by Katy Jordan
“Jack, stay awake,” she pleaded, “Sparrow, come back. I shot Jack. I fucking shot Jack! I can’t take him on the bike!”
“Jesus! I’m turning around now!”
“God, Jack, please hang on,” she wept, “please, please hang on, I’m so sorry.”
Sparrow’s car skidded to a halt on the other side of the road, and both he and Tide got out to help Bullet get Jack to the car. Tide opened the door, and they flopped Jack’s unconscious body into the back seat just as loud revs could be heard in the distance. The view from the top of the hill showed guards leaving the compound on quad bikes.
Four quad bikes; eight guards.
Tide climbed in the back beside Jack, and Bullet slammed the door shut behind her.
“Whatever you do, do not take the long way!” she snapped at Sparrow, before picking up her helmet and mounting her bike. Both car and bike sped off up the hill frantically.
Bullet knew they had a good head start on the quads.
Losing them wouldn’t be difficult.
But, keeping Jack alive… that part was unclear.
Chapter Nine
They flew on to the premises of Colour Coded at top speed, and before they had even stopped, Lab and Rocket came running out through the main door.
Bullet hopped off her bike and let it crash on to the gravel that formed the driveway. She ran over to Sparrow’s car and yanked the back door open.
The blood was everywhere.
Rocket and Sparrow hauled Jack out of the car, wrapping each of his arms around the back of their necks and dragging him inside. Lab led them in, all the while trying to shout to Jack through his unconsciousness.
Bullet flung her helmet off, about to follow them in when she noticed Tide still in the back seat of the car, staring wide-eyed at the back of the driver seat. She had already shot one person, it didn’t feel wrong for her to assume she had unknowingly hurt Tide too. Bullet backtracked and went round to the other side of the car and opened the door.
“Are you okay?” Bullet asked as she searched over Tide’s body looking for injuries.
“Come on, honey, we have to get in there.”
Tide said nothing. Did nothing.
Didn’t even flinch.
“Tide…”
Slowly, almost dead-like, Tide turned her head to face Bullet who was crouched down next to her holding her arm trying to coax her out.
“There was so much blood. It wouldn’t stop.”
Bullet noticed her hands.
Her light blue fleece.
Her dark blue jeans.
All stained in Jack’s blood.
“I tried… I tried to keep him awake. Sparrow drove as fast as he could. I tried to keep him awake. The blood… it went everywhere. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried.”
“Tide, this wasn’t you. This was all my fault; I didn’t think he was going to get out of the car. I didn’t even know I’d hit him until I got him on the bike,” Bullet tried to explain, although, it felt more like she was trying to defend herself.
She was.
“Come on, honey. Please. Come inside, we’ll get you cleaned up,” she offered.
Tide said nothing.
Tears openly flowed down her cheek like a stream would flow down a mountain. Bullet rubbed her eyes in frustration, trying her best not to break down, trying her best to keep it together.
She pressed into her ear.
“Rocket, Tide needs you.”
He needed no coaxing. Seconds later, Rocket ran outside and met Bullet at the car with Tide.
“Hey you,” he smiled at her, “you did good.”
As soon as he started talking to her, Bullet picked herself up and forced the legs that were made out of jelly to move as fast as she could make them. She ran across the foyer and up the glass staircase to the conservatory and down the corridor.
She followed the blood trail.
It felt as though the hospital wing was miles away as her rasping grew more harsh with every step she took, forcing herself not to stop, or even slow down. She made it.
Everyone else was there other than Jack and Lab.
“Where is he?” she panted, looking around aimlessly for him.
“Lab’s working on him,” said Youth.
She went to go through to the back room where Lab does her private consultations. Sparrow stepped in front of her, blocking her way, and Youth held her arms from behind.
“Bullet… Lab’s working on him. Let her do her thing,” Sparrow interjected.
Bullet glared at him.
Sparrow merely stared back at her waiting for her to settle.
“She’s good at what she does, Bullet. You know that,” Youth reassured her. “Come on. Sit down.”
Youth guided her over to a vacant bed next to Flare’s and sat her down gently before sitting down next to her.
She looked at him, feeling lost.
Feeling scared.
Useless.
But, more importantly, feeling guilty as sin.
Youth put his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. Gecko struggled off of one of the other beds and limped over to them, shuffled up behind her on the mattress and wrapped his arms around the two of them.
A very silent moment passed before Rocket walked in carrying Tide in his arms who, at this point, was openly crying into his neck.
Bullet, Gecko and Youth got up, and Rocket placed Tide down on the bed.
Looking at her inconsolable friend, Bullet climbed in next to her, letting Tide snuggle in while Rocket pulled a chair over, sitting it next to the bed and lowering himself into it, not for a second letting go of Tide’s hand.
Gecko climbed in next to Flare, while Youth sat by Bullet and Tide’s legs.
Sparrow merely paced the room nervously.
No one said a word.
They didn’t have to; they were all thinking the same thing.
Jack might die.
