I dead-eye him. ‘You’ll never have me.’
‘We’ll see.’ Jack stands right against me, prises my legs apart with a boot, puts his thigh hard between my legs, breathes heavily in my ear. ‘Open, you’re mine.’
Jack steps back with a gloating leer.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see it’s hit me like a gut punch. I can’t count how many times I heard him whisper his words and puzzled over why it didn’t sound like he was telling people to open their minds. He was taking possession of them. All this time, the joke’s been on me, punchline delivered over and over, me hearing only what I wanted to hear.
Except I’m going to have the last laugh.
He still thinks he’s won. But however we got here I realise he has actually played right into my hands. I’ve got him stoned, I’ve got him close, I’ve got him off guard.
‘We’ll be together,’ he says. ‘And I know you’ll like it.’
I look at his band T-shirt. Guns N’ Roses. Now I remember Mum hated them because she reckoned the name celebrated the obsessive man who’d begin a relationship with roses and respond to rejection with guns.
Laughter coughs out of me when I remember the album’s name. Appetite For Destruction.
Doubt flickers across Jack’s face again. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I hope you’re hungry.’
‘What’s that mean?’
Glancing down at my own shirt makes me laugh harder. There it is emblazoned right across my chest. The cover of Hole’s Live Through This.
I doubt I will. But neither will Jack.
‘What?’ he demands.
I look up at him, shake my head, smile tightly.
Jack shrugs like he doesn’t care. ‘Want some good news?’
I don’t respond.
‘My guys have eyes on Nathan,’ he says. ‘He’s almost here.’
My bravado melts a little. If I can’t save Nathan then none of this means anything. ‘Don’t make them hurt him.’
Jack looks at me like I just don’t get it.
‘Are you kidding?’ he says. ‘There’s no way I’ll hurt him until everyone here and out there can see that he left me no choice.’
I want to yell. For Nathan to run. Get away. Save himself. But it wouldn’t do any good. Jack’s given him no options. Even if Nathan was willing to sacrifice me, refusing to come in would sign everyone else’s death warrants—and maybe set all the Revivees after him in the hope his death would save their own skins. But Nathan giving himself up means he’ll die in vain. Because I’m sure as soon as Jack has amassed the biggest army he can, he’ll turn them loose on the Revivees and any Specials who he thinks might be any sort of a threat.
Jack steps behind me and reties my gag.
Nathan appears at the end of the bridge. I can’t help selfish relief to see him again.
‘Well, would you look at that,’ Jack whispers in my ear, pointing over my shoulder. ‘He’s got explosives strapped to his body.’
I want to scream. The bulge under Nathan’s light-blue shirt is a padded bandage over his bullet wound. Jack knows that. But he’s primed people to think my friend’s a terrorist. He’s betting they’ll accept a dark-skinned man with nothing to lose would strap himself with a suicide vest.
‘Take it slow and this will be fine,’ Jack calls to Nathan, stepping out from behind me, playing to the crowd here and across the city. ‘No one has to get hurt.’
I twist to look over my shoulder. Nick has Phoebe’s hood off. The show is going live so everyone can see Nathan ‘justifiably’ gunned down. Everywhere the Revivees have stopped to watch.
Thank-God-He’s-giving-himself-up-Are-we-safe-now?-His-own-fault-Keep-going-We-will-never-be-safe . . .
‘We can resolve this,’ Jack says. ‘Just everyone stay calm, okay?’
That-Jack-guy’s-really-going-the-extra-mile-Me-I’d-kill-the-bastard . . .
‘I am unarmed and alone,’ Nathan says. ‘Like you said.’
‘If you don’t mind showing us,’ Jack replies. ‘Hands in the air.’
Seconds stretch as Nathan slowly lifts his arms, the movement of his shirt accentuating the bulge of the bandage.
Phoebe sees it. He’s-got-something-wrapped-around-him—
‘Don’t move!’ Jack shouts. ‘He’s got a—’
I fall forwards. Like a skate stunt. The road rushes up. I angle my shoulder to take the impact. My only option.
‘Danby!’ It’s Nathan. Distant. Desperate.
‘Don’t move!’ roars Jack at him. ‘You stay there!’
