Page 6 of Stand: Part One

“Oh, God,” the guard hitched. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where the bullets came from.”

I groaned again, astounded by this guy’s idiocy. I didn’t have time to question how the live rounds had made it into his gun. That could come later. Right now, I needed to stop the damn bleeding.

“Give me your shirt.”

Pausing for a moment, he looked at me with confusion.

“Now!” I shouted, the exertion giving to a wave of nausea. I couldn’t waste time being nice or tolerating this idiot’s shock. I needed him to stay focused on me instead of his very bleak looking future.

Jolting into action, he quickly unbuckled his protective vest, removed his shirt, and handed it to me. Bunching it into a ball, I pressed it against the entrance wound, applying the pressure I hoped would slow the bleeding.

“Fuck!” I cried, the pain burning from the compression. Looking back to the guard, I glared at his complete incompetence. “What the fuck are you still doing here? Go get help!”

He hunched back, his fear turning into absolute terror as realization dawned on him. “He’s…he’s gonna kill me for this,” he murmured.

For fuck’s sake, dude, I’m going to kill you!

I practically growled, my patience running thin with my blood pooling on the floor next to me.

“If you want it to be a quick death then go get fucking help!” I shouted at him, each word causing a new burst of pain in my side. I wondered if he considered how much worse his death would be if I bled out all over the floor because he was too in shock to help.

He abruptly stood, his chest heaving up and down as he sucked in air before finally grabbing the radio from his belt.

“This is Delta 3. Code 0. Red down. Repeat, Red down. Requesting immediate medical attention to garage C2. Over.”

A beep then sounded. “Roger, Delta 3. Over.”

“Thank you,” I groaned, fighting back the dizziness swirling in my head. But instead of assisting me further, he just stepped away from me like I was some kind of disease that might infect him.

Ignoring his clear panic, I continued to press the shirt into my abdomen, hoping I’d be able to keep myself from going into shock. Camaro’s body heat next to me helped keep the shivers at bay while I concentrated on breathing back the growing nausea.

Realizing his uselessness, Delta 3 slowly turned around to eye the pistol he used to shoot me. Picking it up from the ground, he pulled out the magazine to reveal a full clip of live rounds.

“How the f-fuck did you not notice the weight d-difference?” I muttered, my entire body shaking. “Where d-did you get that gun?”

He shook his head. “It’s mine,” he mumbled. “Someone must have tampered with it. Switched it somehow.”

I furrowed my brows. “Why?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Turning to face me, he held up the gun. “But it won’t matter to him.” Before I realized what he was doing, he lifted the barrel and placed it in his mouth.

My heart froze.

“No, wait!” I shouted, just as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot cracked through the air, piercing my ears and causing Camaro to bark and snarl at the perceived threat. When the guard’s body slumped to the ground, blood and brain matter pooled from the back of his head, flowing into a little river down the driveway.

“Goddamn it,” I whispered and rested my head against the car, just as a white van pulled up in front of the garage.

3

Perfect Fucking Timing

With the silent temperament of a ticking time bomb, I glared down at the sniffling excuse of a man who could barely contain his own composure for more than two seconds.

I hadn’t even done anything to him yet and he was already shaking in the chair he was tied to, snot dripping down his nose to compliment his sweat-soaked grey t-shirt.

Given the circumstances, his reactions were an accurate reflection of the severity of the situation he had personally played a part in. He knew how badly he had fucked up, and I was far too bloodthirsty to be this goddamn patient.