Chapter 10
After his father was gone, it was difficult for Blake to remain brave.
He had the gun in his hands, the metal composite cold against his bare skin.
He gripped it so tightly that the pistol had left indents on his palm and fingers.
He had held the weapon before, but he had never been in a situation where he might have to use it.
The door to their room was shut, and Blake heard the people outside in the hallways.
Every time somebody moved closer to the door, he feared they would bust in and try to hurt him.
Blake found himself aiming the gun at the door every time that happened, but he was careful not to put his finger on the trigger.
His father had always told him that using a gun was always a last resort because the taking of a life was a heavy burden to bear.
Blake hoped his father would return soon. He didn’t enjoy the responsibility that had been thrust on him. He glanced around at the other adults in the room. Jake was asleep, and the FBI agent had his eyes closed.
Blake briefly wondered if Jake and the FBI agent were dead, but then the agent stirred awake, opened his eyes, and stared right at Blake. The agent didn’t say anything at first, and the longer he stared at Blake with that glazed look in his eyes, the more unsettling it was.
“Don’t worry, kid,” the agent said. “I’m not dead yet.”
Blake didn’t reply, unsure of what to even say. But eventually, Blake looked away, unable to hold the agent’s gaze any longer.
“Your father won’t fail,” the agent said.
“I know,” Blake replied, irritated. He had never spoken to an adult in that manner before, but his fear and anxiety were getting the better of him, and there was still a dull ache in his arm from where they had set the bone. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and afraid for his life.
“He’s a tough man, your dad,” the agent said. Then he tried to sit up a little but then decided against it when the pain was too much. “Tougher than others I’ve come across.”
Blake knew how tough his father was, but he wasn’t sure if he’d inherited his father’s toughness. He didn’t think those types of traits had been passed down from his father to him. Because even though he was supposed to be brave, he had never been more afraid.
“When do you think he’s going to come back?” Blake asked, but when he looked over at the federal agent, he was once again asleep.
Blake shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair, but he was too restless. Between the noises in the hospital and the pain in his arm, he couldn’t sit still.
Blake sat up and paced around the hospital room. He was acutely aware of the weight of the gun in his hand. It was much larger than his small hands could hold, but his father had entrusted him with it.
Blake was pacing back and forth when he heard the gunshots inside the hospital. The sudden and loud percussive blasts caused Blake to drop the weapon, and it crashed on the tile. He froze, staring at the closed door, listening to the screams of people in the hallways.
On the next gunshot, Blake stepped back but then stared down at the pistol on the tile. He quickly reached for it, his hands trembling as he dropped it twice more.
Blake didn’t know what was happening, but he feared that whoever had the guns and was shooting would enter their hospital room.
Blake wanted to retreat back into the corner of the room, but he stood his ground. But when Blake heard voices outside of the door, he started to shake.
“C’mon, man, we need to find the drugs,” a voice said outside of Blake’s door. “Let’s check in here.”
The door swung open, and two men appeared in the doorway. They both stared at Blake with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
“Kid’s got a gun,” the short one said.
The taller of the two didn’t look as worried as the shorter one. Both were far bigger than Blake and could have easily overpowered him. But Blake remembered what his father told him about the weapon and how it was his great equalizer. But Blake wasn’t ready to pull the trigger.
“You need to leave,” Blake said. “Now.”
The taller man studied Blake and then glanced around at the rest of the room. He smiled and then cleared his throat. “You going to shoot us, kid?”
“If you come any closer, I will,” Blake answered. Blake did his best to sound threatening, but he didn’t think he was doing a good job.
“And how close do I need to be for that to happen?” the taller man asked, and he took one step into the room. “Is it this close?” He took another. “Or maybe this close?”
Again, Blake fought the urge to slink away into the corner, but he still didn’t want to pull the trigger and kill a man.
The shorter friend remained by the door, and he glanced up and down the hallway. “Come on, Frankie. We still haven’t found where they store the drugs, and I don’t wanna get caught by the cops.”
“There are no cops coming,” Frankie said. “There’s no help coming for anybody. It’s a lawless world now, and only the strong are going to survive.” He gestured to Blake. “Are you strong enough to survive?”
“Stay back!” Blake shouted, but his voice cracked.
Frankie laughed. “You’re not as tough as you think you are.” He looked at the FBI agent and Jake, both of whom were still unconscious. “Are you supposed to be protecting them? Is that what you’re doing? They’re dead, kid. If you’re smart, you’d get that through your head.”
“I’m warning you,” Blake said, still not putting his finger on the trigger because, deep down, he didn’t want to pull it.
“Is that so?” Frankie asked, and he took two more steps closer. “Are you going to shoot me with that gun? Do you even know how it works?”
“I know how it works,” Blake answered. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” Frankie said.
“I think you’re too scared to pull that trigger.
” He tilted his head to the side and gave Blake a good look up and down.
“You don’t seem like you could be the type.
I’ve killed men. I’ve seen killers, so I know what they look like. And, kid, they don’t look like you.”
Frankie took another step forward, and Blake took one step back.
“I said stop!” Blake shouted.
But the man didn’t stop. He was walking toward Blake, getting closer and closer. Blake’s heart hammered in his chest, and his entire body shook. He couldn’t move. The fear had stolen his ability to do anything.
But Blake understood what would happen if the man got his hands on him. He would die, and the others would die, and then he would never see his family again. And the thought of losing his family overrode his fear as he finally placed his finger on the trigger.
When Blake squeezed the trigger, the force of the gunshot almost knocked the weapon out of his hands. And while Blake was surprised by his action, Frankie was stunned.
The bullet struck Frankie just below the chest in the center of the stomach. At first, he didn’t move, other than the sudden jolt when the bullet struck him. Frankie then glanced down at the wound and touched the bloody hole.
When he pulled his hands away and saw the blood on his fingertips, he looked at Blake, the blood rushing from his face. “Maybe you are a killer.”
“Frankie!” The short man rushed into the room and caught Frankie as he fell to the floor. He checked his friend, unsure of what to do, and then looked at Blake, who still had the gun in his hands. “You fucking killed him!”
Blake kept the gun up and aimed at the two men, still well aware he had more bullets and was ready to use it if necessary.
“Leave, now!” Blake shouted his command almost like a plea.
The shorter man glanced around and clearly wasn’t going to stick around to die while his friend bled out. He sprinted out of the hallway, and Blake stared at the man he’d shot.
Blake slowly walked over and got a closer look at Frankie’s face. He was choking on blood and struggling to breathe.
Blake wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, but even though he had shot this man, he still did not feel safe. In fact, he felt even more exposed than before. And while he was still terrified, he could not look away from Frankie’s eyes as they stared at one another.
Blake held Frankie’s gaze until he coughed and took his final breath. It was oddly quiet in the hospital for the next few moments, making it feel like Blake and this man were the only two in the building.
But then Blake started to cry, and he lowered the weapon, eventually dropping it on the tile as he collapsed to his knees.
He had killed a man. And he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.
He was a killer, just as the man had suggested, and it wasn’t a label that Blake wanted to live with.