My eyes flutter and I shudder all curled up with my hands between my legs. I see myself through Phoebe’s eyes, hear what the Revivees think: What-happened?-Did-the-Jack-guy-kill-her-anyway?-That-wasn’t-the-deal-he’s . . .
‘Danby,’ says Jack. ‘Get up.’
I shake on the ground.
My-God-she’s-having-a-fit-someone-do . . . Phoebe thinks.
‘Wake up.’ I can feel Jack hunched over me. Hot whispery breath on my cheek. ‘Get up or—’
His hand grabs my shoulder. My fingers hook into the steel hoop down the back seam of my boot.
‘—I will kill you too.’
I scream into my gag as I pull the kebab skewer free and thrust it at Jack with everything I’ve got.
The steel spike doesn’t feel like it stabs anything as Jack jerks back.
‘Ah!’ he throws himself up, one hand at the side of his jaw and the other groping for his .45. ‘Bitch!’
I roll up onto my knees, bound hands in front of me. I want to attack again, make sure I get him this time. But the skewer’s no longer in my hands. I’ve lost it. Worse is that me kneeling like this makes it look like I’m praying for Jack’s mercy. I don’t want anyone to remember me this way.
‘Gaaahp.’
Jack doesn’t say it. He sprays it in red droplets as he staggers back and bumps down the steel rivets on the bridge wall. He’s no longer reaching for his gun. He’s sitting splayed and clutching at his neck with both hands.
Now I see.
The steel hoop is embedded deep under his jaw and the silver skewer is threaded up through the meat of his cheek. Blood pulses from puncture holes and from his left eye where the sharp point glistens amid ink and jelly.
‘Danby!’
Nathan runs towards me. I don’t know why it looks like he’s wading. My struggle against the ties at my wrists is as slow. Bullets are about to speed through the air, hurry us both into oblivion.
That wet amphibious noise croaks from Jack again. His lips flap and bloody steel gleams in his mouth.
‘Ahhhp.’
But Jack’s not bubbling that awful syllable alone. All around, on the roadway, on the bridge’s walls and on the railway, Minions gasp and shudder in sympathy. Nick topples against Phoebe, assault rifle clattering to the ground between them. Damon sits heavily, eyes rolling back, fingers mimicking Jack’s efforts to pull the spike from his face. My little brother flails, limbs drumming against the road like he’s having a seizure.
I get to my feet and pull my gag free.
‘No!’
My worst fear. Killing Jack is killing Evan and all of them.
Nathan’s at my side, ripping at my restraints. As my wrists fly apart, the Minions roar. Their agony and anger is Jack’s. His mouth widens in a silent scream as his fingers slide the skewer from his flesh in a splash of blood.
‘Danby, come on!’ Nathan yells.
‘Evan!’
We run and jump over Minions until we’re at my little brother’s side. I scrabble and slip as I try to get hold of him.
‘Grab his legs,’ Nathan says, and I do as he catches Evan’s arms. Together we haul him up in the collapsed crowd where only shocked Specials are left standing.
‘What have you done?’ Angela screams as she bolts past us to Jack. ‘Someone, get something to stop him bleeding.’
‘You—you—you.’ Max hisses at me. ‘Crazy bitch.’
&nb
sp; Then he’s off running after Angela, ripping off his T-shirt and balling it up.
Nathan and I carry Evan past where they tend to Jack.
‘Don’t move!’
The booming voice belongs to a rugged guy in work clothes and tool belt. He’s pulled a pistol from a Minion and he’s aiming at me. A redhead’s by his side and is pointing a handgun at Nathan. They’re Specials like Angela and Max: true believing acolytes.
‘Shoot them!’ Angela shouts.
The air’s split by a crack-crack and the guy drops to his knees and faceplants into a writhing Minion. The redhead whirls as Marv’s next double blast from a .38 sends her screaming into her own shadow. Her big eyes plead for me to do something. Blood jets from the holes in her chest. I let go of one of Evan’s legs and yank the .45 from her fingers as she dies.
‘Go! Go! Go!’ Marv yells as he barrels past us.
