Drrrrraaaammmmaaaaa up ahead!


The impact of the ground knocks all the breath from my lungs. My eyes momentarily black out, but a split second later I see the dark sky, the twinkling stars, and the furling smoke cloud in crystal clarity. The alarmed voices around me seem distant compared to the blinding pain in my lower back. My butt broke my fall just before my shoulders and heels slammed into the cement of the sidewalk.

I could probably get up if I really tried, but with everyone around me waiting to help, I choose to lay and whimper instead.

"Oh my god! Holy shit, are you okay?!" Tonya exclaims over and over, like the ordeal is overwhelming her. Josephine is in a significantly better mind state, a look of fierce determination painting her expression as she takes over the scene.

"Everyone back," she says firmly, only a sliver of her fear slipping through her calm facade. After months of living on the road, though, I might be more attuned than the others at detecting fear.

The survivors move back a few steps to give Josephine and me some space. She glances up and nods to the buff archer Eddie. "Give me a hand, please."

Eddie steps forward and slides his arms under my back. Josephine supports my legs. "Lift her slowly," she says. "Try to keep her back straight." I feel stabs of pain when he lifts me but they're bearable. I bite my lip to keep from moaning any more.

We get to the infirmary eventually. The stairs were torture, and I could read the apologies written all over Eddie's face as I ground my teeth in an effort not to cry out with every step we went up. Once we finally made it, I was taken back to the office-turned-emergency/treatment-room from when I arrived. Now this is where I lay, staring at the ceiling while my back throbs against the mattress.

Josephine returns from her medical errand with aspirin, a bottle of water, and a few hand warmers. "M'sorry, but we don't have much else for this. Now roll over, that's it, nice and slow." I settle on my stomach with a sigh and turn my head to face her.

"Try to push up a little and take these."

My lower back protests at the movement, but I swallow the pills quickly before dropping back down.

"Obviously we don't have any cold compresses or heating pads, so these were the best I could do," she adds. I nod and smile, touched by the effort. Josephine smiles back sadly, tearing open the packets and rubbing them in her hands to activate the heat.

"How'd it happen?" I ask in a small voice. She frowns in anger and frustration, dropping her calm and supportive expression for the first time since the fall over half an hour ago.

"No idea. I woke up to smoke and stumbled in the hall to find a line of fire. It seemed to concentrate at your door, cutting me and the others off from the main stairwell. I evacuated everyone left through the emergency stairs and prayed that you could find a way out."

"So the watch didn't see anything? I mean, this was clearly no accident."

Josephine places the packs on my bare lower back, just above my pelvis, wrapping gauze around them so they're pressed against my skin. Her touch is feather light and barely noticeable.

"No, it wasn't. I haven't met with the watch or the other leaders yet, but it really could've been anyone. Until you're better, though, you don't need to worry. Try to get some sleep, and hopefully I'll have answers for you in the morning." She smiles one last time before flipping off the light and leaving the room.

{0.0}

I wake at the creak of a door. My door. I'm facing the opposite wall, where my squinted eyes see a faint shadow cast along the already dark room. Muted footsteps approach me. One, two, three, four. The room is only 20 feet long. My mind and heart race.

It's clearly not Josephine or a friend - they would've said something to wake me up. An enemy? More likely. But I only have one...

I feel the proximity of my guest, see the arm of the shadow raise something, and I'm up, twisting away from the bed. A split second later, I see a knife lodged in the space where my head was.

"Matt," I state calmly, fighting to keep a level tone as if I knew he would come here and try something. It seems to work as the fury and frustration in his expression are evident.

"I knew I should've just thrown a Molotov cocktail through your window. Shoulda guessed you'd find a way out."

"Yeah, well, you never were the smartest," I say, trying to stall him. He's already twisted the knife out of the mattress, and the only thing separating him from an unarmed me is my bed-desk.

Another flash of anger shoots across his face. Most people probably wouldn't suggest prodding the bull, especially considering I have no weapon, but I know Matt. He loses his grip when he's mad enough. Couple that sloppy anger with his already lack luster fighting skills, and I could just get out of here an only child.

"Of course not. Not with you around. Always the perfectionist bitch you were. Mom and dad's favorite kid, making them forget they even had a son."

"Can you blame them?" I retort with a humorless laugh. "You stole from all of us just so you could get a high! You were killing yourself, and even worse, you poisoned the rest of us! I'm not denying I'd'a been psyched to finally catch a break from the lies and thefts and back stabs, but do you even know how much it would've killed mom and dad to find you dead with a needle sticking out of your arm? To find you lifeless, their only son, their oldest child, knowing they couldn't save you? You might as well have just killed them yourself!"

"Those robots? With their emotionless shells? They wouldn't'a given me one tear between 'em! I swear, they couldn't have known how to feel if they watched a suicide bomber kill right in front of them! They got what they deserved," he sneers.

My next insult stops just as it's about to fly out. The room goes quiet for a few labored breaths.

