housed the abandoned building.
Once, when he had been fourteen, he’d gotten into a fight with five older guys at school. They’d broken his hand, chipped a tooth, blacked both eyes, cut his arm, kicked him in the balls, and sprained his ankle. But he had still won. Until now, that beating had been the worst he had ever taken. After a while, he’d learned to fight too well—almost eerily so.
But he was hurting now, and he was bleeding. He felt weak, and that did nothing to help him feel better about what he had to do. He hesitantly accepted the fact that he might not win this time.
He was ill-prepared to go on ahead, but he had no choice. He now knew for certain that this was not some desperate ploy by Marco. He had Amanda. And now one of his hired guns had killed a man that had basically been the best friend he’d ever had. Had he not been so overcome with rage and the instant need to exact revenge, Alex was pretty sure he would have been too busy weeping over his loss rather than marching unprepared into a fight he might be too damaged for.
Before he stepped fully into the clearing, he managed to see through his rage and think rationally. If he simply walked in there with guns blazing, he’d be taken down right away. He needed to stick to the edge of the field—maybe he could make it to the thin grove of trees that sat on the other side of the property, leading into the thicker forests beyond. If he could find some other way into the building other than the front door, he stood a decent chance of catching Marco and his hired thug by surprise.
First, he had to get away from the glare of the car’s headlights. While they weren’t blinding him, it was distracting. More than that, it perfectly outlined his shape for anyone down in the clearing that was looking for him. Figuring that he had nothing left to lose, Alex took a deep breath and went running for the tree line on the other side of the building. He knew that he was making too much noise in the tall grass, but that was the least of his worries. As long as he was out in the field so close to the clearing and the small building, he was totally exposed.
He was closing in on the trees when the wound above his stomach started aching. It also started bleeding again, the warm and sticky feeling of blood coursing down his abdomen. Looking past the pain was easy enough, but he wasn’t sure how much the re-opened wound would affect his mobility when it came time to fight.
He was about ten yards away from the cover of the trees when the gunshot rang out. He dropped to the ground instantly, taking a moment to wait for the explosive pain of the shot. It didn’t come, though, making Alex assume that the shooter had missed. He didn’t blame them; hitting a moving target without much light to go by was difficult. From his place on the ground, Alex rolled towards the trees, the wound in his side now starting to flare up a bit more.
When he made it to the trees, he got up on his knees and looked towards the building. He thought he could see brief movement along the rear of the building, but the night and the shadows made it impossible to tell. Just to be proactive, he lifted the gun in his right hand and fired at the place where he thought he had seen motion. He then instantly ran further along the edge of the woods, trying to circle around to the other side of the building.
A return report of gunfire responded, two shots fired one right after the other.
Stupid, Alex thought. The shooter had given away his position, firing into the forest at a target he couldn’t see. Alex took advantage of knowing where the shooter was and quietly walked further around to the other side of the building. Without the glare of the car’s headlights to point him out, Alex dashed out of the trees and towards the building.
As he raced across the clearing, he started to make out more details about the building. It was made of brick and concrete
Once, when he had been fourteen, he’d gotten into a fight with five older guys at school. They’d broken his hand, chipped a tooth, blacked both eyes, cut his arm, kicked him in the balls, and sprained his ankle. But he had still won. Until now, that beating had been the worst he had ever taken. After a while, he’d learned to fight too well—almost eerily so.
But he was hurting now, and he was bleeding. He felt weak, and that did nothing to help him feel better about what he had to do. He hesitantly accepted the fact that he might not win this time.
He was ill-prepared to go on ahead, but he had no choice. He now knew for certain that this was not some desperate ploy by Marco. He had Amanda. And now one of his hired guns had killed a man that had basically been the best friend he’d ever had. Had he not been so overcome with rage and the instant need to exact revenge, Alex was pretty sure he would have been too busy weeping over his loss rather than marching unprepared into a fight he might be too damaged for.
Before he stepped fully into the clearing, he managed to see through his rage and think rationally. If he simply walked in there with guns blazing, he’d be taken down right away. He needed to stick to the edge of the field—maybe he could make it to the thin grove of trees that sat on the other side of the property, leading into the thicker forests beyond. If he could find some other way into the building other than the front door, he stood a decent chance of catching Marco and his hired thug by surprise.
First, he had to get away from the glare of the car’s headlights. While they weren’t blinding him, it was distracting. More than that, it perfectly outlined his shape for anyone down in the clearing that was looking for him. Figuring that he had nothing left to lose, Alex took a deep breath and went running for the tree line on the other side of the building. He knew that he was making too much noise in the tall grass, but that was the least of his worries. As long as he was out in the field so close to the clearing and the small building, he was totally exposed.
He was closing in on the trees when the wound above his stomach started aching. It also started bleeding again, the warm and sticky feeling of blood coursing down his abdomen. Looking past the pain was easy enough, but he wasn’t sure how much the re-opened wound would affect his mobility when it came time to fight.
He was about ten yards away from the cover of the trees when the gunshot rang out. He dropped to the ground instantly, taking a moment to wait for the explosive pain of the shot. It didn’t come, though, making Alex assume that the shooter had missed. He didn’t blame them; hitting a moving target without much light to go by was difficult. From his place on the ground, Alex rolled towards the trees, the wound in his side now starting to flare up a bit more.
When he made it to the trees, he got up on his knees and looked towards the building. He thought he could see brief movement along the rear of the building, but the night and the shadows made it impossible to tell. Just to be proactive, he lifted the gun in his right hand and fired at the place where he thought he had seen motion. He then instantly ran further along the edge of the woods, trying to circle around to the other side of the building.
A return report of gunfire responded, two shots fired one right after the other.
Stupid, Alex thought. The shooter had given away his position, firing into the forest at a target he couldn’t see. Alex took advantage of knowing where the shooter was and quietly walked further around to the other side of the building. Without the glare of the car’s headlights to point him out, Alex dashed out of the trees and towards the building.
As he raced across the clearing, he started to make out more details about the building. It was made of brick and concrete
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