Bullets to the Bone

October 22, 2012


The beams of flashlights seemed to be shining in on him from every window and exit. Jack grabbed a heavy wrench off a work table. Damn it, I’m never going to make it to my mom’s. He paused for a moment. Better go for non-lethal if I have to fight cops. Hell, I hate fighting cops. They’re just trying to do their jobs, but then again, so am I.

Jack was looking to see if there might be an overlooked means of escaping the gas station garage when the captured Templar screamed out, “Help, help! He’s trying to rape me.”

“You little piece of…” Jack began. It took him three large steps and one swing of the wrench to silence the Xemmoni. I’d like to kill this evil puke, but in case things go south, not having a murder on my hands is probably a wise move.

Jack hurried to the back door as the front flew open. The darkness aided him as he hurried through the old cars and piles of discarded machinery. “There he is!” one of them shouted, but Jack kept moving. He flung open the back door and ran straight into four police officers wearing riot gear.

Riot Gear

Riot Gear

 

He had time to wonder briefly why so many cops would be called in for someone breaking into an abandoned building, but then it was on. His foot kicked a shotgun toward the sky seconds before its loud boom shattered the silence of the late night. His left hand grasped the barrel of a rifle and pointed it away from him. Another SWAT member charged him, but this one got the wrench smacked down on the top of his helmet so hard that Jack worried that he might have killed him when the man’s body went limp.

It was the fourth one that took shots at him with his pistol. Three shots barked and Jack cried out as on bullet took him in the right shoulder and a second hit his left arm. The third wizzed past his ear.

The blows of the bullets jerked his body back, but he still had his protection from Yig aiding him. His God’s blessings might have kept them from being mortal wounds, but that would only be beneficial if he could still escape.

The wrench went spiraling at the man with the pistol. He might have been a supervisor, for this man was the only one not wearing a helmet. Jack figured he might rethink that choice after that night, because the wrench took him between the eyes and he stumbled back into a set of leaking oil drums, before he lost his footing, and fell over.

The pain started to hit him and his body clenched up as the sounds of more cops rushing toward him from behind hit his ears. With a growl, Jack grabbed the rifle barrel with both hands and spun the rifleman in an arc until he crashed into the man with a shotgun. They both toppled over with a shout, but Jack wasn’t there to see it. He was already running.

Blood covered him and he could fell the bullet moving in his chest with every step. He grit his teeth against the pain and raced for the fence.

He passed between more oil drums as the first officers emerged through the back door. “The next time I decide to come to a city,” he hissed at himself. He was passing through two stacks of tires, when the first rounds peppered the air around his racing form. “I’ll just save the trouble and just shot myself in the leg, pour out all my beers, and find some asshole to torture me.”

A rusty fence nearly eight-feet high surrounded the back of the old garage. Jack didn’t slow. Instead, he leapt up and grabbed the lip of the fence. Bullets pierced through the old corrugated iron, but he had enough strength left to fling himself over to the other side.

But there was a cost. As he flung himself over, a third bullet hit him, this one in the lower right rib cage. It knocked the wind out of him and worse yet, caused him to loose his balance and fall to the ground. The impact jarred him and he wasn’t sure which was harder to do, remain conscious, or catch his breath.

He managed to get to his feet. Wet leaves stuck to his bloody chest like leeches. He stumbled into the small section of trees behind the garage even as more officers joined in the case. Using the trees for support, he fought to get air into is lungs while continuing to struggle forward

“I’m screwed. It’ll be pretty damn pathetic if I’m taken down by people on my own side that are protecting a filthy torturing murder.”

On the other side of the trees, Jack saw a car come skidding to a stop. At first he figured it was a patrol car and he was done, but then he saw that it looked like an old station wagon.

“Get in!” he heard a young male voice yell.

Looking back, he saw that he had little choice if he wanted any chance of escaping. Fighting through the blinding pain, he made one last effort and jumped into the waiting vehicle.

 

To be continued next Monday…

 

Find out how Jack’s Adventures Started… Here!

 

Stalwart

Stalwart

3 Responses to “Bullets to the Bone”

  1. Best of luck with the new book.

  2. test said

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