Kendell both fired back blindly, further splintering the wood.
Kendell saw something through a clear section of a stained glass window. His eyes grew wide. “Run!” He turned and tackled Brian, shoving him over the back of a row of pews. Brian hit his head on the floor and saw stars for a second. He heard window glass shattering. Struggling to free himself from between two pews where he was wedged, he looked over and saw a wall of flame boil up around Kendell. Roaring filled his ears. A wave of searing heat burned bare skin instantly. Kendell emerged from the inferno as a human ball of flaming fire, screaming and running for the front door, away from Brian.
In shock over the sight he was witnessing, Brian froze for a full two seconds. Recovering, he jumped up screaming. He circled around the spreading, gasoline-fueled fire near the broken window and charged the double doors Kendell had just disappeared through. They would expect it. It was a dangerous thing to do, but he didn’t care.
Outside, Kendell managed to get a shot off with his bolt-action rifle before collapsing in the parking lot, hitting a thin young man in a hoodie in the stomach just as he reared back to throw another Molotov cocktail of gasoline. He doubled over and collapsed, the bottle and its flaming wick, ripped from an old T-shirt, clattered on the asphalt, but didn’t break.
Brian fired two more shots into him and frantically scanned the lot with enraged eyes. “Come on, you bastards!” He swung his rifle, searching for someone to take his rage out on. Finding no one, he looked over at Kendell’s charred body and fell to his knees, crying. “You bastards!”
The fire behind him snapped and crackled, growing in size and fury, consuming the church. A column of pitch-black smoke rose into the sky, along with red-glowing embers. Pushing grief and horror aside, he tried to stand, but his legs lacked strength, so he crawled to Kendell, dragging his rifle with him, tears running down his face. He frantically snatched a canteen from his belt and poured it over Kendell’s head. It was only half full, but the water steamed on contact. He dropped the empty canteen and set his rifle down. The smell of burnt flesh made him want to retch. His whole body racked, as he held his shaking open hands up in anguish, not knowing what to do.
He had been through many fights and had experienced the terror and horror and felt his stomach knot up so tight he couldn’t breathe and the pain so strong it felt as if he had already been shot, but he had also experienced the relief when it was over and everyone he cared about was alive and unharmed. Knowing that he and those he cared for were still alive and it could possibly be weeks or months before the next fight lifted his spirit and untied the knot in his stomach almost instantly. The fact he had killed human beings didn’t even bother him much anymore. He could even sleep without having too many nightmares, and he had hope that someday they would go away completely. The first time he saw his father kill – it was the day he was shot in the leg – the boy he used to be couldn’t believe his eyes. He had no idea his father was so ruthless, the world so cruel. That was a lifetime ago, when he was more than a year younger. Sometime between then and this day, he had stopped resisting it and had relinquished himself to the violent new world and had become a killer. He had read that a man was never more alive than when being hunted by or when hunting another man. He found that to be insane. It was after the fight and everyone he cared about was safe that he felt most alive. The best of all breathing. The best feeling in the world. So strong and deep, it even overpowered the horror of it all for a while. This time, there would be no relief, not even for a little while. This time, there was just the horror, the pain, and the loss of a good friend. This time, the nightmares would never go away.
He didn’t hear the
Kendell saw something through a clear section of a stained glass window. His eyes grew wide. “Run!” He turned and tackled Brian, shoving him over the back of a row of pews. Brian hit his head on the floor and saw stars for a second. He heard window glass shattering. Struggling to free himself from between two pews where he was wedged, he looked over and saw a wall of flame boil up around Kendell. Roaring filled his ears. A wave of searing heat burned bare skin instantly. Kendell emerged from the inferno as a human ball of flaming fire, screaming and running for the front door, away from Brian.
In shock over the sight he was witnessing, Brian froze for a full two seconds. Recovering, he jumped up screaming. He circled around the spreading, gasoline-fueled fire near the broken window and charged the double doors Kendell had just disappeared through. They would expect it. It was a dangerous thing to do, but he didn’t care.
Outside, Kendell managed to get a shot off with his bolt-action rifle before collapsing in the parking lot, hitting a thin young man in a hoodie in the stomach just as he reared back to throw another Molotov cocktail of gasoline. He doubled over and collapsed, the bottle and its flaming wick, ripped from an old T-shirt, clattered on the asphalt, but didn’t break.
Brian fired two more shots into him and frantically scanned the lot with enraged eyes. “Come on, you bastards!” He swung his rifle, searching for someone to take his rage out on. Finding no one, he looked over at Kendell’s charred body and fell to his knees, crying. “You bastards!”
The fire behind him snapped and crackled, growing in size and fury, consuming the church. A column of pitch-black smoke rose into the sky, along with red-glowing embers. Pushing grief and horror aside, he tried to stand, but his legs lacked strength, so he crawled to Kendell, dragging his rifle with him, tears running down his face. He frantically snatched a canteen from his belt and poured it over Kendell’s head. It was only half full, but the water steamed on contact. He dropped the empty canteen and set his rifle down. The smell of burnt flesh made him want to retch. His whole body racked, as he held his shaking open hands up in anguish, not knowing what to do.
He had been through many fights and had experienced the terror and horror and felt his stomach knot up so tight he couldn’t breathe and the pain so strong it felt as if he had already been shot, but he had also experienced the relief when it was over and everyone he cared about was alive and unharmed. Knowing that he and those he cared for were still alive and it could possibly be weeks or months before the next fight lifted his spirit and untied the knot in his stomach almost instantly. The fact he had killed human beings didn’t even bother him much anymore. He could even sleep without having too many nightmares, and he had hope that someday they would go away completely. The first time he saw his father kill – it was the day he was shot in the leg – the boy he used to be couldn’t believe his eyes. He had no idea his father was so ruthless, the world so cruel. That was a lifetime ago, when he was more than a year younger. Sometime between then and this day, he had stopped resisting it and had relinquished himself to the violent new world and had become a killer. He had read that a man was never more alive than when being hunted by or when hunting another man. He found that to be insane. It was after the fight and everyone he cared about was safe that he felt most alive. The best of all breathing. The best feeling in the world. So strong and deep, it even overpowered the horror of it all for a while. This time, there would be no relief, not even for a little while. This time, there was just the horror, the pain, and the loss of a good friend. This time, the nightmares would never go away.
He didn’t hear the
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