Spero: A Post-Apocalyptic Short Story |COMPLETE| ✔

<THIRTEEN>

10:11
July 4, 2023
Day One~Hundred and Six

The man that I had held a gun to just about two hours again stood in front of me with the twisted, sick grin of a demented Cheshire Cat.

My pistol, aimed at Keaton's, or... Miguel's rather, chest shook for a moment as the situation hit me. The caramel-skinned man gave me a look that resembled pity before he turned to give his companion a nod.

"What is this?"

My voice shook with the ferocity of hatred that flared up inside my chest.

I clenched my jaw like a steel iron as the bloody-nosed mongrel laughed like a maniac.

"I- I'm sorry, did you think that Miguel here was your friend?"

The sandy-haired individual laughed until his gun was aimed downwards, more towards my left shoulder. I watched the pit in front of me with narrowed eyes and a slow, burning pit forming in my gut.

He choked on his own laughs, and the person I had considered a friend slowly turned towards the bloody snot. Miguel, Keaton, whoever he was, cracked a smile, and his teeth shined like fangs as he too laughed at the apparent gullibility of myself and of the people hiding in the vehicle behind me.

My thumb slowly trailed up to the hammer as a thought surfaced in my mind.

Don't worry, I thought to myself, I won't make the mistake of trusting everyone anymore.

Ava's pale, cold face surfaced in my mind as I drew the hammer backwards with a sharp click. Miguel stopped laughing. I gave him a tight-lipped viscous smile.

The other individual attempted to re-aim his weapon, but I readjusted my own first.

My finger had squeezed the trigger before my mind could intercept the action. A bullet soared through the air and right into his lower abdomen.

He gasped, absorbing the shock of the bullet and stumbling. An abnormally loud echo jumped around my ears, and I heard the all-to familiar ringing of a weapon firing.

I cocked the weapon again and aimed it as the wounded man attempted to grapple for his own weapon with a hand that wasn't holding his side. The smell of blood was in the air, abnormally strong I'd say. A bit close.

The man on the ground stared at me, his eyes wide. I knew pain was flowing through him, but the way he looked at me was not with pain. It seemed to be... Fear.

As I raised my weapon, my muscles activating the motion from years and years of training and horrifying moments, a weight suddenly crashed into my side.

My vision was blurred, but I didn't understand why. I tired to shake it off as I hit the ground. My unfocused eyes found their way into the face of Miguel, and the rage that boiled in my stomach leapt up.

"Ava. That was you," my own voice growled with a foreign rasp. The images of the kind woman filled my mind. My overgrown black curls flopped into my eyes as my knee connected with the man's gut.

He crumpled onto my chest, and I folded my legs inwards and planted the soles of my feet on his abdomen faster than he could recover.

I thrusted my legs up with all of my might and straightened them out with extreme force.The man that had been on top of me flew backwards and skidded onto the ground. He moved to get up, but before he could find his feet, I was rushing towards him. My fist clenched into a ball, and I felt faster than ever before.

My crippled leg didn't drag behind me as I ran forward and whipped my right arm forward, connecting into the traitor's nose with a crack. His head snapped to the right, and he fell, stone cold knocked out, onto the broken asphalt of the gas station.

This isn't Keaton, I thought to myself.

I nodded to myself as a jolt went through my body, and my left arm twitched. Another painful jolt soared up my left arm, and stopped at a point in my left shoulder. I felt warm liquid covering my hand and arm, but I didn't check.

I'm hit.

I shrugged.

I had other things to do.

I turned around and tried to grab the other weapon from my left side holster with my left hand to go after the other man, but my fingers wouldn't clench the grip.

I glared down at my hand, and another painful jolt scoured my left shoulder. Red blood covered my hand. I shook my head queasily as I ignored it.

The first man was leaning against his van, clutching his side. In his hand there was a weapon, but as his shaking hand aimed at my head and his finger slammed into the trigger, the empty clip gave a hollow click.

I gave a small, sad smile as my limp hand squabbled on the other handle. I finally reached over with my right hand and began to unholster it as I heard a rapid tapping behind me.

It was coming from the truck, and I reluctantly turned from the struggling culprit. Raina's blue eyes peered out at me as a little tear trickled down her face.

"Tyrese," she whispered.