22 #2
Cold clarity washed through me—I was not going to let him do this again.
I gasped in air. His cold determined face filled my vision, and I was going to be damned if that was the last thing I saw.
My hands scrambled for one of my knives.
I slammed the blade into his shoulder and it was like my training clicked back into place.
The knife bought me the split-second I needed to maneuver out from under him. I kicked him away and jumped to my feet, delivering several punches of my own. He stumbled away and rubbed blood from his lip. He looked at his fingers and huffed a laugh.
“When I catch you again, I’m going to fuck that tight ass. Raw.”
I pulled two knives from my belt and let his words drag my hate forward. Shooting him would have been easier—not to mention safer—but, the dark part of me knew there were so many more reasons not to take the easy route.
“How about I promise the same?”
Harry barked out a laugh and made his move.
The world slowed and I could almost see where he was going to move.
I’d heard about this happening, where in times of great danger, people would say that things slowed down enough for them to process how to survive.
Or maybe my training actually was paying off—either way, I slipped under his attack.
I stabbed him in the stomach, and sliced the backs of his knees as I stepped away.
He teetered with his back to me for a comical amount of time before he collapsed heavily onto the ground.
I walked around in front of him and wrapped my hand around the knife in his stomach.
I yanked it out. He groaned and slumped forward.
“You’re bleeding, Harry.”
“Fuck you—” Harry gasped.
“Hey, I have a question,” I said. “Were you really going to leave Pete behind?”
Confusion rippled across Harry’s face as he lifted it to meet my gaze, followed by the briefest trace of guilt. “Wh-where is he? Did y-you kill him?”
I shook my head. “He’s still alive, in fact, you should go find him.”
“Wh–what?”
I gestured down the game trail with my knife. “He’s just down there.”
“I–I don’t understand,” Harry stammered.
“You don’t?” I shook my head. “I mean, I’m not surprised—you’re pretty dumb. Let me make it crystal clear for you then.” I walked around behind him and leaned in close to his ear. “Run.”
I shoved him forward. He scrambled to his feet, only to collapse as his knees gave out. I knew he couldn’t run, but it was funny to watch him try. Harry half-stumbled, half-crawled toward the game trail. I leaned against the bumper of the truck and tapped the knife against my palm.
“Try harder, Harry!” I called. “Stop crying—it’s really not that bad!”
Harry made it across the road and into the overflowing underbrush at the start of the trail back to the lake.
A trail of blood marked his passage and from the amount of it, I knew he’d be dead soon.
I walked over to my rifle I’d lost in the scuffle.
I aimed wide and pulled the trigger. Harry shrieked in surprise as the bullet thudded into the dirt near his head.
“Jeez, Harry, you’re lucky my aim is so bad today,” I teased.
Harry managed to get a few more feet before he fell onto his side and didn’t get up. He shook and grasped his stomach wound with a moan. Tears ran down his face and snot dripped from his nose. He was a mess. I nudged him with my foot and he cowered.
“No, please, please don’t kill me,” Harry begged.
“I thought you didn’t know what that word meant.”
“Wh–what word?”
“No.”
Harry paled. Before he could say another word, I straddled him and dug my fingers into the wound on his stomach. He flailed and slapped at my arms.
“No, nooo—” Harry sobbed.
“Again, that word,” I shook my head. “It just sounds so strange when you say it.”
I patted the side of his face roughly with my gloved hand covered in his own blood.
“If you can tell me what it means, maybe I’ll leave you alone.”
“It–it means–means–it means—to stop—”
“Really?” I frowned at him thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”
I scooted down and perched on his thighs. “Cause, when I was saying it, that’s not what you did.”
“I’m sorry–I-I’m s-sorry—”
I sighed with false dramatics. “I think that’s your impending doom talking, Harry.”
I pulled a handgun from my holster and pressed it to his groin. “I mean, don’t you think you should have led with that?”
“Yes, yes, yes—please!”
“Glad you agree.”
I pulled the trigger.
The scream hit my face, and split my eardrums at the volume of agony he displayed.
I was so close I could see every flicker of pain in his eyes.
I was as fascinated as I was intoxicated by the power I wielded.
I needed to watch his life bleed away by my hand, so I shoved the gun back into my holster and replaced it with a knife. I pressed the blade to Harry’s neck.
My breath quickened, but not with fear—this time it was anticipation. The look on my face must have changed, because Harry went still. The anger was gone, the pleading was gone—something in my eyes showed him there really was no way out.
“Goodbye, Harry.”
He swallowed against the blade and stayed silent.
I slowly dug into his skin and it gave way to the pressure.
I put more force into it and hit his artery.
The blood that poured from him was just like every other animal I’d ever killed, lending some familiarity to the act.
I watched death claim him and my anger was pushed out by reverence and relief.
Such a horrible human being, and he would never hurt anyone ever again.
I’d done that. The thought brought nothing but satisfaction. I reached out and touched the blood that pooled around him. In the end, we were no different than animals. We all bled the same—we could all die the same too.