Chapter 2 #2
Sprinting forward, I rushed beyond them to the next thickest tree and crouched low, aiming my rifle again. Two other guards were heading farther away from me, but I lost sight of the fifth one.
Deciding I’d have to risk it, I moved forward from tree to tree until I reached the edge of the woods. When I felt it was clear enough, Camaro and I raced for the garage, securing ourselves behind the wall and listening for any sounds of movement outside.
Hearing nothing after a minute, I strapped my rifle to my back and headed over to the car nearest me, reaching for the door handle.
“Stop,” came a voice from outside.
“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath. Camaro’s growl was deep as she hunched low, ready to pounce.
“Facile,” I said to Camaro, ordering her to ease back. She straightened her back and ceased from growling, but her eyes were still very much set on whoever was behind me.
“Turn around!” he ordered.
Turning my head to the side first, I got a good look at the guard. Tall, thin, greasy hair, and an odd sense of nervousness about him. He stood about ten feet outside the open garage door, a pistol in his hand aimed right at me.
Dropping my hands to my side, my left hand discretely went for the gun at my hip as I turned to the right. Swiftly making the rest of my turn, I drew the pistol and fired before the guard even saw the gun, the red paint splattering against his chest.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, lowering his gun to his side, but then his eyes landed on my feet, and he narrowed his gaze. “Why are you wearing bunny slippers?”
Son of a bitch.
I shook my head, not feeling sorry for the guy once he realized a very angry dog was about to chew his guts out for not falling down dead as expected.
What was with these guys?
With a snarl, Camaro made her jump for him, charging and knocking him to the ground, but as she did, a loud crack burst through the air, shattering my ears while my back slammed against the car behind me.
The guard screamed as Camaro tore into his arm as he tried to protect his face from her teeth and powerful jaws.
“Camaro, vabasta!”
She immediately released his arm and quickly turned back to stand in front of me, her sights still set on the guard.
He sat up with a groan, clutching his bleeding and chewed-up arm, but the second he looked at me, his face instantly paled with horror.
And then I felt an odd, warm wetness against my shirt.
“Oh, my God,” the guard murmured. “Shit, shit, fuck, shit!”
Glancing down, I found my shirt and pants were beginning to soak with blood, small droplets falling onto my dirty white bunny slippers.
Confusion and distress fogged my brain as I tried to understand why the fuck I was bleeding, or if it was even my blood.
Had I gotten injured earlier? Had I hurt someone else?
Pain was completely overshadowed by the rush of adrenaline that forced me to focus on the source of the blood flow instead.
“What in the fuck,” I groaned, my arms shaking as I lifted my shirt to look for a possible wound. Fighting the wave of dizziness, I removed the rifle at my back and the utility belt from my waist, shaky hands dropping both haphazardly to the ground.
Gently pulling down the side of my pajama bottoms, my confusion spiked to panic when I noticed a bleeding red hole in my skin just to the right of my pelvis.
Had I actually been shot? With a real bullet?
How?
Reality suddenly ripped away the strength of my legs, causing me to slide down the side of the vehicle.
When I planted my ass on the floor of the garage, I quickly found it difficult to continue keeping myself upright for much longer.
Camaro growled and trotted to my side, her nose sniffing at the blood as she whined and barked with alarm.
The guard finally stood and rushed toward me, panic in his eyes as they scanned over my body.
“Oh, my God. I…I didn’t know the rounds were live.”
I frowned up at him in confusion.
Live rounds? Did he say live rounds? Why in the fuck would he have live rounds?
Exhaling deep, I gritted my teeth as I looked up at him. “What the fuck do you mean you didn’t know? It’s your gun, you amateur! Your responsibility!”
Darren never allowed live rounds in these kinds of training exercises, especially for me. Ever. So the fact that this guy was unknowingly walking around with live rounds was deeply concerning. If these were the men Darren hired to work for him then we were gonna have words.
“Oh, God,” the guard hitched. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where the bullets came from.”
I groaned again, astounded by this guy’s idiocy. I didn’t have time to question how the live rounds had made it into his gun. That could come later. Right now, I needed to stop the damn bleeding.
“Give me your shirt.”
Pausing for a moment, he looked at me with confusion.
“Now!” I shouted, the exertion giving to a wave of nausea. I couldn’t waste time being nice or tolerating this idiot’s shock. I needed him to stay focused on me instead of his very bleak looking future.
Jolting into action, he quickly unbuckled his protective vest, removed his shirt, and handed it to me. Bunching it into a ball, I pressed it against the entrance wound, applying the pressure I hoped would slow the bleeding.
“Fuck!” I cried, the pain burning from the compression. Looking back to the guard, I glared at his complete incompetence. “What the fuck are you still doing here? Go get help!”
He hunched back, his fear turning into absolute terror as realization dawned on him. “He’s…he’s gonna kill me for this,” he murmured.
For fuck’s sake, dude, I’m going to kill you!
I practically growled, my patience running thin with my blood pooling on the floor next to me.
“If you want it to be a quick death then go get fucking help!” I shouted at him, each word causing a new burst of pain in my side. I wondered if he considered how much worse his death would be if I bled out all over the floor because he was too in shock to help.
He abruptly stood, his chest heaving up and down as he sucked in air before finally grabbing the radio from his belt.
“This is Delta 3. Code 0. Red down. Repeat, Red down. Requesting immediate medical attention to garage C2. Over.”
A beep then sounded. “Roger, Delta 3. Over.”
“Thank you,” I groaned, fighting back the dizziness swirling in my head. But instead of assisting me further, he just stepped away from me like I was some kind of disease that might infect him.
Ignoring his clear panic, I continued to press the shirt into my abdomen, hoping I’d be able to keep myself from going into shock. Camaro’s body heat next to me helped keep the shivers at bay while I concentrated on breathing back the growing nausea.
Realizing his uselessness, Delta 3 slowly turned around to eye the pistol he used to shoot me. Picking it up from the ground, he pulled out the magazine to reveal a full clip of live rounds.
“How the f-fuck did you not notice the weight d-difference?” I muttered, my entire body shaking. “Where d-did you get that gun?”
He shook his head. “It’s mine,” he mumbled. “Someone must have tampered with it. Switched it somehow.”
I furrowed my brows. “Why?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Turning to face me, he held up the gun. “But it won’t matter to him.” Before I realized what he was doing, he lifted the barrel and placed it in his mouth.
My heart froze.
“No, wait!” I shouted, just as he pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot cracked through the air, piercing my ears and causing Camaro to bark and snarl at the perceived threat. When the guard’s body slumped to the ground, blood and brain matter pooled from the back of his head, flowing into a little river down the driveway.
“Goddamn it,” I whispered and rested my head against the car, just as a white van pulled up in front of the garage.