I’m honestly a little impressed that my hand didn’t start shaking until now.
Of course, now that it is, a doctor could easily diagnose me as having developed sudden onset Parkinson’s. Aubrey’s pistol clatters in my hand; I struggle to keep a grip on the fucking thing as my overflowing wellspring of adrenaline threatens to launch the object over my shoulder. That said, focusing on steadying my hand plays second fiddle to keeping Aubrey on her feet and getting us both as far away from this nightmarish place as possible.
She winces with each step, sucking air past clenched teeth. I didn’t see what that son of a bitch did to her, but I heard her scream clear as day. Her cry of pain ripped the fog of unconsciousness away from my addled head and lit a fire in me to protect her.
Pierce. That mother fucker hurt my girl. After all his sweet-talking and words of trust, he dared to lay a finger on my Aubrey. I shoulda emptied this entire magazine into him when I had the chance.
The sour face I unconsciously make catches Aubrey’s attention. She does her best to give a timid smile. “It’s okay, Sammy. Let’s just get out of here. We’re almost to the car.”
I nod, continuing to point the shaky pistol behind us just in case my once-trusted partner decides to make a play at chasing us down. The small roadway between the warehouses bathes in darkness, the few stalwart flickering light poles doing little to combat the night. We move as quickly as Aubrey’s pained hobble allows, keeping close to the next row of buildings in case gunfire rings out and we have to duck for cover in the alcoves between them.
With effort, we finally arrive at my stashed Fairlane. The inky night does little to swallow its gaudy colors, but it’s tucked far enough between structures that we should be able to get loaded up and moving before alerting anyone. Not that there’s anyone to alert… this entire dock is practically a ghost town.
I yank open the passenger door and gingerly assist Aubrey as she sits. Her grimace breaks my heart; I respond by bringing a gentle hand to the side of her face. “We’ll get you fixed up. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”
Her hand covers mine and she gazes at me, yellow eyes scintillating with both pain and relief. “I’m just glad we’re both okay. Let’s get the hell out of here, this was a… a stupid…” Her focus fades, then suddenly snaps to me in horrid realization. “Oh fuck, Sammy. The camera!”
I blink as her words register before fruitlessly slapping my hands against my pockets, as if I coulda stuffed that two pound brick into my pants. “Shit. Shit.”
Aubrey shakes her head, her mouth wordlessly trying to offer an option that isn’t worse than the others. She finally steels herself in bitter resignation. “Fuck it. It’s not worth it, we just need to leave.”
I hesitate. “But that’s the whole goddamn reason we did this! What was the point of putting us both in danger if we don’t even have the proof you need?”
“Sammy, we can’t! It’s too dangerous, we’ve already gotten hurt! My knee is fucked! Loo—” She bites her lip before spitting it out. “Look at your face!”
I bring a hand to the swelling mass under my eye socket. “Hey, I was already ugly. This won’t make things much worse.” She balks at my attempted humor. “I understand it’s risky, but we both took a big risk doing this. If we run off now, that’ll all have been a waste.” My eyes dart away, then back to her. “That Commissioner of yours was there, accepting money. If you don’t bring in proof of that, the proof that’s on that camera, then he’s gonna keep being corrupt. A good cop can’t turn a blind eye to that sorta thing.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but stops short. She thinks for a moment, cautiously peering past me to the passage from which we came. With a sigh, she scoots forward and attempts to rise. “Okay, let’s go—”
I halt her. “You’re in no condition. Lemme go get it. I can be in and out in a jiffy.” I smile and extend the pistol out to her, grip quivering toward her.
She glances down at it, then softly pushes it away with her palm. “You take it. I’ll be fine here. Just hurry back, and if anything goes wrong—if anything even feels a little wrong, you get the hell out of there.” She leans forward; her breath intermingles with mine. “You’re more important to me than some lousy camera.”
Her lips push forward, instantly melting away my apprehension in a singular motion. That electric spark that first ignited between us outside of Birdland sizzles and burns anew, white-hot tendrils of arcing energy soaring between our tongues. She proves to me with tender, caressing movements that she’s worth it all.
Aubrey pulls away, gaze full of love and worry. Her hand comes to rest on mine, pistol nestled between us. “You got five left. There’s another magazine in my purse in the warehouse…”
“I won’t need ‘em. Everything will be fine.” I plant a quick, parting kiss on her cheek. “I love you. Be back before ya even miss me.”
“I love you too, Sammy.” Her words swell my chest with confidence and fervor. I straighten up from the passenger side of the car, glancing around to ensure nobody snuck up on us. Seeing that the coast is clear, I give my gal one more smile before I hustle back toward the warehouse we just escaped a few minutes prior.
There’s not a soul around, but I still stick to the shadows as best I can before pushing across the single-lane drive between the buildings. The silence is eerie; we’re far enough away from the city proper and any of its night life to make things uncomfortably quiet. The faint ocean waves and the occasional sound of a bustling rodent are all that accompany my hushed footsteps. That is, until I come closer to the familiar warehouse.