Neon might be on to them now.
Jack might die.
Apart from Bullet; that’s not what she was thinking as she stroked Tide’s damp hair. In the silence of the hospital wing, only one thought passed through the Black Bullet’s mind.
Jack might die… because of her.
Lab appeared from the consultation room, bloody and tired.
Bullet, Youth and Gecko stood up instantaneously as Lab came over to the two beds that they had all gathered by. Her face was straight, giving nothing away, until a little smile broke out.
“He’s going to be absolutely fine,” she announced as sighs of relief were released across the medical wing. “The bullet was a through and through to his shoulder. It caught his clavicle, a little of which is broken. He lost a fair bit of blood, but he’s now stable.”
She walked over to Tide who was still laying stiff on the bed.
“He didn’t pass out from blood loss, sweetheart. It was shock. You did good.”
Lab flashed an immensely proud smile to an emotional Tide who began to sob again, but this time with relief. Rocket squeezed her hand in moral support.
“Is he awake?” Bullet whispered.
“He’s sleeping. I decided to give him a generous dose of morphine so I could re-align his collarbone. You’ll be able to talk to him in the morning. Gecko is out and home, safe and sound because of what you did. Nobody is blaming you, Bullet.”
As much as Bullet heard Lab’s words loud and clear, she didn’t believe them.
Yes, Jack would be okay.
But, she was fully to blame for his life being in danger.
“Bullet,” The Spectrum’s deep voice penetrated the ward.
Bullet turned to face him.
“My office, now,” The Spectrum walked away.
Bullet looked at everyone who merely looked as concerned for her as she was for Jack.
Without a word, she followed him out and to his office.
“Take a seat,” he said, ushering her to the gold couches that faced one another across a red fluffy rug and an
oak coffee table with a glass top.
She dropped down on to it.
Clinking and clanging broke through the crackling of the fire as The Spectrum poured two glasses of whiskey and brought them over. He handed her a glass and sat down on the other couch in front of her.
“Thought you could use a drink.”
“In actual fact, I could really use a do-over.”
“If that were possible, you know I would make sure you got it.”
In silence, they took a sip of their drinks. It nipped the back of Bullet’s throat delightfully as she swallowed, letting it wash through her like a cold wave on hot, dry sand.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” The Spectrum demanded.
She pulled her gaze away from him and looked out the window at the night sky. In light of the frenzy that Colour Coded had just been through, the world seemed very calm.
Somewhere out there, however, Neon was infuriated and who knows how ruthless he was now being with his staff, and especially his security, who failed to do their job on the first night of it being implemented.
“Bullet. Tell me what’s in that head of yours.”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” The Spectrum jagged her.
“I’m not,” she explained, “I don’t know what to think about first. I’m thinking about everything and anything all at the same time. To the point where it feels like there’s nothing there,” Bullet dropped her head into her hands and ran her fingers through her long brown hair.
Without even realising it, she had started to cry by the time she lifted her head up to look at The Spectrum. “I don’t know how I messed this up.”
“You didn’t.”
“I shot Jack.”
“Yes, you did. But, you didn’t mess anything up.”
Bullet stood up and went over to pour herself another drink. She gulped it down with extreme ease.
“If you’re going to say I didn’t mess anything up because we went there to get Gecko out and we did, I’m going to get really mad. I don’t care if you’re my boss.”
The Spectrum merely observed her as she downed the rest of the remaining fluid and poured yet another glass.
“Why did you fire your weapon?” The Spectrum probed.
“Because Rocket told me to,” she said, before downing her third glass and pouring another.
“And where was Jack when Rocket told you to fire?”
Bullet paused for a moment. She knew what he was doing and turned to face him, taking another gulp of whiskey.
“Come on, humour me. Where was Jack when the Red Rocket asked you to shoot?”
“He was in the back seat of the car.”
“And where was the Green Gecko?”
“He was on the ground. The guard had pinned him down, he was kneeling on Gecko’s back,” she recalled.
“So, neither Gecko nor Jack were in your line of fire when Rocket gave the order,” he stated as he stood up and walked over to her, “Hmm?”
“No.”
“No,” he confirmed.
“But, that doesn’t change anything,” she snapped angrily.
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he agreed, surprising her, “Jack is still in the hospital wing with a bullet hole in his shoulder that caused a broken clavicle. All of which you created.”
Her tears continued to flow, now more profusely than before.
The Spectrum stepped closer to her. He was so close to her that she could smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with the scent of his aftershave.
“What is the difference between someone who is to blame and someone who feels responsible?”
Bullet shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, unable to talk through her tears.
“Someone who is to blame is an individual who did something wrong and knowingly so. Someone who feels responsible is a person who believes that, somehow, one way or another, the onus is on them when an unfortunate series of events occurs,” he said softly, putting his hand on her arm and taking the glass out of her hand before putting it down. “You may feel responsible. But, you are not to blame.”
Bullet fell into him. The Spectrum caught her and hugged her tightly.