"What do you mean-"

"Oh yeah, they're dead. They died right when this shit all went down. 'Course you was gone, off doing whatever it is you been doing for the last 10 years, and they was sitting at home wondering if the phone would ever ring so they could hear your voice. I was with them, as I always have been for every Tuesday since you ran away.

"'Just go on up to bed,' I eventually said, staring at the ground so I didn't have to see the tears in mom's eyes. They just couldn't understand where they went wrong. Dad was angry - he never let go of that anger. Never got why you could be so ungrateful to throw away all he did for you. But mom... She was a mess, just like always only so much worse 'cause I was there, reminding her of the child she lost.

"She ran up to bed while dad sat and muttered in his leather chair - you know, the one if we ever sat, in he'd spank us into next week? I grabbed my keys and got to my car, not hearing shit 'cept for one scream. Stood the hairs on my arms up for sure. I had just got in my car when a dude slammed into the driver's side. I rolled down the window to rip him something new, but his hands shot in and he tried to attack me! I high tailed it out after that, but the streets were crowded with the people, so I went back home." He's twirling the knife at this point, and though I listen to his story with interest, I never lose the bend in my knees or my readiness.

"I got across the yard okay, but the door was wide open. I peaked in side, all cautious of course, and saw the dining room and living room in disarray. I ducked inside the kitchen to grab a knife," he adds with a certain pride at his intelligence. "Then I went in the living room. Didn't smell right. Smelled like death. And there was some blood of the floor, and a smacking sound. I peaked over the couch, and almost lost my dinner.

"Dad was just going to town, tearing every sinew and tissue he could from mom's arm. She was dead by then, blood wiped over her neck, with bites in her arms, legs, and shoulder." I wince, but Matt relays it all without any sympathy, compassion, or remorse.

"'Dad?' I said. 'What are you doing?' And he looked at me with this blank expression, glossy eyes, and a chunk of cheek missing. He dropped mom and got up, stumbling after me. I didn't hesitate, plunging my knife straight through his eye." My suspicions are confirmed, then. I wasn't sure how I would've handled finding mom and dad, but I don't think I could've killed them without hesitation if at all. I wondered if Matt would dive in, though, showing how little he truly ever cared.

"I only had to go lay upstairs for like five minutes before I heard some thumping and dragging downstairs. I went to check it out and sure enough, mom was limping around. She didn't even hear me or turn before my knife went through her skull." I visibly grimace at the retelling of her gruesome death. Matt sees it this time.

"Oh, so now you care about her? What timeliness you have."

"Oh fuck off. I loved her more in eighteen years than you did in the past thirty you spent with her."

"Was that supposed to hurt me? They were terrible people. They got what they deserved. At least they knew how to hold a job, though. Made for some nice piggy banks before they bit the dust." I grind me teeth.

"At least they went slowly," he says decisively. "Mom must've been screaming for an hour before she finally died of blood loss. I mean those bites were everywhere. And dad going after one bite from his cheek? I knew he was soft, but damn. I'm sure that was excruciating, but who dies from that?" My hands clench into fists, my anger reaching new levels.

"Too bad he wasn't alive to see mom die. I'm sure he would've lost it. You would've loved that, wouldn't you, Andy?" He goads. I can't take it. I lunge.

Matt sticks the knife straight out, jabbing for my gut and I round the table for him. I swing my right forearm up and deflect the shot, following up with a sharp, ruthless punch to his exposed gut. I knock the wind out of him, my anger and adrenaline gushing through me to power my swings. I give him no grace period before putting my whole body behind a right handed punch to the temple, jolting his hide sideways and sending him to the ground.

He's out now, but I climb on top of him and let loose, years and years of torment bubbling up and keeping me going.

That time his friend groped me while he watched and laughed, high off his ass? A left hook to the face.

That time he used my final essay for Junior English to roll a blunt? A jab to the chest.

That time he sabotaged my workplace and got me fired? A right punch to the eye.

That time he sold my phone to try cocaine for the first time? A left punch to the other eye.

Over and over, I let everything out. Eventually I sit back, breathing hard, and my gaze flickers over to the knife by his hand. His bloodied, broken face lays still, but his pulse and lungs keep pumping. I grab the handle and toy with it, hesitating.

This is it. I could end this right now. I could save myself, cleanse my parents lives and deaths of his poison, and get revenge for anyone else with the misfortune of meeting him. But now that it's here, my chance to kill him, I hesitate.

I always figured I'd kill him mid fight. I could claim self defense, in which case I'd never think twice. The fact that it would be him would just put the cherry on top. But now? With his defenseless body limp under me? This would be murder. Merciless, straight up murder.

He deserves it, no doubt. That's not even a question.

But can I do it? Should I do it? Would killing him, right now, be any different than killing those men and women to take the warehouse? I've said I've changed. Have I?

With that answer, I come to a decision.


Review please! Tell me what you think! Thoughts, opinions, suggestions, do you think she'll kill him or not?