Julian squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath, his senses dead still. He waited for something to happen. Anything. But the pain never came.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Julian recognized the voice. It wasn't the same guy he'd been talking to.
Wait... if he could hear the voice, maybe he was still alive. Slowly, he cracked open his left eye.
"This guy is funny as fuck." The man glanced at his buddy.
His buddy watched Julian for a moment, then said, "Stop bitching and get to work. We're almost done here."
"Already?"
His buddy didn't answer, and headed toward the ship. The man watched him go, then turned his attention to Julian, tapping his head with the rifle.
"Enough games. Let's move it."
Julian's eyes snapped open, his heart still pounding. "So you're not going to kill me, right?"
The man didn't answer right away, turning toward the warehouse area. Julian followed close behind.
"For now, no. I ain't gonna kill you."
"For now..." Julian muttered, his hand brushing his chest. He was safe for the moment.
"Where are we going?"
"Didn't you say you wanted supplies from overseas?"
"Yeah, yeah. Are you going to help me with that?"
"We'll see." The man held out his hand to Julian. "But first, your phone."
"My phone?" Julian slowed down.
"Got questions?" The man stopped and turned back.
"No, it's just... Never mind." He pulled out his phone and turned it off. "Just wondering if anyone would call, but it doesn't matter right now."
The man took the phone and put it in his jacket. "Now we're good." He turned and started walking again.
Julian followed silently. He had a rough idea of what was coming, but he felt stuck. Still, if he played his cards right, he was pretty sure he wouldn't die just yet.
He looked up at the night sky and sighed.
It was all because he sent that message. That stupid son of a…
"You can call me Rex, by the way." Rex raised his hand slightly.
"Rex..." A faint smile touched Julian's lips.
…
Her back was pinned against the van. She stared down at her hand, knuckles white around the gun. She took a slow breath, shifted slightly, trying to peek around the van's window.
Gunfire erupted, shattering the glass. She instantly ducked. A split second later, she raised her hand and fired through the broken window. Sparks flew off the car.
Then another shot rang out ahead. She quickly aimed at a pillar, holding her breath. Soft footsteps reached her ears. Black shoes, black pants…
Gunfire slammed into the pillar.
Simon hugged the pillar. His eyes snapped to her, he gave a quick nod. He glanced at the guy behind the car. Then back at her.
He raised a finger, pointed at her, then made a circle. Next, he pointed at himself, then at the guy.
She nodded and circled around. Simon kept the man's attention as she moved towards him, never taking her eyes off the car.
She slowed when she spotted the guy's shoes behind the car. She crouched low, almost touching the ground, her gun aimed at the shoes, but they kept moving.
She glanced back at Simon and signaled with her hand. He opened fire. The man returned fire, the assault rifle deafening. She used the distraction to close the distance.
The man's back came into view. She stopped. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then she shrugged off her black jacket, standing tall once more.
Holding the jacket loosely in her left hand, feet shoulder width apart. She raised her gun and fired at the man's back. The glass shattered. The man vanished. She sprinted forward.
Her eyes locked on the front of the car. She saw the muzzle flash. She threw the jacket forward, the gun roared. Riddling the jacket with more holes than Swiss cheese.
Without hesitation, she slid across the ground, reaching the car's front. The first bullet hit the man's hand, the next his head.
The jacket settled on the ground.
She exhaled sharply, her gaze lingering on the dead man as she pushed herself up. Brushing the dust off her clothes, her eyes scanned the parked cars ahead.
Everyone was dead.
She turned to leave...
Then, a piercing scream tore through her mind. Close. Footsteps were approaching, but from where?
To her right.
Her head snapped that way. A man, barely a yard away, lunged. She dodged to the side, the knife burying itself in the car with a metallic thunk.
He yanked it free and began slashing at her head. She ducked and weaved, stepping back. Her gun was still on her hand, but she didn't need it yet. She tracked the knife's arc. Her left hand shot out, colliding with his knife hand, the impact jarring her arm.
She had him locked. The gun started to raise but the knife slipped from his grasp, instantly embedding itself into his other hand. He lurched forward, blade ready.
She yanked herself back and dropped to her knees. Gun raised, as the man took one step, and the bullet entered his head. His body went still, then collapsed on the ground.
She straightened up, watching the man lying still. Like a puppet with its strings cut.
