Read Online Undone: A Dystopian Fiction Novel by Chad Evercroft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chad Evercroft
Ads: Link
all pushing and punching and shouting. In mere moments, the relatively empty store had become packed.
“What are we going to do?” Tyrsa cried, having to raise her voice above the din.
“I have no goddamn idea!” Lawrence shouted back.
He suddenly ducked down, covering his head like one would if there was a hurricane warning.
“Oh shit, somebody’s got a gun.”
Just as he said that, a gun went off. We all slid down as far as we could, hunched over our supplies, trying to make ourselves disappear. The gun went off a few more times - a loud popping sound - and the shouts became more frantic. Part of me wanted to look over the counter and see what was happening, while the other part - the part that just wanted to survive - refused to move. There were no more gunshots after the third pop, but things didn’t calm down either. From where we lay, we could still see people running past us, carrying as much as their arms would hold, eyes darting around. Someone backed up against the counter. We could tell by his uniform that it was a police officer. He seemed to be focused on something in front of him. My curiosity won over my terror, and I got on my knees just high enough to peek over the counter. The police officer was backed up against the other side, right by my head. I could smell his cologne, strong, and mingled with sweat. He had his gun raised. From the angle I was at, I could see exactly what was in his sights: a man with a crowbar facing him, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he was either on drugs or hadn’t slept in days. Possibly both. He looked unsure, but like he might become sure in a split second and unleash hell.
“Put the crowbar down!” the police officer said in a firm, loud voice.
The crowbar man’s hands began to shake. I held my breath, eyes locked on his face. He looked so alone, like a starving wolf separated from his pack. He had nothing. He had nothing to lose. Letting out a terrifying wail, the crowbar man lifted his arm and charged towards the police officer, who immediately pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening. I had never been close to a real gun when it went off; before all this chaos I had only heard what it sounded like in the movies. The movies didn’t really talk about the ringing and how the sound rattled around in your head like a bowling ball in the gutter. The bullet had exploded through the man’s chest, sending him back about a foot, and out of my line of vision. I crouched back down behind the counter, my breath caught in my throat.
“Shit shit shit shit,” Lawrence kept repeating, curled up into the tightest ball his body could manage.
Tyrsa’s hand was on her gun. She was rigid, her eyes glassy. The police officer still stood there, his back to us. It was almost like he was guarding us. I bent my head down so it almost touched the top of Tyrsa’s head, and closed my eyes. If we could just wait it out. It couldn’t go on forever.
“Hey, stop!”
It was the police officer’s voice. I opened my eyes just in time to see him get shot back, a bullet flying through his neck. His body slumped over the counter right on top of us. Blood sprayed out like water from a hose. It got in my mouth, in my hair, in my eyes. The police officer gurgled, his eyes still blinking, shocked. I automatically put my hands over the wound, though (and I hate to admit this) it was more to stop the blood from getting in my face than to help him. The policeman tried to say something to me, his lips moving, but no words came out. Tyrsa had taken her gun out, holding it in both hands, ready to shoot. She nudged Lawrence and cocked her head towards the basket. He grabbed it, his hands shaking so hard the cans rattled together.
“We gotta go!” Tyrsa cried.
I looked down at the policeman, my hands still around his throat, but his eyes were shallow and distant. He had bled out so fast. It was like the blood had gone right through my hands, like they were made of tissue and the blood
“What are we going to do?” Tyrsa cried, having to raise her voice above the din.
“I have no goddamn idea!” Lawrence shouted back.
He suddenly ducked down, covering his head like one would if there was a hurricane warning.
“Oh shit, somebody’s got a gun.”
Just as he said that, a gun went off. We all slid down as far as we could, hunched over our supplies, trying to make ourselves disappear. The gun went off a few more times - a loud popping sound - and the shouts became more frantic. Part of me wanted to look over the counter and see what was happening, while the other part - the part that just wanted to survive - refused to move. There were no more gunshots after the third pop, but things didn’t calm down either. From where we lay, we could still see people running past us, carrying as much as their arms would hold, eyes darting around. Someone backed up against the counter. We could tell by his uniform that it was a police officer. He seemed to be focused on something in front of him. My curiosity won over my terror, and I got on my knees just high enough to peek over the counter. The police officer was backed up against the other side, right by my head. I could smell his cologne, strong, and mingled with sweat. He had his gun raised. From the angle I was at, I could see exactly what was in his sights: a man with a crowbar facing him, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he was either on drugs or hadn’t slept in days. Possibly both. He looked unsure, but like he might become sure in a split second and unleash hell.
“Put the crowbar down!” the police officer said in a firm, loud voice.
The crowbar man’s hands began to shake. I held my breath, eyes locked on his face. He looked so alone, like a starving wolf separated from his pack. He had nothing. He had nothing to lose. Letting out a terrifying wail, the crowbar man lifted his arm and charged towards the police officer, who immediately pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening. I had never been close to a real gun when it went off; before all this chaos I had only heard what it sounded like in the movies. The movies didn’t really talk about the ringing and how the sound rattled around in your head like a bowling ball in the gutter. The bullet had exploded through the man’s chest, sending him back about a foot, and out of my line of vision. I crouched back down behind the counter, my breath caught in my throat.
“Shit shit shit shit,” Lawrence kept repeating, curled up into the tightest ball his body could manage.
Tyrsa’s hand was on her gun. She was rigid, her eyes glassy. The police officer still stood there, his back to us. It was almost like he was guarding us. I bent my head down so it almost touched the top of Tyrsa’s head, and closed my eyes. If we could just wait it out. It couldn’t go on forever.
“Hey, stop!”
It was the police officer’s voice. I opened my eyes just in time to see him get shot back, a bullet flying through his neck. His body slumped over the counter right on top of us. Blood sprayed out like water from a hose. It got in my mouth, in my hair, in my eyes. The police officer gurgled, his eyes still blinking, shocked. I automatically put my hands over the wound, though (and I hate to admit this) it was more to stop the blood from getting in my face than to help him. The policeman tried to say something to me, his lips moving, but no words came out. Tyrsa had taken her gun out, holding it in both hands, ready to shoot. She nudged Lawrence and cocked her head towards the basket. He grabbed it, his hands shaking so hard the cans rattled together.
“We gotta go!” Tyrsa cried.
I looked down at the policeman, my hands still around his throat, but his eyes were shallow and distant. He had bled out so fast. It was like the blood had gone right through my hands, like they were made of tissue and the blood
Similar Books
