crowd. Some flee due to being overcome with fear, while the brave ones do their best to take cover behind anything they can find nearby that would allow them to continue their observations out of harm’s way. I can only make out a few words from the older, ragged-looking Spanish man holding Pancho as he starts to speak the same broken English his friend had earlier.
“Propano y la comida. F- Food. Need food…” the man says in broken English that was accompanied by a minor stutter. I guess he senses my confusion, so he stops his attempt to communicate in English altogether and begins talking in what I can only imagine is his native language. “Y también quiero todas las pistolas,” the man declares in a very ferocious manner as he seems to press the stolen firearm more firmly against Pancho’s right temple. I can see Pancho desperately attempting to pull the man’s arms away from his throat to catch his breath. It doesn’t seem to be working too well.
“JB… tell him I’ll have his rifles returned to him with a little food as long as he lets you go. Tell him they can keep the pistol, too. But we gotta see him lower it,” I command, knowing it’s merely a bluff. This man is not walking out of here with anything. The petrified look of the man in question, as well as the impatient yet uneasy facial expressions coming from his associates pacing back-and-forth on the side of him, tells me they don’t believe they’re walking out of here, either.
I can vaguely make out Pancho’s attempt to translate as the man interrupts him. He is now speaking Spanish again as he turns his head to communicate with Pancho directly, struggling to hold him upright in the process.
I need to get that gun away from his head…
“What is he saying?” I shout out as I discreetly approach the stone pillar a few feet on my left for cover. I can see Derrick from the side of my eye doing the same as he notices me cautiously walking. He positions his body and rifle behind one of the other gray stone pillars in the large, open area near the cafeteria entrance.
“He… he doesn’t want just the rifles,” he manages to mutter out with a harsh cough, no doubt from his consistent asphyxiation, before attempting to speak again. “These putos… want all nine guns we have in your office-“ he cries out before being hit on his head with the bottom of the gun. I assume the disheveled man holding him wasn’t a fan of what he was called.
How did they know about the-?
“Alright! Alright. I can- I can do that!” I shout out as my stomach turns inside out. I feel sick. As much as I want to throw up at the thought of these men knowing our business, I maintain my composure and keep my aim steady. “But he needs to listen to me if he wants his shit,” I shout directly at Pancho knowing he’ll translate my instructions. “He needs to trust me.” I see the man shutter with every word Pancho struggles to let out with his constricted vocals.
He doesn’t believe me… think, Miles.
“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you, asshole!” I shout out louder than anything else I’ve said in the past few minutes, only this time, the words are being directed at the disheveled man, himself. It seems to garner his attention as he suddenly trains his eyes on me once his words to Pancho are rudely interrupted. As the sudden command fills the air, some of the onlookers, including the hostile men within their group, jump as the words echo throughout the room.
Yeah, motherfucker… look at me…
“You hear me talking to you, right? So you fuckin’ look at me!” I exclaim with a now serious, but firm tone. All of the worry in my voice previously seems to vaporize into thin air as the man’s prior look of worry and mistrust turns into anger. His eyebrows are flared and I can feel him staring through me as if I am now an immediate threat.
“You want your shit? Then how about you act like a man instead of being such a little bitch,” I annunciate as best as I can over all the chatter filling the air. The man is furious, which is evident from how he grabs Pancho by the neck and hastily forces his body to the side as the man raises his gun in my direction.
Bang.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat as the gunshot echoes throughout the open space. I can see JB losing his balance as the man is still gripping his neck while he falls back. The wooden doors directly behind where the man was standing, the ones leading outside to the East parking lot, are now dripping with blood. I can see white smoke exiting from the barrel of my Kimber as the now-deceased attacker drops the Glock 17 he was holding with an audible rattle. Some of the onlookers begin running away, while everyone else in the room is looking at me in shock, including Derrick.
