by A. R. Breck
Fiery pain hits my ear, and I bring my hand up to the source. When I pull back, I see blood coating my fingertips. “Fuck. The fucker grazed me!” I grab my knife from my boot and run up to the man with the gun pointed towards me, sticking my knife right into the same ear as he shot me.
“Fuck you.” I spit, watching his dead form fall to the ground.
Some raging lunatic starts running towards me screaming, and I grab my still bloody knife and stab him in the stomach, using it as a handle as I pull him towards me and use my other hand to pull the trigger on my gun that’s directed at his temple.
Bang.
Another one down.
I glance behind me and see Logan next to Hugo and Rich. I still don’t have any clear sight on Jackson, which worries me.
I’m going to fucking kill him later.
I pull a second gun out of my other boot and start firing away, backing up and walking towards Logan and Rich. The last of our semis turns on and starts pulling away.
At least our shipment is safe. Sanders might be shedding some of our blood today, but he doesn’t get our drugs or our guns. Because of this, I know Rich will consider today a win.
My ear burns hot and rings like no other, almost throwing me off balance. I stumble and shoot until I hear a shout come from a familiar voice.
Jackson breaks through the trees, clutching his side and still firing off men left and right.
“Jackson!” Logan shouts behind me. I keep shooting and start walking sideways towards the both of them. I knew Jackson shouldn’t have crossed over to the other side alone. It was too risky, and now both him and Logan are drawing attention to themselves and are vulnerable standing out in the open.
Once I reach the both of them, I zone in on Jackson’s wound as it slowly seeps through his fingertips. “You okay?” I ask, nodding off to the side of the road so we don’t stand so much in the middle.
“Yeah, I think so.” He grimaces as he pulls his hand away. His hand looks like it’s been painted on, completely covered in blood. Luckily, I think it’s in a spot that isn’t fatal. Unfortunately, he is bleeding enough where he’ll need some medical attention sooner rather than later.
“Let’s get you loaded up in the van. You can’t help anymore. You’re too hurt.” I go over to one side of him and help support him while Logan goes to the other. We dodge bullets as we walk towards the van.
When a bullet hits Jackson right in the thigh, he bends in half and lets out an agonizing groan. “Fucking hell!” He roars.
“It’s Sanders!” Logan shouts, letting go of Jackson and turning around to shoot at Sanders. My eyes go wide at that, turning around and seeing just a sliver of him poking out through the trees. He has a sniper on him, and it’s aimed right at Logan.
“Logan, move!” I shout.
He ducks to the left at the last second and I watch as a bullet flies right by his head. My chest constricts as he shoots at Sanders, but he doesn’t have a good enough access to shoot at him without being completely out in the open.
He dodges right quick, shooting off a bullet as one comes towards him. This one hits Logan in the arm, stunting him and halting him in place.
“Logan, move!” I roar, trying to pull a barely conscious Jackson to the truck. I can’t deal with one best friend dying on me. I can’t even fathom two of them dying.
It’s too late, though. Logan stopping for just a second gives Sanders the shot he needs, aiming and firing right at Logan’s chest. He hits him directly in the right side, and when Logan turns around and looks at me, it’s with fear bleeding from his eyes.
“Come on!” I yell.
Logan doesn’t take another second, turning around and sprinting towards me.
Sanders fires again.
Logan falls to the ground, and this time, it’s the left side of his chest that gets shot.
“No!” I shout.
“Logan!” Jackson shouts, still half conscious and ready to keep fighting.
I push Jackson in the chest. “Go. Go! You’re too injured. Go back to the van and wait. It’s too dangerous. Go!”
Jackson listens to my orders and starts limping towards the van not too far away. Most of the other men are dead or missing. A few are left fighting here and there, but it’s beginning to clear out enough where I feel safe that Jackson can make it to the van by himself.
I run over to Logan and roll him over onto his back. A huge red circle of blood starts growing on the left side of his shirt, and I just know.
I know this is bad. This is it.