I only just arrive at the side door when a gunshot penetrates the hushed night air, rattling the nearby windows. I instinctively drop down, covering my head as if my arms are made of lead and could deflect further bullets. My heart races, but I don’t feel like I got hit. From the other side of the door, I hear a muffled voice that almost sounds like Marty crying out, then four more shots in quick succession.
Christ, did Marty just get killed?! I can’t fight back the foolish notion of sticking my head up and peeking through the dirt-caked window on the door to find out. The visibility is God-awful, but… I can just barely make out a few shapes. Marty’s still standing, and that fuckhead spinosaurus police officer is next to him. A little further in, Charles is pacing and speaking quietly to…
Pierce. It must be Pierce. I can’t see him from my angle, but who else would it be?
Is he already dead?
Marty starts to shout again, but that spinosaurus named Preston cuts him off. He’s… holding a gun to Marty.
What the fuck is happening?!
Charles mutters something, addressing neither Preston nor Marty. Either he’s monologuing to Pierce’s corpse, or somehow that tough son of a bitch is still alive. Didn’t he just take five rounds? I know dinosaurs are tough, but they aren’t bullet-proof. I strain, trying as hard as possible to hear what they’re saying, but the voices are too muffled through the glass and wood.
I quickly duck down, noticing Charles turn partially in my direction. When I get the bravery to slowly stick my head up again, he’s—
Oh, fuck. The camera. He’s got the goddamn camera in his hands, smiling and gloating toward Pierce. Does he… think that Pierce was spying? Is Pierce gonna rat Aubrey out?!
Going against every self-preserving instinct in my body, I make the absurdly stupid decision to crack the door open, just enough so I can hear. The thing shouldn’t go wildly swinging inward, at least it didn’t when I operated it before, but just to be safe I keep a death grip on its knob, turning it as gently as humanly possible before pushing it open a sliver of an inch.
No one turns toward the change in scenery, and the voices come through just barely enough for me to register them.
“—no loyalty among the wicked, I suppose.”
A pause, then I hear Pierce’s reply. “Samuel didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. After all, he was in sight the entire time we got the supplies loaded on the ship, and he was going to burn this building to ashes.” I can’t get a good look at his expression, but his words drop a stone into my gut. “He’s expendable. I’m not worried about it.”
I have to stop myself from stumbling backward from the blow. That son of a bitch. Here he was, treating me like a member of the team, consoling me in the hospital waiting room after the run-in at the pool hall, bringing me on for this job. He lubed me up with kind words and a fuckin’ car, and now he says I’m expendable.
Fuck. Pierce was right about him. Of course he was.
Almost in reply to my thoughts, Pierce’s voice carries through the crack again. “Whatever you do to me, leave him out of it.” I blink in surprise. Why the hell would he stick up for me, especially after what just went down between us? I don’t even know how the big bastard is still alive given all those shots. Were they just to scare him?
I nearly leap out of my own skin when a hand comes to rest on my back. It takes every ounce of effort to keep from making a sound or jostling the door as I twist my neck to meet Aubrey’s gaze. Her eyes are wide with fear and pain. I keep the knob twisted as I pull the door shut as quietly as possible, gently releasing the mechanism as to not sound out a telltale click. It makes no noise. A moment later, both Aubrey and I are on the backside of the warehouse, out of sight and earshot so long as we don’t risk anything more than whisper.
“Aubrey, the hell?! You scared me half to death!”
She whispers back angrily. “I heard gunshots! I thought you were—”
“I’m okay. I think Pierce got shot, but he’s still alive. Charles is giving him the business.”
“Sammy, we have to go! This is too dangerous!” She continues favoring her left leg; I feel awful that she had to hobble back here on her own, especially since…
“I don’t have the camera yet. Charles has got it.”
As though in reply, Charles’s laugh booms out. It’s distinct—I recall it from the alleyway where I thought Pierce was gonna lay my brains on the gravel and brick, when they interrogated me about the envelope full of money. We both flinch away from it, but realize it isn’t directed toward us.
Aubrey raises her arms in defeat. “Then what are we still doing here? The camera’s gone.”
I shake my head. “There might still be a chance. We’ve got this.” I wiggle the pistol in my hand.
She doesn’t like this notion one bit. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You can’t take on three dinosaurs, one of which is a cop!” Her anger turns to pleading. “You’re not that kind of man, Sammy! You’re not a killer!”
I stare at my shoes. She’s right, of course. What am I gonna do, gun them down for a fuckin’ camera? Besides, all it’s got on it is…
My heart stops. Aubrey’s eyes widen in response to my horror.
“I’m on that film.”
Her cheek twitches and her eyes dart around as she tries to decipher my meaning. “What do you—” She brings her hands to cover her mouth and stifle the gasp. “Oh. Oh no. Oh my God.”
She took my photo. Before we did this whole operation, she took my goddamn photo. If Charles takes that camera and develops the footage… I’m fucked.
Aubrey grabs at my sleeve. “Sammy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”
I pull her quivering, terrified form into my embrace. “It’s okay. We both screwed up. We gotta make it right now.”