Before anyone else can move, the Spanish man who had been limping around his now-deceased buddy begins to stumble for the handgun lying idly on the ground. Even with his ever-worsening ankle making his steps toward the pistol look sloppy and sporadic, the man seems to ignore the pain as he reaches down to grab the weapon. I step out of cover and begin walking toward the group as the remainder of the onlookers begin to bolt away from the commotion.
Bang. Bang.
The man, who is mere inches away from reaching the polymer pistol, topples over as both rounds I had fired go through his torso, spattering the walls with dark shades of red. His agonizing shrieks of pain come to an abrupt stop once I’m about a foot away from him. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, the incapacitated man is desperately clutching his torso with both hands. Without another second to waste, I bring my weapon up to his forehead before swiftly pulling the trigger.
Bang. Silence.
The blowback from the execution forces me to blink as a wet substance splashes over many parts of my face. In no time, the familiar smell of iron hits my nose harder than it had ever done before. The two remaining men were crying out in anguish as they had just witnessed the death of their two colleagues. One of them nearly pisses himself as I make eye contact with him before I hesitantly put my gun in the holster and make my way to him.
Derrick runs past me to check on Pancho, who is still violently coughing on his knees to catch his breath. The gust of warm air that brushes past me as Derrick does seems to spread the blood I feel on my face, yet I pay no mind to it. I grab one of the guys with both of my hands and prop him up against the cold stone wall on the side of the male bathroom facing the pillar I had previously positioned myself behind.
“Where?” I demand in a tone so deep that the familiar taste of blood seems to reach my throat again. “Where did you hear about the guns?” I call out as I pull out my firearm from the holster and place it inside his mouth. I will never forget the look on this man’s face; he was petrified. I can hear him trying to speak, yet the only thing that comes out is inaudible gargling. I take the gun out and place the warm barrel against the man’s temple.
“Anteojos!” the man repeatedly screams out in fear as he begins to cry. I can’t make out what else he’s saying, but he seems to be rambling to me. The incessant dialogue is starting to agitate me more than I already am, yet I hear JB attempt to speak in between his coughing fits.
“He… he said, gl- glasses,” JB mutters before he pukes on the floor directly between his hands. I take a step back and start to process what I was just told as I bring the handgun to my side. After what seems like an eternity, I turn back to the man in front of me as he begins to clamp his hands together. I can tell he’s begging for mercy. I don’t need to understand what he saying to see that.
Control…
I abruptly raise the .45 caliber handgun to the man’s head but before I can do anything else, I hear Derrick shout my name to the right of me. He tackles the fourth Spanish man to the ground as he attempts to fumble for the 9mm pistol that his former associate was reaching for. As my head turns, the crying man before me is now attempting to strike me as I interrupt his swing mid-air. We stumble to the ground, causing my handgun to slide a few feet away from us after suddenly being slapped out of my right hand.
Ugh… you- motherfuck-
I can see Derrick pinning the other man to the ground while the man’s futile attempt to pull Derrick off using his tank top was failing. Derrick was too big for this scrawny kid to handle alone. JB, who was now wiping his mouth with the back of his fist as he starts to get up, stumbles back down as the pinned man manages to kick Pancho’s knee while he attempts to grab Derrick’s recently dropped rifle.
My attacker punches me in the abdomen before positioning himself on top of me. Every punch to the face is blocked with my forearms, yet I can feel pain shooting up my whole body as he jabs my lower back. One punch. Then another. Then another. Each one sends more pain to my lower back than the last. I grab the back of his neck with both hands as he begins to wind for another blow, then pull his head towards me as I push mine towards him with as much force as I can muster from the ground. I can see some of the blood on my face transferring to his forehead upon impact.
Ah, crap… my head.
With the throbbing inside my skull becoming increasingly audible as time progresses, I push the man off me as I turn on my stomach and start crawling to the gated windows facing the street in front of the building. Just as I grab the Kimber and throw myself onto my back, I see the man start to lunge toward me with both of his arms extended. Then I hear it…
