As he
anchored his weight against the seat, he tugged the guard and flung him out the
driver’s side, landing him feet from the first guard. However, this one had a
tight grip on James’ arm and had taken him along for the ride.
All
three were now on the pavement—mad.
Immediately,
James flipped his body off his stomach and hovered inches from the two guards.
A split second passed, James grabbed the driver’s gun, and held the guard’s
finger on the trigger. He shot four times into the passenger guard’s thighs. A
loud moan burst from the guard’s lips and as James turned the gun onto the owner
lying underneath him, the butt of a gun struck James in the head, knocking him
backwards as the guard jumped up. His face was streaked with black blood
pouring out of his scalp. He stumbled on his feet and tried regaining his
balance, and then he aimed the gun at James.
I
was still in the car, having watched the fight transgress, and I knew James was
about to be shot, killed in front of me. I couldn’t react, not even to open the
door, warning words were stuck in the roof of my mouth. I didn’t have time to
think. I just watched—in horror.
The
guard’s gun wobbled and he pulled the trigger. The shot zoomed in a straight
line at James’ head. At that exact moment, James fell backwards, not in
reaction to being shot, but instead he arched his back swiftly to the ground
behind him and grabbed a knife from his leg. He flung his weight forward, chunking
the knife from his hand towards the guard.
The
knife caught him directly in the neck. His gun immediately dropped down to his
chest. Blood squirted from the wound as he yanked it out and fell to his knees
in front of James.
James
ran over to the other guard, who was grabbing his legs where he was shot. He
moaned and screamed obscene words into the air, not paying attention to either
one of us.
“I’m
sorry,” James said to him. “I had no choice.”
Then
he yanked the gun from the livid guard, broke the strap from around his body, and
tossed it into the yard next to him. After, he moved over to the other guard
with the knife wound as he gurgled beneath the dark blood coming from his mouth.
The man wasn’t dead and James grabbed his knife from the ground. He hunched
over the guard with his back towards me and when he stood up, the guard’s gun
now hung around James’ neck and something bloody was in his hands—which were now
also covered in blood.
Within
minutes, my eyes saw everything take place, but my mind couldn’t catch up nor
comprehend. I sat in the back of the car, holding the side of my head from
hitting the door. Both guards were on the ground and James marched towards me.
He
climbed into the driver’s seat and horrifyingly, for a minute, I thought, Am
I next? Was he going to kill me too? Of course he wouldn’t. I knew that for
sure. But I had the feeling the man in front of me was someone else, not James.
He looked like James. He was James. But... he also just killed a guard and shot
another. Now what? Logically, I knew it was him. Emotionally, I was conflicted.
Without
saying a word, his bloody hands came up to the icy blue button and he pressed a
severed finger, cut from the guard’s hands, against it. Instantly, the car hummed
back to life.
James
yanked on a handle, and a metallic bar slid out from underneath the dashboard.
A row of circular lights gleamed in unison as a wheel projected from the top.
James grabbed it and began driving away from the scene—uncontrollably.
I
looked outside. Nobody was tending to the guards. The noise from the gunshots
was unmistakable, and I knew others would soon be on their way if they weren’t
already.
The
car hit a few curbs, bouncing off the sides back into the street. As James sped
up and glided, turning left, the rear hit a few other curbs in response to the
speed.
I
wasn’t sure where we were going; it was dark and not many lights lit up the
streets ahead.
After
a few more minutes, James had
anchored his weight against the seat, he tugged the guard and flung him out the
driver’s side, landing him feet from the first guard. However, this one had a
tight grip on James’ arm and had taken him along for the ride.
All
three were now on the pavement—mad.
Immediately,
James flipped his body off his stomach and hovered inches from the two guards.
A split second passed, James grabbed the driver’s gun, and held the guard’s
finger on the trigger. He shot four times into the passenger guard’s thighs. A
loud moan burst from the guard’s lips and as James turned the gun onto the owner
lying underneath him, the butt of a gun struck James in the head, knocking him
backwards as the guard jumped up. His face was streaked with black blood
pouring out of his scalp. He stumbled on his feet and tried regaining his
balance, and then he aimed the gun at James.
I
was still in the car, having watched the fight transgress, and I knew James was
about to be shot, killed in front of me. I couldn’t react, not even to open the
door, warning words were stuck in the roof of my mouth. I didn’t have time to
think. I just watched—in horror.
The
guard’s gun wobbled and he pulled the trigger. The shot zoomed in a straight
line at James’ head. At that exact moment, James fell backwards, not in
reaction to being shot, but instead he arched his back swiftly to the ground
behind him and grabbed a knife from his leg. He flung his weight forward, chunking
the knife from his hand towards the guard.
The
knife caught him directly in the neck. His gun immediately dropped down to his
chest. Blood squirted from the wound as he yanked it out and fell to his knees
in front of James.
James
ran over to the other guard, who was grabbing his legs where he was shot. He
moaned and screamed obscene words into the air, not paying attention to either
one of us.
“I’m
sorry,” James said to him. “I had no choice.”
Then
he yanked the gun from the livid guard, broke the strap from around his body, and
tossed it into the yard next to him. After, he moved over to the other guard
with the knife wound as he gurgled beneath the dark blood coming from his mouth.
The man wasn’t dead and James grabbed his knife from the ground. He hunched
over the guard with his back towards me and when he stood up, the guard’s gun
now hung around James’ neck and something bloody was in his hands—which were now
also covered in blood.
Within
minutes, my eyes saw everything take place, but my mind couldn’t catch up nor
comprehend. I sat in the back of the car, holding the side of my head from
hitting the door. Both guards were on the ground and James marched towards me.
He
climbed into the driver’s seat and horrifyingly, for a minute, I thought, Am
I next? Was he going to kill me too? Of course he wouldn’t. I knew that for
sure. But I had the feeling the man in front of me was someone else, not James.
He looked like James. He was James. But... he also just killed a guard and shot
another. Now what? Logically, I knew it was him. Emotionally, I was conflicted.
Without
saying a word, his bloody hands came up to the icy blue button and he pressed a
severed finger, cut from the guard’s hands, against it. Instantly, the car hummed
back to life.
James
yanked on a handle, and a metallic bar slid out from underneath the dashboard.
A row of circular lights gleamed in unison as a wheel projected from the top.
James grabbed it and began driving away from the scene—uncontrollably.
I
looked outside. Nobody was tending to the guards. The noise from the gunshots
was unmistakable, and I knew others would soon be on their way if they weren’t
already.
The
car hit a few curbs, bouncing off the sides back into the street. As James sped
up and glided, turning left, the rear hit a few other curbs in response to the
speed.
I
wasn’t sure where we were going; it was dark and not many lights lit up the
streets ahead.
After
a few more minutes, James had
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