Three people. 2 families I've torn apart, one being my own. But for some reason I don't seem bothered by this. It's exhilarating. I want to do it again. And I will. There's nothing stopping me, right?
"All right guys, we need to establish some ground rules." I say. "Obviously no killing,fighting, or any violence between us. No turning anyone in. No spending money without consulting the group. No stealing, and whoever makes the kill gets what ever is on that person. If they have money it goes to whoever killed them and it's theirs to spend how they like. Ok?"
There were a few okays from them. I think we'll be fine. We continue driving and reach a desert. We decide to pullover and bury the bones we have left. 3 bodies. Not whole, but partly there. We drive away without looking back. We decide we need some more clothes. We figure we kill a crowd and take their clothes. We get our guns out, and out on our masks. We fire all at once dropping 4 people.
Another 4. Another. We fire over and over aiming high. Trying to hit heads and chests. When our clip runs out we reload and drag the bodies into our car. We drive away and don't look back. We get to an abandoned gas station about 30 miles from the shooting. We take the clothes off the bodies, underwear and all, and put the clothes in a pile. We throw the bodies in the corner and take what food we can find in the store. We take our pick of clothes from what fits us. I chose a pair of black jeans, black boots, a black tee and -you guessed it- a black hoodie. Everyone else took their pick and we sat down. We are our food, eat it, and go to sleep. We awake the next morning to a helicopter landing near us.
Sixty-Three
