The Law and the Codas

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"We're up," I say.

She nods and we make our way behind the El Accosta so we can approach unseen.

"What's going on?" one of them says.

"Respiratory failure," says another.

Cradled in his hand is the control for the Blackhole bag. He looks down at Jonathan and frowns. There's a click as he presses a button and the cord around Jonathan's neck loosens.

"Now!" I yell.

Jonathan lunges toward the El Accosta, knocking him onto his back, the Blackhole controller flying across the concrete. The El Accosta goes for his gun, but Jonathan's too quick. He knocks it out of the guy's reach and lobs a right hook into the guy's face. He falls back unconscious.

I scramble toward the gun, but just as my fingers graze the grip, someone's pulling me away by my hair. I twist in my struggle to get free.

"Oh no you don't!" a voice hisses. "Stupid bitch!" He snarls, but then the tension from his grip loosens and something slumps on the ground. I turn over and see Marava standing over him, the rock trembling in her hand. Blood splatters its surface. She tosses it as the shock of what she's done wears off and makes for Jonathan's side, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes.

"You okay?" Her fingers graze a bruise along his jawline.

He flinches but manages s smile. "I'm fine." His voice is gravelly, strained. "Thanks to you guys."

He looks toward me, smiles, but a second later, his smile fades. His eyes widen. "Ten!" His arm shoots into the air, finger pointed behind me. "Watch out!"

I whip around, see the El Accosta gun aimed. I grab the gun beside me, and without thinking, fire. A bullet screams through the air, and the El Accosta falls back, his mouth pulled into a grimace. Blood pours out of a wound in his arm. I struggle to my feet, make my way over to him, kick the gun out of his hand.

Looming over him, I can't help but notice how young he is. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. The same patchy peach fuzz that graces Sam's face, graces his. Brown eyes fill with tears. He twists on the ground, his hand struggling to stop the bleeding.

"Ple-please." Spit dribbles down his chin. I aim the gun, cock back the hammer. "Please don't kill me. I-I won't tell them anything." He raises his arms up, flailing them in front of his body.

"But you'll tell them everything," I say. The night around the Codas table, when Della had the Sunshine Vitamins, comes to mind. Did the El Accosta have the pills, too? Did they know the trigger? Would they use the drug to pry tight lips loose? "They'll kill you if you don't," I finish.

A pained yelp escapes his lips and he winces. He shakes his head which causes greasy strands of straw colored hair to fall in front of his eyes. "I won't. Please--"

"Ten." Jonathan's voice cuts through the tension. "Let's just leave."

I stand my ground. Gun aimed. Fingers trembling. The boy looks up at me, eyes pleading with me to just go.

"Would you have shot me?"

The boy's eyes widen. "Wh-what?"

"Would you have shot me? If I hadn't shot you first, would you have pulled the trigger?" I gesture to the gun a few feet away. A sob escapes the boy's throat. Slowly, he bows his head.

"It's different," I say. "Saying you'll kill someone and actually killing them."

The boy screams. Him or us."Please! I wasn't! I wasn't--"

As my finger tightens around the trigger, I realize the choice had already been made, cruel as it was. Snot bubbles from the boy's nostrils as he continues to cry, to writhe, scream and struggle on the ground, plead with his god, blood running over his quaking fingers.