Chapter 5:
Jumping from roof to roof, Jake continued down the row of structures, finally climbing down a fire escape and climbing through a broken window into a small, abandoned business. Lay low, he thought, wait for them to give up, then get moving. The cops know you're here, they know your face. Wait until nightfall, then get the hell outta Dodge. Settling into a corner behind the counter, Jake pulled off his coat and concealed himself with it as best he could, hoping it would at least pass a cursory glance. He kept the shotgun in his hands, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. Despite his best efforts, sleep deprivation soon took over, and Jake slipped into unconciousness.
Jake Krieg stood, knee-deep in red fluid. Blood. He held out his hands; they dripped with it. His coat was drenched, the smell of blood was overpowering. Ripping the coat off, he heaved it as hard as he could into the distance. He tugged at his matted, soaked hair, pulling it out in clumps. His skin bled the blood of others, of those whose lives Jake had cut short. He tore at it, ripping it away and throwing it aside. Looking at the surface of the blood, Jake saw his reflection and retched, sickened by the sight of the person he had become. He pulled his guns from their holsters and shot the reflection, over and over, until his ammunition was as spent as he was. Dropping the pistols, Jake watched as most of the lake of blood evaporated. He dropped the shotgun as well, and saw his reflection regenerate, the violence and scars of the past several years melting away. Jake stood stock-still, looking at the image of one Jacob M. Krieg, a man well-liked by the community and reasonably successful in his life. Then, he saw another reflection, standing in front of him. He saw the man who had reported him to the police those years ago.
Krieg looked up to see the man aiming his own guns at him. He screamed with rage and grabbed his shotgun, pressing the barrel against the man's face. The man smiled a wicked smile, and Jake suddenly realized he was in a standoff with himself. Dropping his gun, Jake saw the rest of the blood lake vanish as the other Krieg pulled the trigger.
Suddenly snapping awake, Jake nearly shot his foot off. He eased his grip on the shotgun and pulled back the coat. Darkness. He had managed to stay unnoticed all day, and now it was time to get a move on. Pulling his coat on, Jake hopped back out the way he had come in and tried to keep his face hidden. It didn't work long.
"Jake Krieg!" called an official sounding voice, "Hold it!"
Jake's hand instinctively went for the shotgun, hanging inside his coat. He stopped walking, but did not turn around. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the town's sherriff standing behind him on the street.
"Look, I know you're wanted and all that, but the bartender told me about what you did, so I've decided to cut you some slack, alright? Let me make this completely clear: I don't want you here, and I should shoot you dead, but you saved a good friend of mine, so I'm not going to. Not for a few days, anyway. If you're not here after a few days, I guess I can't shoot you, can I?" The sherriff turned and started to walk away. "Just don't stir up any trouble, or there wont even be anything left of you to bury."
Jake breathed a sigh of relief and walked on into the night, regaining his usual cocky swagger.
"I'm real sorry, miss, but we're all out of pudding," the clerk said with a shrug, "Some more should be coming in tomorrow."
"No pudding?" Milly fumed, on the verge of crying, "Why are you being so mean to me?"
"Look, miss, there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it," the clerk insisted, "somebody just bought the last few packs."
"Come on, Milly," Meryl pleaded, tugging on the tall woman's sleeve, "he said there'll be more tomorrow, we can get it then, ok?"
Milly looked defeated, "Oh, alright."