Chapter 7: Sets of Three

“Get inside!” Sander shouted, entering the gas station.

He ran to cashier counter and dumped the shotgun shells from his pocket. Kiara appeared beside him, chambering them into her gun as fast as she could.

“You have any other fire power? We only have the rifle,” Sander said. He placed the bolt-action on the counter with unnecessary roughness.

The sound of motorcycles roared ever closer.

“Wait, here,” Kiara said, leaving her shotgun behind. She began to climb the electrical cables that hung from the exposed ceilings.

Ash heard her move over head, no longer sounding like the pattering of rats.

“Casper,” Sander said, “Ammunition. I need those rifle rounds.”

Ash fumbled the cartridges out his vest pocket and tossed them to Sander.

“Other side,” Sander commanded. Sander loaded the rifle with military swiftness. He pushed it across the countertop. “This is yours, kid. Take cover. Follow my lead.”

Ash seized the rifle. He felt the weapon grow heavy in his hands. He already took the life of an animal. Now, he would have to take the life of human. His conscience weighed heavily.

The motorcycles stalled outside of the gas station. The rumbling of their engines ceased almost immediately. A sharp whistle pierced the air.

Sander turned to him with a severe face. “And Casper, don’t miss.” He walked toward the front door, pumping his shotgun.

Ash crouched behind the counter. One of his knees pressed against the floor. Ash kept the barrel of the rifle so low that it nearly touching the ground. He wondered how fast he would need to react when he got his signal. He pulled back the bolt of the rifle, readying his bullet. One squeeze of the trigger and someone would die. He exhaled.

Ash heard voices from outside of the station.

“Prospect better be right. I don’t want to waste any more time,” said a gruff voice.

The small bell above the gas station door chimed happily.

Ash started to shake. He could feel his heart beat faster and his breathing speed up. He tried to still himself. He inhaled a long quiet breath and then exhaled again. His fingers shifted closer to the trigger.

“Ah! Company!” Sander said. “What brings you gentlemen to my fine establishment? Unfortunately, I don’t carry any fuel. Last guy robbed me blind. I hope you don’t mind my jumpiness.” Sander gave a small charismatic laugh.

Ash, even though he could see nothing, felt confident in Sander’s ability to talk these men away from the station. Either that, or fight. It would be impossible to flee against the speed of their motorcycles.

“Shut it, old man. We don’t need wheel-hooch,” the gruff voice responded.

Ash could hear the jingle of metal spurs as this man walked on across the gas station. Ash breathed silently. He tilted his head upward, fearful that he would see the ugly face of a gang member staring down at him. Instead, he peered into the broken gas station ceiling. There, perched upon a metal beam, crouched Kiara. From his angle, he could see her clearly. She clutched a metal revolver, preparing for a clear shot. Ash noticed she had taken off her leather jacket. It could have only impaired her movement. She needed to be nimble. Underneath, she wore a tank top, whose white had stained into a pale yellow. She lifted her revolver with cold calculation.

Ash knew that neither Sander nor the gang member could see her from this moment.

“Pelham, check the perimeter. I don’t want the girl escaping.”

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“Wilco,” said a smooth male voice. The door chime rang.

“Girl?” Sander asked.

“Don’t play stupid with me, buddy.” Ash heard the gruff man push Sander out of the way. The spurs hit the tile of the gas station floor. This gang member seemed to be in no rush. He wanted to be thorough. In a few seconds, he would inevitably peer over the cashier counter and find Ash.

“Sir, I don’t like being treated like that,” Sander said with polite annoyance.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” the voice responded. The man cleared his throat and spit. Ash felt his stomach turn. He adjusted his grip on the rifle. He would need to use the weapon soon.

‘It’s self-defence,’ Ash repeated to himself as though the mantra alone would give him courage.

Ash heard the repeated flicks of a lighter, then an exhale. The smell of earthy cigar smoke filled the room. “Nox, anything in the backroom?”

“Got nothing, Radcliffe,” said a third voice.

“Get back in there!” the gruff voice responded.

“Respectfully, sir,” Sander began “I would rather you not smoke inside my fine establishment.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“Well, you’ll get ash on the floor.”

