Read Online Exodus 2022 by Kenneth G. Bennett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenneth G. Bennett
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Ellis. “My family—”
“No good, man,” said Beck. He stopped pacing and looked at Ellis. “What’d you call me in that last piece?”
Ellis gawked at him stupidly, his skin slick with sweat and blood.
“ Thug is the word you used,” said Beck. “You called me a thug.”
Ellis licked his lips. Nodded. Wide-eyed, like a terrified child.
Beck said, “Would a thug offer his adversary a knife, while he himself remained unarmed?”
Ellis shook his head and kept his eyes locked on Beck. “No.”
“Would a thug give his adversary two knives, while he struggled barehanded?”
“No. He wouldn’t,” said Ellis.
“Would he offer his adversary a gun? Bullets? While he fought with nothing?”
Ellis turned to find Wilden standing in front of him, face impassive, inscrutable. He held a metal case this time, and the lid was open.
Ellis’s eyes flicked between Wilden’s face and the objects nestled in the container’s foam liner. A snubnose .38 and a handful of loosely scattered rounds. The bullets looked huge in the compact case, and the metal glinted in the late afternoon light.
Beck sauntered away from Ellis, toward the far railing. He called over his shoulder, yelling against the breeze. “They’re real bullets, Ellis. And it’s a real gun.”
Ellis stared at the gun, ears ringing. He wondered if he had a concussion.
Beck said. “And if you can load it and fire before I get there, then you win.”
Wilden set the case on the ground and backed away. Beck reached the far railing and began to turn. Slowly. Almost casually.
Ellis gawked a split second more, as if what he thought he’d heard Beck say couldn’t possibly be right. Like he’d missed something. Like it was all a joke and he just hadn’t figured it out yet. Like the case would explode in his face if he touched it, or one of Beck’s men would stab him in the back when he knelt down.
The hesitation lasted only a nanosecond and then Ellis was dropping onto the case, falling on top of it and fumbling with the gun. He knew guns. Handguns specifically. He owned a Baby Browning .25 and a Ruger Speed Six .22. He’d taken a firearm-safety course with his daughter. They’d been to the range a few times.
Ellis struggled with the .38’s cylinder—he couldn’t find the latch—and registered a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. A shape flying toward him. He focused on the gun. Fingers working. The .38 was different from his guns. He could figure it out, but—
He found the latch, the cylinder opened, and he slid a single round into the chamber. One bullet. No time to load more. Ellis slapped the cylinder closed, lifted the gun.
And Beck was there, coming like a freight train. He smashed into Ellis’s chest, feetfirst.
The gun boomed. But the shot went high. Into the air.
Ellis bounced violently against a steel post, bones cracking on impact. Beck caught the gun, spun, and clubbed Ellis across the head with it, then scooped one of the knives from the deck and rammed it into his enemy’s thigh.
Ellis howled in agony and crashed to the ground, blood spurting from his leg.
“No one,” Beck roared, grabbing Ellis by his shirt and lifting him off the ground, “fucks with me and lives to tell about it!”
Muscles bulging, face taut with rage, Beck lurched toward the railing, holding Ellis a foot off the ground. “No one…fucks…with…me!”
Ellis regarded Beck with milky, terrified eyes. The left side of his face was smashed and bleeding. A jagged shard of bone pierced the skin like broken glass.
“Kill me,” Ellis coughed, spitting blood. “But leave my family alone.”
Beck laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Ellis,” he said cheerfully.
They’d reached the railing and Beck twisted Ellis’s body around so that he was facing the shoreline, where the three enormous brown bears continued to feed.
“ They are.”
Beck heaved Ellis’s mangled body from the deck and hurled him off the ship. The
“No good, man,” said Beck. He stopped pacing and looked at Ellis. “What’d you call me in that last piece?”
Ellis gawked at him stupidly, his skin slick with sweat and blood.
“ Thug is the word you used,” said Beck. “You called me a thug.”
Ellis licked his lips. Nodded. Wide-eyed, like a terrified child.
Beck said, “Would a thug offer his adversary a knife, while he himself remained unarmed?”
Ellis shook his head and kept his eyes locked on Beck. “No.”
“Would a thug give his adversary two knives, while he struggled barehanded?”
“No. He wouldn’t,” said Ellis.
“Would he offer his adversary a gun? Bullets? While he fought with nothing?”
Ellis turned to find Wilden standing in front of him, face impassive, inscrutable. He held a metal case this time, and the lid was open.
Ellis’s eyes flicked between Wilden’s face and the objects nestled in the container’s foam liner. A snubnose .38 and a handful of loosely scattered rounds. The bullets looked huge in the compact case, and the metal glinted in the late afternoon light.
Beck sauntered away from Ellis, toward the far railing. He called over his shoulder, yelling against the breeze. “They’re real bullets, Ellis. And it’s a real gun.”
Ellis stared at the gun, ears ringing. He wondered if he had a concussion.
Beck said. “And if you can load it and fire before I get there, then you win.”
Wilden set the case on the ground and backed away. Beck reached the far railing and began to turn. Slowly. Almost casually.
Ellis gawked a split second more, as if what he thought he’d heard Beck say couldn’t possibly be right. Like he’d missed something. Like it was all a joke and he just hadn’t figured it out yet. Like the case would explode in his face if he touched it, or one of Beck’s men would stab him in the back when he knelt down.
The hesitation lasted only a nanosecond and then Ellis was dropping onto the case, falling on top of it and fumbling with the gun. He knew guns. Handguns specifically. He owned a Baby Browning .25 and a Ruger Speed Six .22. He’d taken a firearm-safety course with his daughter. They’d been to the range a few times.
Ellis struggled with the .38’s cylinder—he couldn’t find the latch—and registered a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. A shape flying toward him. He focused on the gun. Fingers working. The .38 was different from his guns. He could figure it out, but—
He found the latch, the cylinder opened, and he slid a single round into the chamber. One bullet. No time to load more. Ellis slapped the cylinder closed, lifted the gun.
And Beck was there, coming like a freight train. He smashed into Ellis’s chest, feetfirst.
The gun boomed. But the shot went high. Into the air.
Ellis bounced violently against a steel post, bones cracking on impact. Beck caught the gun, spun, and clubbed Ellis across the head with it, then scooped one of the knives from the deck and rammed it into his enemy’s thigh.
Ellis howled in agony and crashed to the ground, blood spurting from his leg.
“No one,” Beck roared, grabbing Ellis by his shirt and lifting him off the ground, “fucks with me and lives to tell about it!”
Muscles bulging, face taut with rage, Beck lurched toward the railing, holding Ellis a foot off the ground. “No one…fucks…with…me!”
Ellis regarded Beck with milky, terrified eyes. The left side of his face was smashed and bleeding. A jagged shard of bone pierced the skin like broken glass.
“Kill me,” Ellis coughed, spitting blood. “But leave my family alone.”
Beck laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Ellis,” he said cheerfully.
They’d reached the railing and Beck twisted Ellis’s body around so that he was facing the shoreline, where the three enormous brown bears continued to feed.
“ They are.”
Beck heaved Ellis’s mangled body from the deck and hurled him off the ship. The
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