"You okay?"
She heard Simon's voice and quickly stepped out from behind the car, nodding once.
Simon approached, his gaze sharp like a scalpel, searching for any leftover. Then his eyes stopped.
"Watch out!" he yelled.
Her mind raced as she snapped her head back. A ragged man stood there, blood dripping from his temple, a gun aimed right at her. She didn't have—
The gun fired.
Time seemed to freeze. The bullet hurtled toward her heart. She didn't move, her eyes starting to close slowly. This was her escape from this world.
Then, a heavy force slammed into her. She staggered forward, barely catching herself with a hand on the ground.
Another gunshot.
The man's head twitched, and he collapsed. Julian emerged from the parking corner. Then she remembered.
She whirled around to where she'd been standing. Simon. Standing still. Unharmed. Her lips parted slightly, to apologize.
Simon's left shoulder slumped a bit. He brushed it with his palm, then looked at his hand.
Blood. Red.
She froze.
...
It's been ten minutes now.
Paul put his phone back in his pocket and waited patiently. Jenna texted him last night, only mentioning the time and place. He didn't see any point in arguing. But she wanted to talk? From the last time he saw her face, he could tell she was serious about this...
A white Toyota stopped in front of him. The window rolled down, and Jenna was in the driver's seat. She observed him for a moment.
"Hop in," she said.
Paul wasted no time and got in. He quickly asked, "Didn't think you'd contact me this soon?"
She didn't reply. Her head moved back, then to the side at the street, as if looking for someone. Finally, her eyes shifted back to Paul.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"Huh?" Paul's brow raised. "What kind of question is that?"
"Exactly the kind you don't want to hear." She turned to him. "Tell me, who are you?"
"I'm Paul?" he replied awkwardly. "Paul Vaxlar? Goes to Saint Anthony's School. Transferred a few weeks ago from Gumla. Age—"
"Cut the crap." Jenna replied sharply. "That's all just bullshit you tell other people. I know you're not just some random teenager who transferred schools. You have different motives for coming, don't you?"
"I still don't follow what you're getting at."
Her eyes hardened after hearing Paul's reply. "The night you came to the bar, talked with me, and then vanished."
"Yeah, so what?"
"An hour later, some guys came looking for you. They were armed with guns. They asked me everything about you, but I didn't have any answers to give them. Also, one of them said that you killed one of their guys."
Paul remained calm.
"I worked there for months. I clearly know what kind of people they are. They don't joke about stuff like that."
"What happened after that?" Paul asked, slightly curious.
"After that?" She leaned back. "My friend suggested I change jobs. I'm now working as a receptionist at a hotel, and haven't heard anything related to that until now."
Paul made a 'thinking' face, unsure how to reply.
"I thought you got iced before I saw you at the restaurant."
He smirked faintly and said, "So you're saying... that you were concerned about me all this time?"
"I'm not concerned or anything." She turned her head straight. "I just wanted to warn you about that night, that's all."
"I don't know..." Paul muttered. "Were they really asking about me? Of all people."
"You think I've got a few screws loose?"
"I didn't mean that, but there could be some misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" she repeated, leaning towards Paul. "A slim, kinda tall guy in a black hoodie? You're the only one I can think of that fits that description."
"They didn't have any pictures of me, right?"
"No."
"Did they ask you directly?"
"No," she thought, then continued, "First they asked around, and then someone said, 'I saw some guy in a hoodie talking to the bartender.'"
"And you freaked out and volunteered yourself."
"Yeah," she replied faintly.
Paul leaned back in his seat and relaxed. It was up-to her how she proceeds next.
Jenna wracked her brain for a solid two minutes. "So, like, you're saying some other dude in a hoodie could've been chatting with the bartender? Not me?"
"Could be," Paul said calmly, "you can't keep tabs on every hoodie that walks into a bar, can you?"
She stared at his laid-back face. "You're full of it."
"Oh, come on! You think this is some kinda movie? I don't exactly scream 'just offed someone and hit the bar for a drink,' do I?"
"But you kinda do." She mumbled.
"Seriously?" Paul shot her a tired look. "I ditched class thinking we'd hang, and you're slapping a bargain-bin serial killer label on me."
"I'm leaving."
He reached for the car door, but she grabbed his arm.
"You're not going anywhere."