Logan’s eyes are closed, and my dead as hell heart stops in my chest at the sight. “Logan, can you hear me?” I give him a little shake and he looks at me, yet he seems so far away.
Too far away.
“Logan?” I ask again.
He looks over at me with watery eyes. “E.”
“I’m right here, man. Can you stay with me? I’m going to get you loaded in the van with Jackson, and we’re going to go get you both patched up.”
“I think… I think I’m dying, Easton.” Tears run down his face, and I wish it were possible to trade places.
“No, you’re not dying. You’re good. You and Jackson are both just pussies who aren’t quick enough to dodge a bullet. I’ll load you up in the truck and just stitch you up myself if I have to. Just stay awake, okay?” He chuckles at my comment, but his chest shaking turns it into a painful groan.
“It hurts too much.” He lets out a groan, and more tears fall down his face. “It hurts so fucking bad.”
“It’s okay. Let it hurt, but don’t go to sleep. Okay?”
“P-please do something for me?” He looks up at me with his pleading eyes.
“Anything, man. Anything.” My eyes start to get wet as I grab onto his hand and give it a squeeze. I can feel the coldness of death start to surround me, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Tell Cara—tell Cara that I was going to ask her to marry me when school got out. Tell her, I love her.” The emotion in his voice is too much. I have to close my eyes and look up at the sky.
Please, whoever the fuck you are up there. Give me some damn miracle right now.
When I feel the hand I’m clutching release mine, I’m almost too afraid to look down. But I have to, or else I never will.
Logan looks at me, his labored breath barely visible. His eyes are only slits and his ghostly white lips are parted in agony. I give him a smile and a nod, and he gives me a barely-there nod before his chest stops moving.
His eyes, looking directly at me, but he no longer sees me. They’re vacant, and his lips no longer look strained as they seek the oxygen that it so needed.
“Logan!” I snap out of my shock, shaking the ever-loving shit out of him. “No, Logan, no. Wake the fuck up. Wake. The. Fuck. Up!” I pound on his chest, like he’s choking on something instead of him just running out of blood. I hear a crack and wince. I know I broke a rib, but I can’t stop. I keep pounding, over, and over, and over again.
“Someone fucking do something!” A voice cracks with hysterics, and only after choking on air do I realize it’s me that’s screaming for help.
Hugo runs over to me and takes in the scene. “What happened? Oh, shit. Logan!” He leans over and feels for a pulse. “Fucking hell. What the fuck!” Hugo rips me off Logan and I fall onto the gravel road.
I stay there and just watch.
Running, commotion and yelling surrounds me, but I can’t take my eyes off my brother.
I look at Logan.
I touch Logan.
And I feel death.
After giving myself a moment to grieve, I tuck away any and all emotions and leap up. Once more glance at Logan and I take off. I run like the world is ending. I run like hell and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Not until I find Sanders.
After a few minutes, I see a body across the field. Running, running, running. A sniper hangs off his shoulder and bounces with every lousy step he takes across the field. He’s no match for me o
r my rage as I gain on him instantly, and soon enough, I reach him, jump on top of him and use him as my cushion.
I’m so dead inside that I can’t find any pleasure when he lets out a painful oomph.
The trees and the weeds sway in the wind effortlessly as the most excruciating pain lances through my chest at the thought of my best friend dead a few hundred feet away.
Sanders laughs a disgusting laugh, strained from my weight lying on top of him.
I grab him by his shoulder and tear him onto his back, laying a heavy fist into his cheek. “You fucker! You fucker!” I punch him again, but it’s not giving me the relief I’m looking for. It’s just making me angrier.
“Your friend… too bad.” He smiles at me with his crooked teeth, covered with saliva filled blood. “It was supposed to be you.”
Grabbing my knife, I stab him in the meatiest part of his thigh. “You fucking filth. You’re fucking dead.” I stab him again, slightly higher.
He lets out a yell each time my knife sinks into his skin.
“What are you ambushing us for? What is your fucking goal?” I stab him in his side and watch as the blood pools into the grass.