After letting her go, I peek around the corner before sidling next to the door again, letting out a sigh. She didn’t know. Neither did I. But holy shit, that was a goddamn stupid thing to do, taking my picture with a camera we planned to use in a sting operation. There’s nothing for it now. We’ll just have to get the camera back, or—
The echoing boom of another gunshot scatters to the winds surrounding the warehouse, rapidly consumed by the lapping waves against the docks. My mouth opens in a horrified cry I dare not act upon.
Marty. The gentle, charismatic diplodocus who treated me better than nearly any other dinosaur in my life stiffens, then tilts backward. The elongated neck that was so strange to witness in action crumples to the ground with him, a worthless tangle of scales and muscle with no further purpose. His final expression is one of shock, betrayal and… sadness.
Why? Why?!
I tighten my squeeze on the gun, preparing to kick the door down and bring swift justice to the wicked son of a bitch that just murdered my friend. Another three shots ring out from the revolver in Charles’s hands before he drops it in a clatter at his feet. He mutters something else to Pierce; the blood pounding in my ears deafens me to the discussion. I suck air past clenched teeth and put a hand on the doorknob—
Aubrey’s tap of my shoulder causes me to spin. She recoils back from my fury before steadying herself and shaking her head at me. “Preston.”
I turn back to the small window. The spinosaurus is still there, and still armed. The smug grin on his face further enrages me; I can gun him down first, then deal with Charles.
“Sammy, don’t!”
She stands strong against my glare. I love her, but right now I’m too fucking pissed off to listen to reason. I’ll die, but I’ll die avenging an innocent man who was murdered in cold blood.
A friend.
…
But what about Pierce?
Is he still alive? If he is, he’s probably hurt.
Can I help him?
Should I help him?
My mind races. I bring my distracted gaze to the muddied glass again, only to flinch and quickly flatten myself to the wall next to me. My free arm swings over, squashing Aubrey to the same plane as I. She gasps but quickly follows suit, turning her head and drawing her tail as close to her body as she can. We still hold a profile, but at least it’s lessened and partially obscured by the shadows.
Charles and Preston come into sight for a brief moment in the open, then vanish behind the next warehouse over. Neither of them stop or turn our direction. Thankfully, the side entrance is far enough from the main loading doors that we were able to remain concealed. Even so, Aubrey and I remain perfectly still for another sixty seconds, breathing as lightly as we can and praying neither of the villains double back and investigate the alcove between buildings.
They don’t.
Letting out a long breath, I release my arm from Aubrey’s body. I turn to her, expecting her to whisper another command, to demand we leave this instant. Instead, she says nothing. She merely looks to me expectantly. At a loss for words.
At least that makes two of us.
I take a deep breath before pushing open the side door. My pistol’s at the ready, just in case someone unexpected jumps out, but after taking a few cautious steps into the warehouse my arm sags to my side.
Marty’s body is only a few yards away. I want to run over, shake him awake, yell for him to get up so we can get out of here, but I know it would be a useless effort. The bullet sank right into his skull and flew out the other side along with his brain matter. The gentle bastard who had a kid on the way with his wife I was hoping to meet someday is nothing but a pool of red in a crumbling building on some God-forsaken dock.
I bite my lip, trying not to let the tears start falling when motion in my peripheral causes me to turn. He grunts as he struggles to stand, clasping a hand to the side of his stomach. Blood oozes from between his fingers.
“Pierce…?”
In response, he brings up his dark blue eyes to meet mine. They’re weary, like those of a man who was awoken too early. He says nothing, instead merely lowering his head and letting out a surrendering sigh.
I turn back to Marty’s lifeless body. “How could he do this? How… how could Charles do this?!”
Pierce’s voice is raspy and broken. “You… saw?”
“I was at the side door. I heard the gunshots and saw everything after that.”
“And you… heard, too?”
“Most of it, yeah…”
He grits his teeth. “Then you know… this isn’t gonna end well… for either of us…”
“Yeah. I know.”
Seeing the stegosaurus’s addled body, I don’t even know if he’s gonna make it another ten minutes. The blood pooled by his feet nearly rivals how much is currently soaking into the concrete underneath Marty. Pierce might be tough, but I don’t think he’s immortal.
All the same, I can’t help but step toward him. His breathing is labored and he heaves himself upward, using me as a brace to get to his feet. His weight nearly topples me, but I lock my legs in place to keep from sprawling over. He scoops up the revolver below him as we both straighten up. I steady him as best I can when he rocks back, keeping him upright for the time being.
His hazy eyes meet mine. “We have to… stop him…”
“How? He’s already leaving.”
“You got that… Fairlane, don’t ya?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Then drive.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Pierce, you’re about ready to collapse. We need to get you to a hosp—”
In a flash, his exhaustion is overtaken by rage. “Did you not hear a fuckin’ word I just said?! Marty is lying dead over there, and you and I will be next to him at the pearly fuckin’ gates in real short order unless we handle Charles now!” He half-shoves me toward the side door as he stumbles forward. “Get your spear-chucking ass to the car and drive!”
Further protest is impossible. Now that he’s got his feet under him, I glance over to the corner by the broom closet. Aubrey’s purse, and that spare magazine. I dart over and snatch it off the concrete. As I turn toward the exit, my breath hitches.
