The Last Legends: A Novella

Morgan

I felt bile rise in my throat, scorching the fragile flesh as a boy about eighteen years old was dragged out from the building at first light. He was about my age, yet the people treated him like a serial killer, taunting him and hurling insults his way. He only continued on, his gaze not rising from the ground.

A woman perhaps a few years older signaled for the boy and his escorts to halt. With a smirk, she kicked his legs out from under him, forcing him to his knees. She proceeded to bend over so that her head was closer to his. Her lips moved, though, if there was any sound, it did not carry all the way to my hiding spot.

She took several steps back and raised her hand. A man carrying one of the two rifles took up a position behind the boy and pressed the barrel into the back of his head. When the woman dropped her hand, the gun fired.

I don't know why, but the sound seemed even louder than the shots I heard the previous day as it roared over the cheers of the onlookers. My ears rang and my eyes widened. For several moments, I stared, open-mouthed, before I realized I had been screaming.

The woman raised her hand once more, causing the crowd to go silent. She looked about her for several moments before saying something I, once again, could not hear. Soon after, the crowd dispersed into the surrounding buildings.

Glass shattering could be heard from the floor below me. I heard men shouting and the slamming of doors opening. Had that woman heard me?

I quietly cursed myself, immediately making my way from the top floor where I slept. Expecting the execution today, I made my way to my vantage point on the second floor early in the morning, but, much to my chagrin, had left both my rifle and food supply behind. It was the first time in a long while I had forgotten them, and there was a high likelihood of it being my downfall.

I climbed the stairs as fast as I could, throwing caution to the wind and not minding the ruckus I caused. If I didn't reach my gun in time, there was little doubt in my mind of my fate being the same as that of the executed boy. If I reached my gun, I might at least be able to make a run for it.

Entering the stairwell beneath me, I heard a man shout, followed by the heavy thudding of shoes as they ascended after me. Had I not already been climbing as fast as I could, my speed would have increased, but I wasn't some anime character that could pull strength out of nowhere. 

I reached the top floor as my pursuers reached the one below me. Without the act of climbing, my speed nearly doubled as I barreled through the hall and into the room I had been sleeping in. I slammed the door shut and dove for my gun.

As the men began opening doors from what I could hear, I raised my rifle and aimed at the still closed door at about head level and waited. Gradually, the noise they made crescendoed as they drew closer. My hands shook, causing my aim to waver.

As the door opened, I fired instantaneously. The shot went wide and embedded itself in the wall. I fired another shot, then another, before I succeeded in dropping a man on the fourth. I kept firing, dropping two more before the weapon harmlessly clicked, signaling I had used my last round.

In desperation, I threw the empty gun at my two remaining attackers. Not bothering with my bag, I aimed to plow through them, only to be tackled and have my arms pinned behind my back. I writhed from my place on the ground, only to have something hard collide with the back of my skull.