“You guys think you own the north in the trade world. You’re nothing but trash! Trailer fucking trash.” He lets out a garbled groan as the blood runs out of his mouth and down his cheek, leaving a red river of blood in its wake. “Taking you guys out is all I want. Not your drugs, not your guns, I just want you all—” He wheezes.
Grabbing my knife, I start at one ear and pull it across his neck and up to his other ear, watching as the blood floods his chest. “Dead. Burn in hell, you worthless fuck.” I watch him with no emotion, not feeling anything as I smell the scent of blood fill up the field.
My brother is dead. Shit, maybe Jackson died too and I spent my last moments talking with this bastard.
With robotic movements, I stand up, sheath my bloody knife and drag Sanders by his ankle all the way back to Rick. Once I get there, I see most of the mess is already cleaned up, the only thing left behind are piles of blood on the gravel road. Those don’t matter, one night of rain will wash it all away.
Like they were never here in the first place.
“Where the fuck have you—oh.” Hugo was about to ream into me when he sees the dead body being dragged behind me. Relief, worry, grief, and anger all show in his eyes.
I drop Sanders ankle, feeling my own emotions filling me up and almost knocking me over. The pain in my ear has been dulled with the commotion, but taking a moment to breathe has brought it back full force.
I drop to my knees and clutch my ear, the ringing and the burning combined with the pain inside of me too much to bear.
“Easton, are you all right?” Hugo comes up to me, but his voice sounds like it’s coming from a tunnel. Slow motion-like, too. Too much for me to comprehend.
“Easton?”
I feel like I’m dying, and for a brief moment, I’m actually okay with it.
Chapter Fifteen
In the dark, I’m untouchable.
Easton
“Easton. Easton! We have to move. Get off your ass, now!” I hear a shout above me, and when I look up I see Hugo glancing down at me with a heavy frown on his face. Looking over at where Logan once lay, I see an empty slab of pavement with a mass of blood in its place. I look over at the semi and see Jackson loaded in, slumped over into the corner. His eyes are open and I can see he’s breathing, but he looks in bad shape. Really bad shape.
A few guys are loading Logan in the truck with such sadness on their faces I want to crumble. Crumble and disintegrate into dust.
“We need to go. Are you injured?” Hugo says once more, this time a little more sympathetic.
I shake my head no and roll over, getting up and shrugging off his offering hand.
My mind is a little foggy and my insides feel dead. I glance over and see a couple other guys lifting up Sanders and also loading him up, with much less grace than they handled Logan.
I scoff. Logan would be furious to know he has to lay anywhere near Sanders.
Rich comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Logan, Easton. There’s nothing that could have been done. The wound went right into the heart.”
“We need to head out now. Jackson needs medical attention right away. We have a guy on his way to the motel. We were able to grab a few other of our men, too.” Hugo interrupts.
I gulp down a baseball sized lump in my throat and don’t say a word. This isn’t how it was supposed to end. Logan already rolled up a post-battle blunt and we were supposed to go back to the dingy motel and smoke it up before heading back home.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe any of this. We’ve lost too many men. We’ve lost the best man. The other one is probably near critical condition at this point.
I shuffle to the back of the semi where Jackson sits, staring down at a lifeless Logan and drifting in and out of sleep himself. I sit down next to him and look at Logan. Someone closed his eyes.
How generous.
I look over at Jackson and see him pale as a ghost and his forehead is starting to sweat.
“Hey, man. You all right?” I ask, nudging him as gently as I can.
He shakes his head no. “I’m getting cold. That’s not a good thing, right? I’m losing too much blood.”
I look him over and notice him still clutching his side, although now he has some kind of rag or fabric—someone’s shirt, maybe?—in his grip as he tries to control the bleeding.
“Can we get going? He’s not in good shape!” I yell out to anyone who will listen. Who the fuck is driving this thing?