Aubrey and Pierce stare each other down, her sizing him up, and him glaring in half-consciousness. Their tails flit back and forth aggressively, like they were two cats who simultaneously turned down the same alley and came face to face. Neither speaks; the air hangs heavy. I gulp, frantically searching for some magic words to utter and make this rancid mess blow over and not result in further bloodshed.
After an agonizing moment, Aubrey releases a sigh through clenched teeth before hobbling toward Pierce. “Take off your jacket.” He grunts a rejection, and her tone turns authoritative. “Take it off.”
Pierce grimaces before acquiescing, hissing through his teeth as his arm moves away from the red splotch on his undershirt. Aubrey swipes the jacket from his hands, briefly evaluates it, then sinks her teeth into the fabric before tearing it nearly in two. Pierce doesn’t protest, apparently getting the hint. He lifts his arms, wincing as Aubrey wraps the makeshift bandage around his torso. The wince becomes a rumble of pain as she tightens it around his wound before pulling the ends of the soaking fabric into a knot.
She steps back. “I don’t know what sorta good this will do. You’re about ready to pass out, or worse.”
He tucks his revolver into the now exposed shoulder holster. “It’ll do for now. Thank you.”
Aubrey’s eyes harden. “Things aren’t over between us. Not by a fucking long shot.”
Pierce’s returned gaze is much softer. “I know.”
I cross the warehouse and hand Aubrey her pistol and purse. “We have to go. The clock is ticking.”
The three of us move as quickly as we can, me with a bruised face and rattled mind, Aubrey with a bad knee battered even worse, and Pierce leaking his guts out. We’re a far cry from the action heroes of those serialized radio shows I listened to growing up. We might not even make it to the damn car without one of us toppling over, let alone chase down and overtake a murdering crime boss and his crooked cop sidekick.
We better come up with a plan, quick.
I jam the the key in the ignition as two more car doors slam shut. Aubrey strains to pull her leg into to a half-tolerable position in the passenger seat as Pierce slumps in the back. I try not to think about how much blood is gonna be caked into the upholstery, instead focusing on wrenching the parking brake loose and jamming on the accelerator. Aubrey looses a yelp as I peel out, twisting around the corner of the warehouse and down the narrow corridor between buildings.
“What the hell are we gonna do, Sammy?!” She grips the side of her chair with her free hand, pistol squeezed in the other and purse on her lap.
“I have absolutely no idea.” I glance in the rear view mirror for only a moment, trying to focus on keeping the car steady and not slamming into the structures whizzing by on both sides. “Pierce?”
He doesn’t reply; from the looks of his limp neck movements and half-open mouth, he’s opted to fall asleep. Aubrey spins her head toward the rear of the car, then back to me. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
“Shit. Shit.” I crank the wheel, tires squealing underneath us as the Fairlane skids onto the slightly larger tarmac that grants primary ingress and egress from the docks. It’s a short stretch that weaves past a few industrial buildings before merging with the Old York roadways proper past an unmanned front gate. We’re already behind, and I don’t even know where—
Ahead, a police cruiser slows to a stop, the glow of its brake lights dimly illuminating the swath of makeshift roadway between us and them.
“Sammy, what are you—”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The cruiser’s headlights give shape to the outline of a phone booth several feet in front of the vehicle.
I crush the pedal against the floor of the car, inertia pressing me into the seat.
“Sammy!”
The cruiser’s passenger door begins to open.
I angle my front bumper toward their rear.
“Oh my God, Sammy!”
I don’t know what else to do, so I pray.
It’s a quick prayer.
“Sa—”
The thunderous crunch of steel colliding with steel rocks all three of us forward. Aubrey screams; Pierce’s head bounces off the shoulder rest of the front seats. The occupants of the police cruiser jolt as well, the momentum forcing the passenger door closed as their vehicle is thrust away from the collision. The driver, who I can tell to be Preston now that I’m only a few feet of glass and partially crumpled steel away from him, attempts to spin the steering wheel away from the phone booth, but his reflexes aren’t quick enough. Their front bumper slams into the enclosure, spraying glass from all four sides and ripping the massive fastening bolts out of the concrete below it.
The toppled phone booth becomes a makeshift partial ramp for the cruiser, its front right wheel propelling the vehicle to an upward angle before wedging into the hollow gap that was occupied by glass only moments ago. Curses ring out from the car’s two occupants as Preston slams on the gas, his cruiser’s wheels screaming furiously in an attempt to dislodge one of their brothers from its imprisonment. The phone booth buckles and shakes with the vehicle’s weight before it releases its catch, sparks accompanying the car frame’s descent from the mangled metal. A loud hiss escapes the previously entrapped tire as it collides with the pavement.
Aubrey shouts. “Sammy, what the fuck are you doing?!”
My only reply is to slam on the gas again, forcing my Fairlane’s crumpled bumper further into the rear end of the damaged police cruiser. Preston must be laying on the brake; my car’s wheels impotently squeal as they spin in place, plumes of smoke billowing from the friction-burned rubber. The engine shudders, and with a lurch both vehicles begin to move. Instead of simply pushing the cruiser forward, its front wheel alignment causes it to begin a slow spin, rotating counter-clockwise as we try to forcefully occupy the space within which they currently reside.
