Fight or Flee

by Patrick Jones

  “Latrell’s blade,” Hinton says, his breathing growing heavier. “Poison. Clay’s idea.”

  “Horace, where is Hinton?” Latrell says in a dying whisper. Hinton crawls to him. He pulls Latrell toward him and cups Latrell’s head in his hand. The blood runs like a raging river from the bullet wound in Latrell’s chest. “I’m sorry, but I needed to avenge my father’s death. Forgive me for—” is as far as Latrell gets before slumping over dead in Hinton’s arms.

  “Latrell!” Hinton shouts and falls back. Horace tries to help his friend stand, but Hinton’s eyes start to grow heavy and his legs stop working. “Horace, let some good come of this.”

  “Hinton, I don’t know—” Horace starts to speak but is distracted like everyone else in the room by the sound of automatic weapon fire, first in the distance, then closer. People rush toward the exit to get their weapons, but when the front door opens, Forty and twenty of his men stand with AKs pointed. Behind them, several Silver Skulls guards lie dead on the ground.

  “Horace, is that Forty?” Hinton whispers. Horace pulls Hinton closer to hear his friend’s dying words. “If so, let him have it. Don’t fight, no more death. Let it go. End all this.”

  “Where is Clay?” Forty shouts. “Where is his son? His wife?” No one answers until Horace stands and walks forward. He keeps his hands high in the air to show he is unarmed.

  “They’re dead. All of them.”

  Forty looks stunned. “I’d heard how crazy Hinton was, but I never thought—”

  “It was Clay. All that you see before you is because of Clay.” Horace points to the dead bodies in the garage: Hinton’s mother faceup, the men lying face down, blood flowing like scarlet oil from their bodies toward a drain in the center of the garage. “It’s over now.”

  “So you surrender this to us, but who are you?” Forty asks.

  Horace appears not to hear Forty’s question and instead points to Hinton. “He seems at peace at last,” Horace mumbles.

  “I asked who you are. Who is in charge here?” Forty points his AK at Horace.

  Marcus says, voice trembling, “I’m in charge. I’m the second-in-command and—“

  Horace turns. “No, Hinton was the stepson of Clay. When the leader falls, the son takes command. Hinton told me in his last words that this is over. All of it. It is yours with honor.”

  Several of Forty’s men begin to cheer, but Forty silences him. “Enough. Find Clay, take his body out to the woods and let wild animals devour his remains. He deserves as much, because he was one of them.”

  “And Hinton?” Horace asks.

  “It takes man of honor to know when it is time to do the right thing,” Forty says. “Get rid of this mess, and clean up his body. A man of both action and thought deserves a decent burial.”

  “Thank you,” Horace says.

  “So, who are you?”

  “I am—I mean, was—Hinton’s best friend, his blood brother.”

  “If you are Hinton’s best friend,” Forty says, putting away his weapon and placing his hand on Horace’s shoulder, “then let the truth about him be known. He’s not dead if his story lives on through you.”

  About the Author

  Patrick Jones is the author of more than twenty novels for teens. He has also written two nonfiction books about combat sports, The Main Event, on professional wrestling, and Ultimate Fighting, on mixed martial arts. He has spoken to students at more than one hundred alternative schools, including residents of juvenile correctional facilities. Find him on the web at www.connectingya.com and on Twitter: @PatrickJonesYA.