Hugo comes out of nowhere and starts speaking. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re going to drive back to the motel and pack up quickly while those who need medical attention will be looked over by the doctor. We need to get back to the cities as quick as we can. Rich is going to call Collin and let him know what happened. They’re all going to meet us back at the warehouse.” When he gets no response, he shuts the back heavy doors to the semi, leaving us in the dark and in the unknown.
A few minutes into our drive, Jackson starts mumbling incoherent words and lulls his head forward, becoming delirious.
“Shit, Jackson?” I stand up and walk over to him, giving him a pat on the face. When that does nothing, I slap it a little harder. “Jackson!” I yell.
He doesn’t respond. I press my fingers up to his neck to feel for a pulse and breathe out a sigh of relief when I feel it still beating. Faint, too faint, but it’s still there.
“Fuck. Let’s move faster!” I shout, pounding on the wall separating the back of the van to the front. If we don’t move fast, his heart is going to stop beating.
Under no circumstances am I going to let him die too.
I feel the van speed up and sit back down, but keep my fingers pressed to his neck. Counting his beats.
One, two, three.
Four, five, six.
It’s too fucking slow.
Eventually, we end up stopping and I lift Jackson like he’s a feather and carry him out right when the doors open. “Where is the medic?” I shout, and Hugo quickly ushers me into the room where our medical worker is already set up with various supplies and instruments.
“Shit.” He says when he sees us.
I lay Jackson down on the bed and watch as the doctor takes out his stethoscope and listens intently. “He needs a hospital.” He looks up at us while he’s counting.
“There’s no time. You need to fix this. Now.” I order.
He seems displeased but after a quick glance, he seems to bite his tongue on whatever words he wants to say. Grabbing some things, he starts tearing open Jackson’s shirt and looks over his shoulder at me.
I’m hovering.
“If you could please leave the room, this is going to be unpleasant. I can work easier if you aren’t leaning over my shoulder the entire time.”
I’m about to start yelling at h
im when Hugo lays a hand on my shoulder. “Easton, let the man do his job. Let’s go get packed up and get ready to go home.”
Everything in me is saying to stay, but one more glance at Hugo and I follow him out.
I rush back to my room and pack up all our things, loading them into Logan’s car and clearing the room and quickly as possible. I watch as a few of our men load up Logan in the backseat of his car, and I nearly fall to my knees at the thought of driving back for hours with my best friend dead in the backseat.
I turn back for the room and rip one of the blankets off of the bed, stomping over to Logan’s car and mumbling at the men standing near Logan’s car. “Leave. I’ve got this.” They know I’m not in a right state of mind, so they leave without another word as I cover up my best friend with a scratchy blue blanket.
“Sorry, man. It’s the best I can do.” I choke on my words and clear my throat to rid the emotion building.
I can’t deal with this right now. Preferably ever.
After I shut the door and sealing my best friend in the backseat, I jog back to check on Jackson.
When I walk in the room, I see Jackson lying there hooked up to various IV bags and has an oxygen tube hooked up to his nose. His eyes slowly rove over to me, but the rest of his body remains still.
“He’s going to need to be transported home immediately. He needs more medical attention than what I can give him, but I’ve at least stabilized him for the time being. His bleeding has stopped, but the risk for infection is high. He needs to stay hooked up to these antibiotics and really, he needs a blood bag to replenish what he’s lost, but I don’t have any of those on me. I’ve done all I can do.” He says as he packs up his bag.
“Thanks." He brushes past me on his way out the door, and I walk up to the bed and look over at Jackson. “How you doin’, man?”
He shakes his head and works his throat a few times before asking, “Logan?” Shit, he must have been delirious in the truck earlier.
Emotion swells my own throat, and all I can do is give a somber shake of my head.
His nostrils flare and his body shakes and he heaves a huge breath. “It’s all my fault.”
“No. No, it’s not. We know the lifestyle we’re in. We know the risks and consequences. You didn’t do anything besides what you’re supposed to do.” I say sternly. I might hate my life and the world I live in, but Jackson needs to know this isn’t his fault. Not in the slightest.