More screeching, more scraping as my front bumper shifts to their driver’s side wheel well. Two pairs of furious eyes fall upon me as the cruiser completes its one hundred and eighty degree rotation, slapping indignantly against the driver’s side of my car. I release the gas and push the brake pedal down; the lack of momentum stops my car from moving more than a few feet forward. A shape shifts in my side mirror: Preston has thrown open his door and is climbing out of the cruiser, obscenities on his tongue and pistol in hand.
I slam the gear stick into reverse and floor it. Preston dives back into his passenger seat, narrowly pulling his legs and tail out of the way as my rear bumper crashes into his door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. Both cars come to a halt with the collision.
Preston spits more curses as he rights his balance and tries to jump out again. To my surprise, the back door of my Fairlane suddenly bursts open, knocking Preston backward once more with a howl of pain. The spinosaurus sprawls against Charles inside the cruiser; the two shout and shove as they struggle to straighten themselves in their seats. I spin around, seeing that Pierce had unlatched the back door and lunged his legs into it to temporarily incapacitate Preston with the makeshift battering ram. He wheezes and coughs, pulling the door shut as blood spatters from his mouth.
Glad to see he’s still with us, even if it’s only for a few more minutes by the look of him.
Preston doesn’t try to exit the cruiser a third time. Instead, the barrel of his pistol levels in our car’s direction.
Oh, fuck.
Glass explodes above my head, showering the window’s entrails across my back and neck. The revolver’s roar sounds again and again, the crunches of lead lodging itself in steel causing me to nearly black out from adrenaline-induced panic. Aubrey screams; I can only pray she isn’t hit as we both cower for our lives.
The shooting stops. My ears ring, but I can make out Preston’s voice. “—pieces of shit, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya—”
Aubrey’s arms swing up and past my shoulder, her closed hands steadying her leaden reply.
Charles howls. “Preston, go!”
Tires squeal in tandem with five shots that Aubrey quickly squeezes off. I ignore the back of my head being peppered with spent bullet casings as I thrust the gear stick forward and mash the pedal, cranking the wheel as hard left as I can. Our car misses the crumpled phone booth by inches, swinging around and fish-tailing with my attempt to straighten out and give chase. The industrial buildings around us begin moving in the opposite direction.
Though my heart feels like it’s about to rupture, I perform a cursory check of myself to assess whether I got hit or not. I don’t think so. A glance at Aubrey doesn’t reveal any immediately noticeable wounds, but her pupils are as thin as razor blades and her teeth are bared. She flings the spent magazine away from the bottom of her pistol and jams her hand into her purse to withdraw the other. It clicks into place, and with a pinch of her thumb and forefinger and a quick pull, the slide thrusts forward with a fresh payload.
The maneuver I forced upon the police cruiser pointed it straight back into the port and its familiar surrounding warehouses. Preston doesn’t seem to be aiming for any evasive maneuvers, though his car shudders and jerks every second or two. Some sparks fly off the front end of the escaping vehicle accompanied by the sound of metal grinding against pavement.
“Their front tire is flatted.” I jump, startled by the unexpected voice from behind me. Pierce breathes heavily, having hoisted himself upright again to peer over Aubrey and I’s shoulders. He’s clearly still hurting, but it doesn’t seem like he got tagged by any other rounds. Either that, or the bastard is indestructible.
The police car jerks again, its driver struggling against the peeling rubber of the maligned tire. The spinosaurus rummages for something, keeping between one and zero hands on the steering wheel in the process. If I was a betting man, I’d wager he’s reloading that revolver.
I respond the only way I know how: by flooring it and kissing their rear bumper again. The frenetic gesticulations of the car’s occupants convey their panic and fury as Preston tries to maintain control past the crunch of steel against steel.
“Raptor Jesus, what are we doing?!” Aubrey’s frenzied words go unanswered. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to stop them. What the fuck we’re gonna do when or even if we stop them… I haven’t the faintest clue. But this is all I have right now.
We soar under the signage and past the gating that marks the entrance to the warehouse block. The ocean grows rapidly before us; screaming tires proclaim both vehicles skidding around the corner and down the narrow road that runs parallel to both structures and sea.
Pierce’s voice rumbles from the backseat again. “We need to stop them, or we won’t get another chance.”
He’s right, of course. The cruiser is smashed up, but so is my Fairlane. Even with their handicap of a damaged tire, with some luck and enough room to breathe their superior engine could very easily grant them an escape.
It’s now or never, Sammy.
Ahead, several stacks of pallets piled next to a warehouse approach rapidly. I jerk the steering wheel quickly to shunt my car to the left and jam the accelerator down. This time, as my bumper makes contact with theirs and shoves further, it knocks their straightened course awry and their traction begins slipping. The angle of their front is forced toward the warehouses and the waiting collision.
The passenger door flies open, and Charles tumbles out of the vehicle, rolling gracelessly away from the impending disaster. Brakes screech in impotent futility.
