My eyes hazed over as I forced my eyelids to open. Battering them to clear my vision as I slowly came to, did little to boost my situation. I faced the grey matted ceiling of the car, and Katrina's junk lay shattered between us. My neck was stuck and a continuous dripping, almost splattering, sound landed somewhere near my ear. The intense smell of petrol seeped into my clothes and stung at my nostrils making my eyes water.
I tried to move, but I was wedged in; my seat belt chocking me. Whenever I shifted in the slightest manner, my chest erupted into a sharp burning pain. Had I broken a rib?
I tried to swivel around in my seat, the pain making flooding my muscles with an agonizing pain. Through the tears, my eyes laid themselves on the seat where Katrina was. Her pale face was cold and motionless. Blood created lines down what was left of her face which was now firmly plunged deep into the steering wheel. It dripped onto the roof in an awful splattering motion; pooling at the bottom.
I slowly reached out.
"Come on, wake up Katrina! We have to go!" I wheezed. I pushed and poked her until I was physically exhausted. My efforts were to no avail. I was useless.
I tried not to breathe as I swivelled back to the front and away from Katrina. My head was beginning to go hazy the longer I stayed upside down. My eyelids closed and I forced them open again; blinking furiously. I spotted the gun amongst the scattered junk surrounding me. It lay several feet away; halfway smashed between the windshield.
I outstretched my hand, and grunted with effort. I stretched as far as my body could go before the building up of pain became unbearable. My arm collapsed beside me, dangling helpless.
"Shit," I muttered.
I needed to be prepared if they got out of their vehicles. I needed to try again. Willing with all my might, I slowly reached up and with one final grunting push, grabbed its slick barrel. Ha! I got it! I smiled, but it quickly faded. Point and shoot. Point and shoot was all Katrina said I had to know.
Jesus! What was I thinking! I couldn't shoot a gun!
A pair of tyres screech to a halt outside the upturned vehicle. This was it. I tensed up, the pain in my chest getting worse. Doors opened and slammed shut.
Footsteps came towards me through the mud.
"Oh shit!" I muttered to myself.
I saw a pair of brown shoes walk into my line of sight. They were pristine leather things and a little fluffy white sheep had been sewn into the ankle. I remained fixated on the sheep until I saw his knees bend.
It was as though my brain didn't know what to do. Instead of grabbing the gun and shooting him, like I'd been told to do, I simply squeezed my eyes shut.
"Looks like both of them are dead boss," I heard the man say.
"Have you checked for pulses?" someone replied.
He must have motioned for someone to check the other side, whilst he checked me out. I felt a cold hand touch my neck. I nearly gulped as I tried to calm myself down and not breathe, but he must have detected something.
"We have a problem," he grumbled as he pulled his chilled hand away. "The kid's still alive."
"Well then kill him too! But don't shoot him, strangle, forensics won't know the difference."
"On it, boss," he replied.
What could I possibly do now? The file and all its secrets would die with me. Maybe that's what was supposed to happen, the way fate had designed itself. I clenched my eyes tighter and waited, counting sheep over in my mind. The little white sewn sheep filled the cusps of my inner vision as my only thought was of death. This was it. Dying was like sleeping, right?
Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine...
It was at fluffy cartoon sheep number sixty that I realised nothing was going to happen. Slowly and cautiously, I opened an eye, then both. Three upside-down faces stared curiously back at me. One still had a gun pointed at my head.
"Sixty-one," I said shakily. "Sixty-two...sixty-three..."
"Why's he counting boss?" the one holding the gun asked.
"I have no idea," he replied, a look of utter disappointment crossing his face.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to focus on the three musketeers, and let the sheep materialise in front of my optic nerve.
"There a bomb in here kid?" one asked.
I continued counting.
"Hey! I said something to you! Is there a bomb in here or not?" he persisted, waving his pistol dangerously around.
I whimpered as the pistols' cold, hard edge landed on my temple.
"If he moves shoot him," the disappointed one said whilst the other two nodded.
"Why are you sparing me?" I burst out as a sudden wave of sleep overcame my body.
"Don't you remember me, Butch?" the disappointed, dominant one persisted.
I had no idea what he was going on about, let alone question why he knew my name. I shifted my gaze to stare at him, wishing I could remember who he was. But my stupid brain wouldn't let me.
"He must have been hit in the head pretty hard for him not to remember us, boss," one of his minions said.
I was desperately trying to stay awake as my eyelids began to droop. Then it dawned on me.
"Jack..." I slurred.
He smiled callously.
"Hello little brother," he said as I passed out.
Thanks for reading another chapter! I love hearing from you guys, so be sure to drop a comment below and let me know you think will happen to Butch next! ~H.W.
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Being Butch GreenAdventure
A file. A boy. A criminal. An illegal medical lab. All is not what it seems when young rebel, Butch, decides to make a run for it with his criminal file. There is just one problem... he grabbed the wrong file and now he is wanted by the police. On...