Between Gates (The Gate Chronicles Book 1)

Chapter 30: Will You Go?

He stood in the alley, sweat drenching his t-shirt's back. Throwing a glance back over his shoulder, he saw the men in black advancing on him. He stared at them, eyes wide, then turned and ran down the alley.

His footsteps drummed on the street's cracked pavement, splashing into puddles from the last rainstorm, the water soaking into his jeans and sneakers. His feet ached and burned, but the soothing water helped some. He threw another glance over his shoulder, his heart pounding in rhythm with his footsteps, harsh and unending. 

The men were rounding the alley. He whipped his head back around. And stopped just in time to avoid the dead end of the alley. A solid brick wall covered with graffitti blocked his path. His eyes scanned the wall, looking for a way around - anything - or a way to climb up - anywhere away from the men with the gun. 

Who sent them? He thought for the fifth time since he began running. 

He couldn't imagine who. He had no names, no faces that came to mind when he tried to figure out who might have the money and the grudge to send two thugs after him with a gun. He was fifteen, almost sixteen. Not near old enough for this sort of thing to happen. 

There was no escape. He turned, going into his fighting zone. If he couldn't run, he would stand and fight. He had never used the tae kwan do or karate moves he'd learned in real, life or death situations before, but he knew many ways to handle a man with a gun, even if he'd never had to use them. He'd hoped he never would. 

Now he was glad he knew them. 

Staring the men down, he rolled his neck, giving them a suicidal smile. If he was going to die here, he would not go down without a fight. 

The man raised the gun, steadying it for fire. 

At the last second, he ducked. 

The bullet whizzed past his head, but something wasn't right. 

There was no loud crack or thud as the bullet ricocheted off the walls or broke the brick. Instead, there was a loud gasp and then a dull thump as a body hit the ground. 

He frowned, confused. What on earth? But he couldn't look now. The men were standing there, frozen with fear or astonishment, he didn't know which. Now was his chance. He could figure out who had been hit with that bullet later.

He slammed into the man with the gun, bowling him to the ground and delivering a sound punch to the gut. Grabbing the gun when the man doubled over, letting go of it, he whirled to face the other man.

"Leave. Now. Both of you. Before I shoot you." The gun smoked in his hand, and he felt the adrenaline rush within his veins, steady and throbbing. He waved the gun at them. "Get out of here!" He yelled.

They stared at him, eyes wide, and then they fled in silence.

Turning, he stared into the alley.

A girl lay on the cracked pavement, her soft gasps filling the air as she struggled to breath. Blood blossomed over her chest, and her eyelids fluttered closed inch by inch.

He felt sick. He was the cause of this. It was all his fault.

He dropped to his knees, checking the girl's pulse. There was nothing. The bullet had gone straight through her heart.

He stood up, backing away, his eyes filling with tears. She had died because he had ducked the bullet. She had died because he was selfish. It's all my fault. He moaned, backing farther away.