The police cruiser slams into the pallets, buckling the planks against one another. They warp and contort for a fraction of a second, creaking and groaning as they are smashed between an unstoppable car and an immovable wall. The pallets spring back against the pressure, firing splintered wooden flechettes in all directions as the front of the car is hurdled up and away, rotating in a manner cars are not meant to rotate. If Charles’s bulky form was still in the passenger seat, the counterbalance may have prevented a full-on flip. Without him, Preston is left to cover his head with his arms and scream as he inverts.
With a thunderous crash, the cruiser’s driver side slams into the paved road. It slides forward as it continues tipping before landing belly-up like a submitting dog. Glass explodes out of every window that still held intact. The momentum forces the upturned car diagonally away from the broken pallet ramp and toward the ocean. It spins as it grinds against the pavement, finally slowing and coming to rest so precariously close to the paved lip that a wayward gust of wind could topple the vehicle into the lapping waves below.
My own car lurches to a halt, its engine sputtering and coughing in annoyance with the repeated injuries I’ve been inflicting upon it. My whitened knuckles don’t release the steering wheel, even though we aren’t moving forward anymore. The only sound I hear is Pierce rustling in the back seat; from the rear view mirror, I can see him craning his neck in the opposite direction of the upturned police cruiser. With a grunt, he shoves open the back door and clambers out before limping around the car and toward the nearby warehouses.
I assess our position… the sign on the nearest warehouse reads “620”. We’re only a few structures away from where all this foolishness started, and by Pierce’s trajectory it looks as though that’s where he’s headed. My frazzled brain catching up, I also frantically look around. Charles is nowhere to be seen.
It might make sense for… but why wouldn’t he—
A hand coming to rest on my shoulder causes me to audibly yelp. Aubrey only tightens her grip in response. Her eyes are bloodshot and worry-stricken, and her voice is hoarse. “What do we do now?”
I shudder. “We h-have to go help P-Pierce…”
She gulps, then looks down at the pistol still gripped in her other hand. With a deep breath, she nods. We both throw open our respective doors and—
A burst of fire scores across the side of my face, forcing a hiss of pain past my teeth and causing my knees to buckle underneath me. I try to hold onto the car door’s frame to prevent crumpling, but my fingers slip and my legs give out. My elbow painfully bangs against the pavement, doing little to gracefully break my fall.
Aubrey shrieks something. It sounds like my name, but the ringing in my ears is too loud to make it out. My eyes are working just fine, however, as they relay the form of Preston. Ten yards away, the spinosaurus is awkwardly contorted against the crumpled roof of his upturned cruiser, a tremendous amount of his own weight pressed against his bent neck. He’s bleeding and breathing heavily, but his hands are wrapped around his revolver, and it’s leveling itself in my direction again, just as upside-down as he is. He squints, gnashes his teeth, and prepares to exact his revenge.
I can do nothing but impotently cower behind my hands.
The dull thump of exploding gunpowder makes its way past the incessant tinnitus. I flinch before realizing the direction of the sound wasn’t quite what I expected. Another five explosions join their brother, each one further puncturing the now bullet-addled spinosaurus. The first shot struck true, passing through the creature’s eye socket and expelling bone and brain matter into the remnants of the cruiser. The other five merely reiterate the point Aubrey was making. Preston’s wrists go limp, the revolver emitting a soft clatter as it touches down on the mangled car roof.
His loosening muscles cause his body to shift, ever so slowly tipping the precarious balance of the police cruiser. In slow motion, Preston rises up and out of sight, the back end of the car acquiescing to both physics and gravity as it plunges the rest of the vessel into the sea. A loud splash heralds its arrival; from my perspective, I cannot witness anything further. All I can do is imagine its descent into the briny depths, pulling with it the corpse of one son of a bitch of a cop.
The dim port-side lamp above me darkens as a shape soars around the car. Aubrey crouches, screaming in panic as she grasps at my head. “Sammy! Oh my God, Sammy! Talk to me!”
I do my best to smile, though the movement causes my face to light on fire all over again. “I’m okay. Just… grazed… I think.”
“Raptor Jesus, your face!”
There’s no mirror down here on the ground with me, so I settle for bringing a hand up to my cheek. I wince, feeling the loose flaps of skin giving far too much leeway to my fingers. The blood that had been pooling inside of the nasty welt Pierce gave me now freely pulses from the fresh wound that traces down my cheek bone to the top of my neck.
I weakly grin with the side of my mouth not housed behind mangled flesh. “It’s only a scratch.”
“A scratch?! We need to get you to the hospital!” Aubrey plays medic for a second time, deftly tearing a sizable strip away from the bottom of her shirt with her talons before pressing the cloth to my cheek. It instantly fills with blood; I place my hand atop hers that holds the makeshift sponge. Her citrine eyes are aghast, her slender lip quivers.
“Thank you.”
She blinks. “F-for what?”
For treating my injury. For saving my life. For being an incredible, beautiful, loving woman who accepted a schmuck like me. My frazzled mind can’t settle on an option beyond the simplest: “For everything. I don’t deserve a gal like you.”
