sight.
Just like that. Silence.
It had taken about five seconds from start to finish, he thought. Maybe slightly more. He stood up, looked behind for the girl. She was flat out on her stomach, staring at the Audi. ‘You hit?’ he asked. But her eyes were screwed shut, her face rigid. Had she even heard him? ‘Wait there,’ he shouted. He would get back to her.
He ran over to the one in light clothing, looked down at him. He was still alive, though hardly moving, lying on his back, one leg bent beneath his body at a very awkward angle. The chest was going rapidly up and down. His eyes were open, blood pulsing out from between his lips. The round had gone through the chest, in one side and out the other. There was a lot of blood gathering in the dust around him. Carl wasn’t sure he could see anything, or hear, but he had questions for him.
He moved more carefully behind the Audi to find the other one, chambering another round from that magazine before doing so, letting the spent casing eject onto the ground to cool. He held the gun up to his shoulder and came round the back of the car in a crouch, ready to fire, but the body was just lying there. The shot had gone through the back of the head. In at the base of the skull, out through the top, just above the forehead. The exit wound was not survivable, under any circumstances.
Carl stared at it for a moment, trying to link the gentle squeezing action of his finger on the trigger to this consequence. Then he bent beside the corpse, the thin latex gloves still on, and went through the pockets of the man’s trousers and jacket. Every now and then a leg would jerk. When it happened Carl paused, but didn’t feel anything for the person. No thoughts about his lost past or history, or none that he couldn’t just push away. The leg spasms didn’t mean he was alive, but he checked anyway for a pulse. There wasn’t one. There was a wallet with cash and a few credit cards. The name was Arturo Flores. Aside from that, no ID of any sort. Carl doubted it was his real name.
He went quickly back to the other, recovering the shell case on the way, noticing that Rebecca was standing now, but still where he had left her. ‘Are they hurt?’ she shouted out to him, her voice wavering wildly. He looked down at the one who had been alive. He was still staring up at the sky. He looked very young, almost like a little boy. Carl couldn’t tell whether he was alive or not.
He bent down and spoke to him. ‘I can get you help,’ he said. His voice sounded unreal, high-pitched. ‘You’ll be OK.’ A bubble formed in the blood at the man’s lips. He was still breathing, just – the eyes didn’t change focus though, didn’t blink. One of the hands started trembling. The pool of blood was still growing. Carl decided he wasn’t going to last long enough to say anything. He searched him carefully, trying to keep the blood off himself. This one didn’t even have a wallet. He could search the Audi for ID, but didn’t want to touch anything in there. It was bad enough what he was doing now. And time was against him.
He turned away from the man and walked over to Rebecca. ‘Are they hurt?’ she asked again. She sounded terrified. He nodded, scanning the ground for the first case he had ejected. He found it, picked it up. The nearest would be dead soon, he thought. He would just leave him to bleed out. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. He was wound tight, all his muscles bunched with stress and adrenalin, his eyes super-dilated, his heart pounding like a drum. He made an effort, took a deep breath, then reached a hand out and touched the top of her head, very gently. ‘You’re OK,’ he said. ‘You’re safe.’
10
It didn’t hurt to confuse things, so Carl took the right hand of the one behind the Audi, and pressed his fingers all over the rifle. Then he put the rifle carefully on the back seat of the Audi, made sure it was
Just like that. Silence.
It had taken about five seconds from start to finish, he thought. Maybe slightly more. He stood up, looked behind for the girl. She was flat out on her stomach, staring at the Audi. ‘You hit?’ he asked. But her eyes were screwed shut, her face rigid. Had she even heard him? ‘Wait there,’ he shouted. He would get back to her.
He ran over to the one in light clothing, looked down at him. He was still alive, though hardly moving, lying on his back, one leg bent beneath his body at a very awkward angle. The chest was going rapidly up and down. His eyes were open, blood pulsing out from between his lips. The round had gone through the chest, in one side and out the other. There was a lot of blood gathering in the dust around him. Carl wasn’t sure he could see anything, or hear, but he had questions for him.
He moved more carefully behind the Audi to find the other one, chambering another round from that magazine before doing so, letting the spent casing eject onto the ground to cool. He held the gun up to his shoulder and came round the back of the car in a crouch, ready to fire, but the body was just lying there. The shot had gone through the back of the head. In at the base of the skull, out through the top, just above the forehead. The exit wound was not survivable, under any circumstances.
Carl stared at it for a moment, trying to link the gentle squeezing action of his finger on the trigger to this consequence. Then he bent beside the corpse, the thin latex gloves still on, and went through the pockets of the man’s trousers and jacket. Every now and then a leg would jerk. When it happened Carl paused, but didn’t feel anything for the person. No thoughts about his lost past or history, or none that he couldn’t just push away. The leg spasms didn’t mean he was alive, but he checked anyway for a pulse. There wasn’t one. There was a wallet with cash and a few credit cards. The name was Arturo Flores. Aside from that, no ID of any sort. Carl doubted it was his real name.
He went quickly back to the other, recovering the shell case on the way, noticing that Rebecca was standing now, but still where he had left her. ‘Are they hurt?’ she shouted out to him, her voice wavering wildly. He looked down at the one who had been alive. He was still staring up at the sky. He looked very young, almost like a little boy. Carl couldn’t tell whether he was alive or not.
He bent down and spoke to him. ‘I can get you help,’ he said. His voice sounded unreal, high-pitched. ‘You’ll be OK.’ A bubble formed in the blood at the man’s lips. He was still breathing, just – the eyes didn’t change focus though, didn’t blink. One of the hands started trembling. The pool of blood was still growing. Carl decided he wasn’t going to last long enough to say anything. He searched him carefully, trying to keep the blood off himself. This one didn’t even have a wallet. He could search the Audi for ID, but didn’t want to touch anything in there. It was bad enough what he was doing now. And time was against him.
He turned away from the man and walked over to Rebecca. ‘Are they hurt?’ she asked again. She sounded terrified. He nodded, scanning the ground for the first case he had ejected. He found it, picked it up. The nearest would be dead soon, he thought. He would just leave him to bleed out. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. He was wound tight, all his muscles bunched with stress and adrenalin, his eyes super-dilated, his heart pounding like a drum. He made an effort, took a deep breath, then reached a hand out and touched the top of her head, very gently. ‘You’re OK,’ he said. ‘You’re safe.’
10
It didn’t hurt to confuse things, so Carl took the right hand of the one behind the Audi, and pressed his fingers all over the rifle. Then he put the rifle carefully on the back seat of the Audi, made sure it was
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