Ash’s heart skipped a beat. Was this his cue? He looked at Kiara. She didn’t know his real name. She wouldn’t know his cue. But, when Ash looked up, he knew it was too late. He witnessed her close one eye. Her hands steadied. The shot would be close. Fatal.

Kiara’s pulled the trigger.

The room erupted in chaos.

Ash threw himself from his cover. He swung the rifle wildly, seeking a target.

Radcliffe, the leader of this pack, sunk to floor dead. His cigar rolled from his hand and blood gushed from his head. One of the other bikers burst from the back room with his pistol drawn. Sander spotted him. The shotgun flared. The man stumbled backward through the doors he entered. The buckshot hit him square in the chest. Sander pumped the gun to reload. The spent shell casing struck the floor with an ominous click.

Kiara dropped from the ceiling, her revolver in hand. Sander twisted toward the sound, aiming his shotgun at her. He eased, acknowledging Kiara with a smile. Ash felt relieved. His companions had done all the heavy work. Ash wouldn’t need to kill anyone.

While Sander had his back turned, the third gang member came into view. The muzzle of his submachine gun, as soon as it became visible, unleashed a burst of three bullets. They cut through the gas station window. Sander shouted in pain as he fell to the floor.

Kiara raised and fired her revolver, but nothing cracked from her barrel.

Empty.

Ash aimed his rifle and fired. His bullet struck the gas station window and left a spiderweb of fragmented glass. On the other side of the pane, the gunman fell to the ground.

Ash trembled. He could only hear the sound of rushing blood. Tension gripped his body. He could not make sense of the world. His eyes spotted Kiara pressing her hand over a bloody wound. Sander’s blood pushed pass her fingers. Kiara shouted something at Ash, but he heard nothing. All he could do was watch her lips form mute words. Ash gently put the rifle on the counter and crouched behind the cashier counter. He felt numb.

He closed his eyes and hoped for nothingness.

Then, the world rushed back as though a sledgehammer struck with a sudden blow. Stress exploded from his body with a stream of tears. Ash could not stop himself. He tipped over on the floor and cried. His hands shook uncontrollably.

This was it.

He was a killer.

As the tears flowed, Ash regained his composure. He pulled himself from the floor and moved with unsteady paces. His hands continually searched for support. As he wandered around the counter, he realized much time had passed.

Kiara tidied the contents of a small medical bag. She zipped it up. Beside her, Sander sat upright without a shirt -- dried blood clung to his grey chest hair. He had a clean bandage wrapped around his shoulder and arm. Blood already leaked through the layers, but the wound was staunching.

“You alright, kid?” Sander asked. His voice denied the grievousness of his situation.

“Yeah,” Ash said, walking close to them.

Kiara helped Ash sit down.

“I told you I was lucky,” Sander laughed. The chuckle subsided with a sharp inhale. Pain stung him into silence.

“Yeah,” Ash said, mindlessly.

Kiara brought a plastic bottle filled with water. She placed it in Ash’s hands, almost needing to close his fingers around it.

“Drink,” she said.

Ash automatically lifted the bottle to his lips. He did not blink. His body still suffered from the shock of the shootout. All he could do was watch the world move around him. Ash blinked. Sander placed his good hand on Ash’s shoulder.

“You did good. I’m proud of you.”

The words did nothing for Ash. Their sounds entered his ear but bypassed his mind. He blinked at Sander. The middle-aged man gave a friendly smile.

“Let’s get to work,” Sander said to Kiara. “Let him sit for a bit longer.”

Ash stared at the two of them moving around the gas station. Sander, using his good arm, helped Kiara drag the bodies of the gang members into the backroom of the gas station. A trail of blood followed the corpses.

Ash arose from his seated his position. He pushed open the swinging doors and saw his two companions looting the bodies. Clothing had been neatly followed in a pile, while one of the leather jackets held all the little items from the pockets of the deceased.

Sander brought Ash back into the main room.

“Here,” he said, bringing Ash to his spot near the display doors. “Try to get some sleep. Me and the girl will be able to clean things up. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Ash dropped to the floor. His body felt rigid.

Sander emptied the canvas bag of all of its items and rolled it into a small pillow. He pushed it beneath Ash’s head.

“We’ll be okay.”