Nathan tries to carry Evan but I’m anchored in place, one hand wrapped around his ankle, the other tight around the gun I’m aiming at Jack.
‘No!’ Max yells, putting himself between me and my target. Angela closes ranks, grabs Jack’s .45 and raises it at me.
Click.
I’m still alive. Her safety’s on. She tries to find it.
From behind his human shields, Jack stares at me, remaining pupil as big and black and merciless as a shark’s eye. I have to shoot: kill them all to be sure I get him.
Jack twists his bloody mouth into a grin as Angela switches the safety off.
‘Danby!’ Nathan yells.
I have to throw the gun down to grab Evan’s other leg and we run with him as best we can.
Angela’s first bullet sizzles through the air by my head.
‘Stop!’ she screams.
Through Phoebe, I see her standing over Jack, firing wildly at us and then at Tajik and Alex as they streak past her.
We run as bullets whistle, crack and clang off the road and steel walls. Then we’re all off the bridge, over the guard rail, slipping and sliding down a dirt embankment to the river path below.
FIFTEEN
We stir up dusty piss stink as we scramble out of the weeds and broken glass. ‘Hellyeah’ is sprayed in white paint on the sandstone bridge pillar closest to shore. I can’t agree. Not with Evan’s eyes rolling back in his head. My little brother looks like he’s dying.
We lower him onto the concrete path.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Nathan asks.
I point up at the bridge. ‘It’s because I stabbed Jack. It’s like I said. He controls them.’
Nathan looks stricken. ‘How’s that possible?’
‘I don’t know.’
Nathan listens to Evan’s pulse and breathing. Looks at me. Nods. ‘Physically, he’s fine.’
I hug my little brother to me. ‘Break free, please! Please, Evan, please.’
Angela’s screams reach us from the bridge above.
I look up at the structure’s undercarriage of struts and pipelines but see what’s happening through Phoebe’s eyes as she cowers from the chaos. Max is doing what he can for Jack while Angela waves her pistol angrily and urges other Specials to arm themselves. The Minions remain a tangle of helpless arms and limbs, like an army hit by some kind of nerve gas.
I’ve-gotta-run-Off-the-bridge-Better-off-with-those-guys-I-need-to—Phoebe thinks.
‘Stay!’ Angela whirls.
Please-no-I—Phoebe’s mind disappears as Angela empties her pistol into her, the gunshots clanging above us.
‘Holy shit!’ whimpers Alex.
‘My God,’ Marv mutters.
‘We need to go,’ Nathan says, reaching for Evan. ‘Help me.’
‘I’ve got him,’ Marv says. ‘Take this.’
He hands his .38 to Tajik and hauls my little brother up over one solid shoulder.
‘Which way, man?’ Alex says tearfully as he spins in a circle. ‘Which way?’
I’ve seen fires south and east. We can’t go west unless we swim across the river. North’s the no brainer. ‘That way!’
‘Out there?’ Alex looks at me like I’m crazy.
I see his point. The river path is exposed. A shooting gallery between brown water on one side and a green hill with a rowing club on the other. But after a few hundred metres pine trees close around the path. Once we get there we might be safe. Safer.
‘We can make it,’ I say. ‘If we go now.’
We’re wasting time. With the Minions stoned and staggering, this is our chance to escape. The men look at me and each other.
‘Move!’ Nathan says. ‘Come on!’
A body crunches into the footpath just outside the bridge’s shadow. It’s a woman who’s fallen from the bridge above. I scramble out and drag her under cover in case it’s a trick. Blood gushes where she’s split at the seams. Her mouth moves as she tries to speak. I gently enclose her fingers in my palm. Lean in so at least someone hears her last words.
‘You’re dead,’ Jack gurgles through the dying woman. ‘You’re all dead.’
SIXTEEN
We run for the trees.
Nathan leads, Alex and Tajik behind him, me following Marv who carries Evan. River and lawn blur by. Mostly I’m aware of all the open air around us. While the others cast glances back at the bridge, I don’t dare look around for fear of seeing Angela up on the railway bridge with me in her sights. I dodge around a green homeboy curled up around his tablet and hurdle a flyblown woman bloating out of her one-piece bathing suit. The canopy of trees looms larger. Nathan reaches cover and then the others join him and wait for me to make safety.