Her cheeks flush every so slightly. She glances away, then over her shoulder toward where the police cruiser rested only moments ago. When she turns back to me, tears well under her eyes. “I… I killed him… I shot a police officer…”
My arms move on their own, wrapping her in the best hug I can manage from my prone position. I press the side of my face that isn’t eviscerated to her waist and shush her. She trembles, returning the embrace as she sobs. “It’s okay, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were protecting us. If you didn’t… I wouldn’t still be here.”
My words make her lurch out another anguished cry and she grips me even tighter. “Sammy… I love you.”
“I love you too, Aubrey.”
I love her… but we’re not done yet.
Leaning back from the embrace, I use my non-bloodied hand to wipe her tears away. “I need to help Pierce. If he’s not already… well, if he has or hasn’t found Charles, I need to get that camera back and I gotta help him.”
Her eyes widen. “Let’s just go! You’re already hurt, we have to get you to a doctor!”
A grunt unconsciously looses from my throat as I get to my feet; she swiftly follows me up, favoring her good leg as she stands. “Not without Pierce. He needs our help.”
Aubrey’s mouth hangs open, searching for further protest, but no such words are uttered. Instead, she steels her resolve with a nod. The two of us make for warehouse six-seventeen, me with a blood-soaked scrap of shirt held to my mangled face and Aubrey with her pistol gripped tightly.
I glance from it to her. “How many shots you got left?”
She shakes her head. “I’m empty. But that triceratops doesn’t know that.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to it.”
The familiar structure approaches, its large bay doors still latched open. The scent of gasoline reaches my nostrils before I turn the corner, remnants of the partial task I had completed before freeing Aubrey from her imprisonment. Marty’s body still lays where it fell inside the structure, dimly lit by the solitary flickering bulb above the enclosure. Another step inward reveals another shape, that of a midnight blue stegosaurus in a heap.
“Sam—” Aubrey can’t finish the word. A nauseating combination of metallic snap and fleshy thud rings out as a large red cylinder collides with the side of her head. She twists and sprawls, tongue hanging loosely from her teeth and eyes glazed in instant, dreamless sleep. Her body crumples in a limp pile, followed immediately by the clatter of the gas can turned makeshift bludgeon against the concrete floor.
Her attacker’s eyes fire to me from their hiding place around the darkened corner. I can barely take a step before he lunges out of the shadows. A cannonball of a fist collides with my sternum, the sickening thud and splintering cracks ceasing all forward momentum and sprawling me backward and upright like a flipped turtle. My lungs expel all of their stored air, shriveling and refusing to operate further. I claw at my chest, gasping in a vain attempt to restore function to the apparatuses trapped behind my likely broken ribs.
The gray triceratops stands over me, fists clenched and brow lowered. He stares down his snout at me in disbelief and disgust, the horn at its tip quivering with rage. “What the fuck was any of this, huh? What the fuck did you think, pulling some shit like this?” He gestures toward Pierce who still remains motionless. “Him? You’re in cahoots with him? The worthless piece of shit who would just as soon shoot you in the back of the head as help you unload your groceries from your car? The car I gave you, remember?”
I can’t respond. I can’t even breathe. My eyes bulge as I keep trying to suck air into my compressed chest. In my writhing, my eyes fall upon Aubrey. There’s no movement, save for a small darkening patch of red that slowly blemishes her beautiful blue hair.
Charles’s furious words continue to spew forth. “And I don’t even know who the fuck she’s supposed to be! What the hell is this, a whole sting operation?” He pauses before jamming a hand into his pants pocket. The bulky camera that wouldn’t even begin to fit in my trousers slides easily from his much larger clothes. “You trying to get evidence? You three, all conniving and scheming against me, for what? Who would you show this to? You ain’t with the police, because I’m with the fuckin’ police!”
With a grunt, his hand closes around the apparatus, crushing it to pieces with a single squeeze. The roll of film containing the incriminating evidence of my involvement springs from its home and unravels into a useless and ruined mound beneath him. Not that such a consideration is worth much anymore. It looks like we’re all fucked.
He shakes his head. “This is a colossal failure. Everything I planned, everything I needed to happen tonight… you three sons of bitches have screwed it all up.” His eyes fall on the overturned red can that he used as a weapon against Aubrey. Gasoline dribbles from its mouth. With a step, he bends down and scoops it up before turning toward the wall and thrusting the liquid out of its enclosure. Splashes of sickening chemical douse the wood as he works his way further into the warehouse, emptying its contents.
He throws the expended container aside as he turns back to me. “No matter. I’ll make it right. It’ll be a lot harder to explain two more bodies in this burnt wreck, but the Commissioner will spin it.” His eyes drift past me toward the opening. “As for explaining a dead cop…” He shrugs. “Not my problem. If Aaron wants that money to keep flowing his way, he’ll come up with—”
A cough catches his attention. I also turn toward the source, still wheezing but at least partially managing to draw in breath again. Pierce stirs, sliding a slow knee out from underneath himself before planting his foot. His arms quiver as he attempts to stand, his tail hanging motionless behind him. The blood pooling beneath his body acts as an adhesive between his shirt and the concrete; it lets out a thin, tapered snap as the fabric and floor disconnect from one another.