He knew what kind of woman he was dealing with.
The girl in her late twenties, as much as she was talented, a good shot, and extremely lethal when cornered, was also a fragile and good-hearted one. This was the girl that everyone knew of.
The legend.
In some places, the myth.
The one who, one minute she was there, and then she was gone. The one who had neutralised two terrorist plots without the Secret Service or the government even having a clue. But, as much as she was a hero, a saviour, and a warrior… she was still human.
A knock at the door interrupted them.
Lab walked in, a look of sympathy in her eyes at the state that Bullet was in.
“God, you didn’t half get yourself in a tizzy, girl,” she said, spreading out her arms, inviting Bullet to go and hug her. Bullet obliged, running to her mother figure, The Spectrum looking on.
Lab gave her a tight squeeze, rubbing her back comfortingly.
They let go, and Lab looked into Bullet’s eyes.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked her, ominously.
“Ready for what?” Bullet replied, the feeling of dread filling her rapidly.
“Jack’s awake.”
Bullet was stunned. It had been a hell of a night.
Frantic.
Nerve-wracking.
Not to mention terrifying.
It took a moment for Lab’s words to sink in as she smiled lovingly at Bullet.
“He wants to see you.”
Chapter Ten
Red-eyed, tired and worried about what was to come, Bullet made her way back to the medical ward.
It was empty.
Flare and Gecko had both been released out of the Lavender Lab’s observation and were now back in their own room.
Every sound, loud or quiet, carried through the hospital wing as though it was leading Bullet to Jack. She stood outside the consultation room door.
She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to see the result of her actions.
But, for some reason, he wanted to see her.
Slowly, shaking, she placed her hand on the door handle and reluctantly pushed it open.
A very sore and drowsy Jack turned to look at her slowly. She held his gaze for as long as she could before cowering her head down to look at the floor.
“You shot me,” he murmured, still looking at her.
Bullet looked at him. He had no expression. He was just staring at her.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Bullet said, “I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I didn’t know you were going to get out of the car, and Rocket yelled for me to shoot just as you did, and… I know you hate me, but trust me when I say that you don’t hate me nearly as much as I hate myself,” she rambled, trying as best as she could to fight back the tears from returning again.
Jack’s expression didn’t change. He kept her gaze.
Bullet was beginning to feel frustrated.
Why wouldn’t he say anything to her?
Did he hate her that much?
“Jack, please say something!” she pleaded. “It was an accident. I didn’t set out to shoot you. I was aiming for the guard, and you got out of the car…”
“Are you saying this was my fault?” Jack croaked, still staring at her, still with no expression.
“No! Not at all! Jack, I’m saying it was mine. I’m to blame. I fired my gun, I didn’t know you were going to get out of the car.”
“Exactly. You had no idea.”
Bullet was confused.
“I shouldn’t have fired my gun at all,” she said, thinking that was where Jack was going.
“No. If you didn’t shoot, Gecko would have been taken, or worse… killed,” Jack batted back.
Bullet looked at him. She had no idea what was goi
ng on.
Did he blame her or not?
“Jack.”
“Bullet.”
The frustration started to fill her. Bullet had no idea what kind of game Jack was trying to play.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say what you’re thinking. I want you to tell me the truth.”
Bullet took a moment.
She recalled the event from earlier that evening.
How she observed Gecko bumping into the guard and tumbling to the ground through the scope on her rifle. How Jack tried to help him. How Rocket pulled up. How Jack managed to get into the car, but Gecko got grabbed again. And how Rocket told her to fire, but Jack had gotten out of the car. How she packed the gun away, and everyone came down to meet her. How she hadn’t even realised she caught him in her line of fire until he was on the back of her bike.
“Tell me the truth, Bullet.”
Bullet hesitated. She stumbled over some attempts at forming words.
“It was an accident!”
She had no idea what happened. It just burst out of her, and it didn’t stop there.
“It was an accident. I was aiming for the guard and you got out of the car just as I was pulling the trigger. I caught you as well as the guard. I didn’t even know I’d hit you! I did everything I could to get you back here as quickly as possible. It wasn’t my fault, and I’m really really sorry it happened.” It poured out like fluid from a bottle, like a waterfall over a cliff edge. Like she had bottled everything up.
Suddenly, Jack smiled.
“Thank you,” he chuckled, flinching at the pain in his shoulder, “I didn’t care if you believed that I didn’t think it was your fault, or everyone else didn’t think it was your fault. I wanted you to know. I wanted you to believe in yourself that it wasn’t your fault.”
“Jack, I just feel so guilty.”
“Bullet… what’s the difference between someone who is to blame, and someone who feels responsible?”
Bullet froze.
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
She was about to answer him when he beamed an enormous sheepish grin at her.
“I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Your earpiece is broken,” he admitted, “I don’t know when or how it happened, but I can hear you all the time when you speak and everyone around you. I heard you talking to The Spectrum and it was killing me. I knew it wasn’t your fault, and I kind of hated you for blaming yourself.”