Dead.
‘No.’ Alvy feels sick to his stomach. He just shot and killed a man he thought was a good friend - a man he has eaten lunch with every day for almost three years. Unfortunately, he’s also a man who just tried to end Alvy’s life with the bullet now lodged in his hip. Just thinking about it is doing the scientist’s head in. Everything Alvy thought was true is a lie.
‘Gotta move.’ That’s what he must do if he wants to live. He needs to get away from here as fast as possible, before Kilroy reappears. He takes a step - and instantly feels lightheaded, wants to lie down.
‘No!’ He pulls in a deep breath, grits his teeth, looks right, to the car park. His old blue Toyota Corolla is fifty metres away. He moves towards it as fast as he can, which isn’t very fast as a bolt of pain shoots down his left leg with every step. He ignores it, keeps going.
~ * ~
Kilroy likes Alvy, couldn’t help but be impressed by his outsized intellect, knew that Bunsen’s plan was not possible without it. Unfortunately for Alvy, that outsized intellect is also the reason he must now be put down.
Grey ponytail swishing behind him, blood on his face from his still-throbbing nose, Kilroy reaches the end of the walkway, works the keypad and shoulders the door open, weapon raised, finger tight around the trigger of the .38 he kept strapped to his calf in case of emergency.
There’s no sign of Alvy but Jacob is down. Jacob wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier but he’s still surprised Alvy managed to get the better of him. Kilroy scans the area, hears an engine running in the car park, focuses on the exhaust that puffs from the tail pipe of Alvy’s old blue Corolla.
Clearly the scientist planned to make a decidedly unstylish getaway in the sun-faded rust bucket. Kilroy’s best guess, and he tended to guess right, is that he, or Jacob, had hit Alvy with at least one bullet and the guy had collapsed in the driver’s seat before he could clunk the transmission into reverse.
Of course, it’s only a guess so Kilroy approaches the car cautiously, pistol raised. He has privacy. The compound is boarded on all sides by a dense, tightly packed line of two-metre-tall shrubs in front of a high chain-link fence. Bunsen had them installed to protect the compound from unwanted guests and prying eyes when it was built.
Kilroy creeps forward, just five metres away from the Corolla. He glances down, scans the asphalt below his feet. A drip of red blood glistens in the sun. Then another. Alvy is hit. The next step is simple. Line him up and pull the trigger. Kilroy crouches low and moves on. Two metres from the Corolla he peers in through the left rear window. The tint is so dark and blistered he can’t make out a goddamn thing inside. His finger tight on the pistol’s trigger, he glides onward, reaches the open passenger window.
There’s no one inside.
~ * ~
Alvy’s plan has worked beautifully, leading Kilroy right to where he wants him. Now he must finish the job. Camouflaged within the tree line that rings the compound, he stands just five metres from Kilroy. Through the foliage Alvy aims the weapon at Kilroy’s chest and squeezes the trigger.
He can’t do it.
Jesus H! He can’t pull the trigger! This bastard is trying to kill him and Alvy’s hesitating. Hesitating! He’s about to hesitate himself into an early grave. He must make the most of this moment because he knows Kilroy will keep coming after him.
Alvy pulls the trigger. The gunshot rings out - and Kilroy slumps to the ground beside the passenger door. Alvy moves fast, pulls open the driver’s door, slides inside, doesn’t look at Kilroy, just wants to get out of there as fast as possible.
Alvy doesn’t feel any better sitting down. He actually feels worse. His arm and leg scream in pain and his head goes light. ‘Wake up!’ He shouts it, widens his eyes, wills himself to stay
‘No.’ Alvy feels sick to his stomach. He just shot and killed a man he thought was a good friend - a man he has eaten lunch with every day for almost three years. Unfortunately, he’s also a man who just tried to end Alvy’s life with the bullet now lodged in his hip. Just thinking about it is doing the scientist’s head in. Everything Alvy thought was true is a lie.
‘Gotta move.’ That’s what he must do if he wants to live. He needs to get away from here as fast as possible, before Kilroy reappears. He takes a step - and instantly feels lightheaded, wants to lie down.
‘No!’ He pulls in a deep breath, grits his teeth, looks right, to the car park. His old blue Toyota Corolla is fifty metres away. He moves towards it as fast as he can, which isn’t very fast as a bolt of pain shoots down his left leg with every step. He ignores it, keeps going.
~ * ~
Kilroy likes Alvy, couldn’t help but be impressed by his outsized intellect, knew that Bunsen’s plan was not possible without it. Unfortunately for Alvy, that outsized intellect is also the reason he must now be put down.
Grey ponytail swishing behind him, blood on his face from his still-throbbing nose, Kilroy reaches the end of the walkway, works the keypad and shoulders the door open, weapon raised, finger tight around the trigger of the .38 he kept strapped to his calf in case of emergency.
There’s no sign of Alvy but Jacob is down. Jacob wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier but he’s still surprised Alvy managed to get the better of him. Kilroy scans the area, hears an engine running in the car park, focuses on the exhaust that puffs from the tail pipe of Alvy’s old blue Corolla.
Clearly the scientist planned to make a decidedly unstylish getaway in the sun-faded rust bucket. Kilroy’s best guess, and he tended to guess right, is that he, or Jacob, had hit Alvy with at least one bullet and the guy had collapsed in the driver’s seat before he could clunk the transmission into reverse.
Of course, it’s only a guess so Kilroy approaches the car cautiously, pistol raised. He has privacy. The compound is boarded on all sides by a dense, tightly packed line of two-metre-tall shrubs in front of a high chain-link fence. Bunsen had them installed to protect the compound from unwanted guests and prying eyes when it was built.
Kilroy creeps forward, just five metres away from the Corolla. He glances down, scans the asphalt below his feet. A drip of red blood glistens in the sun. Then another. Alvy is hit. The next step is simple. Line him up and pull the trigger. Kilroy crouches low and moves on. Two metres from the Corolla he peers in through the left rear window. The tint is so dark and blistered he can’t make out a goddamn thing inside. His finger tight on the pistol’s trigger, he glides onward, reaches the open passenger window.
There’s no one inside.
~ * ~
Alvy’s plan has worked beautifully, leading Kilroy right to where he wants him. Now he must finish the job. Camouflaged within the tree line that rings the compound, he stands just five metres from Kilroy. Through the foliage Alvy aims the weapon at Kilroy’s chest and squeezes the trigger.
He can’t do it.
Jesus H! He can’t pull the trigger! This bastard is trying to kill him and Alvy’s hesitating. Hesitating! He’s about to hesitate himself into an early grave. He must make the most of this moment because he knows Kilroy will keep coming after him.
Alvy pulls the trigger. The gunshot rings out - and Kilroy slumps to the ground beside the passenger door. Alvy moves fast, pulls open the driver’s door, slides inside, doesn’t look at Kilroy, just wants to get out of there as fast as possible.
Alvy doesn’t feel any better sitting down. He actually feels worse. His arm and leg scream in pain and his head goes light. ‘Wake up!’ He shouts it, widens his eyes, wills himself to stay
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