SO COLD
An unrelenting weight slammed into the side of the SUV. I later learned it was a truck. Red painted, chipped. It was sudden, quick as a snap of fingers and yet there was a moment when time stretched and didn't end. The radio was playing. An Akon song. We were driving along a stretch of seemingly empty road. At Cole's end was a streak of thin, straggly trees and behind mother nature was a downhill sweep leading to an abandoned home, bricks crumbling at its feet, broken windows, rat infested.
It was warm enough for the AC to be switched on. Summer nights like today were for camping with friends and burning your tongue with s'mores. Cole was driving lazily, one hand rested on his thigh, the other slung on the wheel. It was too late in the night to be stuck in a traffic, every so often we'd see another pair of headlights but not much else. It was unsuspecting, out of no-where. We hadn't been paying attention and I blame it on our fatigues.
The giant truck smashed into my side of the car, a force so heavy it felt like the hand of god in the moment. The SUV skidded, another smack and then toppled into the trees, spinning like a washing machine. It was difficult trying to get a hold of the situation especially when I was unable to let out a cry. It was that quick. The SUV came to a stop just feet away from the collapsed house, on its side like a fallen toy. Senses came alive: a white-hot pain made my head feel like it was on fire. Gasoline was leaking from somewhere, it smelt sharp. Glass had broken, and crinkled as pieces fell to the ground. My limbs felt entangled. I couldn't move. I was in shock, dazed. Nothing felt real. And then the pain intensified and reality brought me to the present: Someone was groaning, smoke in the air, the taste of blood, a jumble of emotions and feelings.
Footsteps and shouts made one thing very obvious: this wasn't a random hit and run. Orders were being thrown: "Make sure the job is done! Check on them! Get me proof."
"Shay."
I went blind. Terror struck me and I rubbed my eyes and drew a bloody hand away. My vision returned, blurred. I turned my head towards Cole, he couldn't get out. His face was bloody, I didn't know where his wounds ended and where they began. His breathing was faint and he tried again. "Shay. Push yourself out. Run." He held a revolver in his hand limply. He looked like he was going to pass out any moment or worse, die. He needed a hospital ASAP. The amount of blood spilling onto the seat and wetting his clothes was worrying.
"I can do it," I took the revolver. He tried fighting for it but there wasn't any energy behind his action. I scrambled to tear off the seatbelt.
"Run," his voice was weak.
That wasn't going to be an option. I swiped an arm over the cut on my forehead, my head space clearing up. I cut my hands on the jagged edges of the window as I hoisted myself out into the cool air. Adrenaline and cold-fear spurred me on. I landed on a crooked ankle and hissed, gritting my teeth. The area was overcrowded with trees and lawn weed. There was no coverage aside from the car and the house of bricks which was too far away for me to get behind in time. Men were moving down the hill. Four legs. I crouched behind the SUV, one eye squinted. My hands were shaking and I dropped the revolver. "Fuck! Fuck!" I almost cried and picked up the revolver, breathing in and steadying my nerves and tremor. I squeezed the trigger and the bullet fired into the leg of one of the men. He cried out, toppling and tumbling down the rest of the way. The second man reacted by firing angrily towards the car, rushing across to get cover. He ignored his friend's pleads for help and demands came from above: "What the hell is going on?!"
I ducked behind the SUV and the bullets ricocheted off metal. I waited and when there was a pause – a fumble for a reload – I rolled over and aimed the nozzle at the second man. The trees were akin to skinny stalks and he was exposed greatly. I fired and the second bullet hit the man in the head, blowing two-thirds of his scalp into the wind. He was dead in an instant and toppled to the ground. The gunshot echoed through the trees, announcing his death and then there was silence. A deep quiet. Seconds of stillness. Then broken by the moans of the man on the ground attempting to crawl back up. He had lost his gun on the fall down and was utterly defenceless.
The truck's engine roared, the driver was running away, a flashing red beacon through the gaps of the trees. I walked across the stained grass and wild dandelions and prickly green leaves and came to a stop before the man. He was young, early twenties, brown, shitty Justin Bieber moustache across his upper lip. He held out a hand, desperation in his tone. "Please–"
I looked him in the eye, my expression cold and fired into his head. His body jerked to a stop, blood spilling into a puddle around him. He was my third. I hurried back to the smoking SUV and wrenched open the door. Cole was unconscious. I managed to get his seatbelt away from his injured body and grunted as I tugged on his arms. What did this man weigh!? I placed my arms around his chest and heaved with all my might. "Son of a bitch." I hit my elbow as his torso slid out of the open door and dragging him became a whole lot easier when he was on the ground. A blood trail followed us to the house and once he was hidden from sight, I took his phone and hiked back up to find a signal.
I was exhausted and weary. My head felt dizzy and my body ached, begging for a rest but I couldn't. Suspicion urged me on, I was on alert, scanning the roads. After I placed the call, I staggered back down, past the dead bodies and back to Cole. And I waited there for help to come, praying he wouldn't die on me, hands pressed against his wounds, tearing and tying my top into strips and wrapping them around the flowing cuts. He remained motionless, barely breathing. Death was an upsetting friend, lingering, and waited with me, his clock ticking.
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