“I don’t know what to do,” I say quietly.
“What do you mean?” Lynn asks coming out of her thoughts. I thought I had said that to myself but apparently not.
“I was just thinking about the kids. I don’t know what to do with them. Training is one thing but how much do I let them actually participate and get experience,” I say.
“Jack, they’ve done very well in training. I don’t rightly know how to answer that for you but face it, you’re not going to be around forever, Jack, and they have to learn,” she says watching them with me.
“You’ve changed your tune. But what is the right amount of participation? That’s the one that has me stuck,” I reply.
“I don’t know that there is a right answer to that one. Robert has seen a lot of action and he has done well but you know anything can happen at any time regardless of the where or what. I’m afraid you’re on your own with this one,” she answers.
“Yeah, thanks,” I respond.
Movement in my peripheral catches my attention and I whip around bringing my M-4 up. Lynn, seeing me move like that, turns, and just as quickly, goes to her knee with her weapon ready. I see three people walking slowly across the far end of the parking lot by the auditorium. They freeze at our movement.
“You over there,” I call out. “Hands where I can see them and walk slowly over.”
The raise their arms and begin walking toward us. I see in my peripheral that my shout has caught the attention of the others and they are kneeling by the vehicles or sighted across them. I turn quickly and check out behind us in case this is a ruse but see nothing.
“Red Team, keep a watch behind us,” I shout over to where they are focused on the three walking. They begin scanning the surrounding area.
The three make their way across the parking lot. As they approach, I see that one is the driver of the red truck I had in my sights. The picture of Bri and her injured arm enters. My anxiety and a rush of adrenaline are quickly replaced with growing anger. I told you that fear turns to anger when a situation stabilizes somewhat. My red dot is firmly placed on his head and my finger tightens on the trigger. Lynn senses the change in my aura and glances over to see my finger wrapped firmly around the trigger. She reaches out and touches my arm.
“Jack?” She asks as if to ask what’s wrong.
“That’s the driver of the red truck,” I answer. I haven’t released the pressure on the trigger but I haven’t tightened it further either.
“Jack, let’s see what they have to say first,” Lynn says but keeps her hand on my arm.
“I’m not really that interested in hearing anything except my round leaving the chamber,” I reply.
“Jaaaack,” Lynn says.
“Okay, fine,” I say releasing a little pressure. They draw within twenty feet. The two on the outside are clearly fearful but the one in the middle, the driver, is scowling. Not exactly his best move ever.
“That’s far enough. Kneel with your hands on your heads,” I tell them. The two do as I say immediately but the driver continues to stand although with his hands on his head.
“Get your ass down while you still have the choice of standing,” I say with a growl. This man ran my kids off the road and hurt my little girl. My patience and tolerance of him is not at an all-time high.
“You’d best do what he says asshole. He’s not in a very good mood. Now get down,” Lynn calls out.
He slowly sinks down to his knees on the pavement. His glower doesn’t let up though. I know this type; headstrong and not much else. He doesn’t like to take guff from anyone and the fact that it came from a woman doesn’t sit too well with him. He’ll try to maintain what he considers his manliness to the bitter end. I’m also guessing he has a thing with authority. I don’t know about you but if I have someone with a gun pointing at me and telling me to get to my knees, I may not like it but I’m not so weary of this world that I’m in a rush to leave it. Well, maybe a little but there are the kids and Lynn to think of. I’m kinda fond of being around them.
I rise and head to within five feet of them. Not so close that they can lunge but close enough that the hole at the end of my barrel looks mighty large. Funny how intimidating such a small hole can be. The hands of the man kneeling to my left are shaking. The driver stares straight into my eyes with a deep set anger. He’s a bully, although a dangerous one, and doesn’t like his situation one bit. He will wait and look for the first opportunity — that I know.
“Care to share your story?” I ask.
“Well, mister, we were….” the man on the right starts up but is silenced by a look from the driver.
“You killed our friends in cold blood,” the driver says still glaring.
So, that’s how it’s going to be. Take the offensive. Make yourself right. Honestly, I don’t see how this tactic will work but I have time to kill before the transports arrive.
“Really! So I suppose that justifies you holding those people against their will, kidnapping others, and forcing them to be your slaves,” I say nonchalantly.
“They were weak and needed someone to take charge to make them stronger; to be able to survive,” he counters.
“And you consider running people off the road and kidnapping them to be helping them huh? You just wanted to make them stronger, is that it?”
“We were helping these people and you have no right to hold us here,” he says.
“You mean like you were holding the other people against their will. You mean like that? You do understand your life is hanging by a very thin thread right now?” I say.
“Only the strong will survive in this world. It’s always been that way,” he says.
“This world has no place for the likes of you. You’ll apologize to my daughter for hurting her you before you leave,” I state.
“I’ll do no such thing,” he replies.
I pull my Beretta out and place it close to his forehead. Not directly against his head mind you. Placing the barrel of your gun against something hard and pulling the trigger is not a good way to keep your gun in one piece. A little distance keeps the slide attached to the gun and keeps it from slamming into your face. Over-pressurization of the barrel and chamber does nasty, nasty things to a gun.
“You might seriously want to rethink that answer,” I say holding my hand steady.
Lynn steps up and places her hand on my arm. “Jack, he’s unarmed,” she says drawing me away.
“This world doesn’t need people like him in it,” I counter.
“But killing an unarmed man when he’s surrendered isn’t right even if you don’t like him,” she says. “You know that.”
“You’d better listen to your bitch,” the driver says. Lynn’s lips tighten and her blue eyes blaze with anger. I could think of no way to leave this world quicker than to utter those exact words to Lynn. This man must have a death wish.
The subdued crack of a gun booms across the otherwise silent lot. The driver’s throat sprouts a bright blossom of blood which sprays both men kneeling beside him. His hands fall to his ruined throat attempting to stop the damage already done. He gurgles once and slumps forward to the ground; his head hitting the pavement with a crack. Blood quickly fans out to either side; so thick the breeze causes ripples across its surface. I lower my 9mm with a wisp smoke still trailing out of the suppressor.
Lynn lowers her M-4. “Jack?”
“I beat you to it,” I say.
“How did you know….” she says with her voice trailing off.
She realizes we know each other so well that I knew what she was going to do and did it myself. I knew she would agonize more over her action than I would so I shot him first. I didn’t want her to get caught up in her own guilt. I knew I’d get over it much quicker; so much so that I’m already over it. Well, maybe not altogether as I’ll ponder whether I did the right thing from time to time.