We hurtle along the path and then slow to a jog. I can see Nathan’s hurting. Makes sense. He got shot just days ago.
‘Let’s stop a sec,’ I say. ‘Down there.’
We hide behind the root clumps of trees toppled by the big floods last year. These stinky mounds of dried mud and dead wood look as bulletproof as any trench. We’re not in danger of being shot from the bridge at least.
Marv lays Evan down on a patch of twigs, listens to his breathing, looks at me. ‘Evan’s fine,’ he says. ‘Is everyone else okay?’
Nathan nods and grimaces. The others offer murmured yeahs that sound far away to me. I can’t even manage that syllable.
I’m still catching up to myself. Running my hands over my chest, arms and legs in case I’ve been shot and didn’t feel it. I’m unhurt apart from where my shoulder took the brunt of me hitting the road. My hands are shaking and spattered with blood. I hold them in front of my face like they belong to someone else. Except they don’t. My hands. His blood. Jack’s.
Revulsion and guilt and excitement swirl and then I’m swept by anger and shame. Not because I got suckered. Not because I’ve inflicted a terrible injury on another human being. But because I didn’t make sure he was dead. I faltered. I should’ve shot Angela and Max and then blown his mother—
‘Danby?’
Nathan frowns at my trembling hands and whatever horrible expression I’m wearing. ‘Are you all right?’
I double over and vomit into the mud at my feet.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, knowing better than to touch me as my stomach convulses. ‘It’s okay.’
After a minute, I straighten up and then lean back against a tree trunk.
‘Better?’ he asks.
I wipe my mouth. ‘Yeah, you? Are you okay?’
Nathan is breathing hard but his eyes glitter darkly. ‘You know, can’t complain.’
I put my arms out to him.
‘Not too tight,’ he says, stepping in for a quick hug. ‘Still a bit on the sore side.’
‘I’m so glad,’ I say. ‘I’m so glad you’re okay.’
‘You, too,’ he replies. ‘But we better see what’s happening back there.’
We crawl up a root clump and peer at the railway bridge that’s reassuringly small in the distance. I wish I had binoculars. I wish I had anything. What little I had was in the pannier. I’ve no idea what Jack did with it.
‘He’s fine,’ Marv says. ‘He’s fine.’
I nod gratefully. ‘Thank God.’
‘No one’s coming yet,’ reports Tajik from where he’s prone on the path, shakily aiming our one small gun back the way we came.
‘Oh, man, they’re gonna though, aren’t they?’ Alex whines from behind his dirt mound. ‘We should go back, give ourselves up, tell them it was a mistake, that what we—’
‘Hey,’ I bark. ‘Shut up.’
He looks at me with a wounded expression but closes his mouth.
‘Should we try to cross the river?’ Tajik asks.
We look at the shallows and the thick forest on the western shore. Trying to swim for it will put us out in the open and make us a target for anyone on the bridge. If we made it to the trees we’d be in thick cover but I don’t know how we’d hack our way through the bush or what we’d do if we got back into the mountains. We can’t go east off the path here because it’s enclosed by a steep hill that’s tangled with thick brambles.
I shake my head at Tajik and the others. ‘We have to keep going . . .’
The words die in my throat as Evan sits up next to Marv.
‘Danby?’ my little brother says, blinking around.
I jump over to him and take his little hands in mine. ‘Evan!’
His left eye is bloodshot and he rubs his neck groggily.
‘Danby.’ His mouth twists into a grimace. ‘That really hurt.’
I let go of him like he’s electrified.
Evan—Jack—looks around, spending a moment staring at each of us. ‘Tajik. Marv. Nathan. Alex.’ It’s like a roll call—or hit list.
All our eyes are wide and our faces are white. But I’ve never seen anyone as terrified as Alex. His lip bleeds where he’s bitten it and his whole body shakes like we’re in the Arctic.
‘This is a joke?’ he says to me, teeth chattering. ‘He can’t really control people, can he? I mean, it’s not—’
‘Shut up, Alex,’ Evan barks. ‘You talk too much. Listen.’
The Last Shot Page 15