Charles places his hands on his hips like a housewife annoyed that her husband came home late. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you? You worthless piece of shit.”
Pierce doesn’t respond, merely continuing his glacial ascension.
Charles jabs an accusatory finger at him and spits. “All you’ve ever been is a thorn in my fucking side. None of my enterprising ventures ever panned out when your thick, short-sighted skull was within a mile of them. You did in Lorenzo, one of my best enforcers, all because you were pissy that your good-for-nothing brother went missing. You killed Egbert, a brilliant man with such a good mind for numbers that he and I were gonna make millions fleecing this organization. What the fuck he was thinking trying to run off with that cash is beyond me.” He pauses, then shrugs. “Well, can’t ask him now. Another potential professional operation in the drain, because of you.”
Egbert… Eggsy, that guy from the alley. How all this insanity started. The vivid recollection of his bottlecap glasses and the look of shock and fear as he bled out in that alley is seared into my mind, offering only a brief respite past the burning in my chest. My lungs slowly churn back to life and begin pumping oxygen throughout my body as they’re supposed to, though I can still barely move.
Even though every ounce of his concentration is dedicated to the herculean effort of straightening his back and not losing consciousness permanently, Pierce manages to form some stilted words. “Eggsy… was a traitor.”
Charles clicks his tongue. “Maybe. Or maybe you chased him out and gunned him down, just because of your ass-backwards hatred of humans.” Charles’s eyes shoot to me. “I’m surprised Samuel made it this long, I’d have expected you to rip his head off. It would have given me an easier out to dismissing you, at least. Instead, you turned poor Samuel against me. He ain’t a killer, he ain’t a genius. But he’s a human just the same. Loyal and faithful, if you train ‘em right… like a dog.”
The triceratops sighs before continuing. “That was always your problem, Pierce. You hated humans for no good goddamn reason. Your brother was killed by a human, so what? People kill people all the time. Dinosaur, human, it doesn’t matter. What matters is superiority. Dinosaurs are the superior race on this planet, and humans know it. Those that know their place bend the knee and serve us. And believe you me, it’s a lot easier to earn loyal service with an open palm than a closed fist.” His eyes fall to me again, swirling with disappointment. “You could have gone far, Samuel. I would have brought you into the enterprise. Money, cars, women… you woulda had it all. And all it would have cost you was your loyalty. A real shame to—”
Movement causes his eyes to dart back to Pierce. He instantly bolts across the space before backhanding the revolver out of Pierce’s hand with his left and slamming his right fist into the stegosaurus’s gut. Pierce’s teeth crunch together and blood spurts from his mouth as he collapses backward again, arms falling akimbo. The thud of his body times itself with the clatter of the revolver that slides within arm’s reach of me.
Charles holds his pose for a moment, breathing deeply before letting out a bellowing laugh. The same mirthful laugh from the alleyway is nothing short of petrifying now. “You imbecile! Why would you pick that piece of junk up again? It’s got no shots left! I made sure of it!” To illustrate his point, he withdraws a handful of bullets from his own jacket pocket before turning his hand sideways and letting the lead and brass cascade to the ground. “What were you gonna do, throw the thing at me?”
His laughter stops as I climb to my feet, Pierce’s revolver in my hands and pointed squarely at his head. He doesn’t lunge at me, instead opting to roll his eyes. “Samuel, Samuel, Samuel… I know you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, but to make it in this city you have to learn to count the shots. That’s a five shooter, and all five of its shots are gone. See, count with me—one in poor Marty over there—” He gestures toward my friend’s body to illustrate his point. “—three to empty the chamber and render that piece no more dangerous than a toy, and one in that crate right over there.” His finger jabs toward the splintered wooden corner of the nearby box. He shrugs, a confident grin painting his face. “I heard the gunshot from down the dock, that’s why Preston and I came back. I have no clue why the two of you were having a fight, but I heard the gunshot, and I know how to count. Five shooter, five shots.”
A cough. Or, at least what I think is a cough. Then another. Then a hollow, gurgling rhythm.
It isn’t coughing. Pierce is laughing. Past the blood filling his throat, he lets out a pained chuckle.
I already know why.
Charles’s eyes shoot to the toppled stegosaurus, then to me. His grin vanishes. Slowly, his head turns toward Aubrey. Or, more specifically, to the empty pistol that lies next to her hand.
I thumb back the hammer of the five-shooter that’s still got one shot left in it.
His eyes fly open and lock onto me, beaded pinpricks of fury. He lets out a blood-curdling roar as he charges.
The small hole that appears squarely in his forehead halts the sound. The leg that was mid-stride completes its motion, but the other doesn’t succeed in bringing itself forward to continue his upright propulsion. Instead, his torso lurches forward, arms spasming uselessly at his sides and incapable of breaking his descent. Besides his folding knee, his teeth are the first thing to make contact with the pavement, their hollow crack the stuff of a dentist’s wet dream. His neck twists underneath his body, the inertia nearly but not entirely somersaulting his legs and tail above him. He slides to a halt, horn grinding against the concrete, scales peeling away from his road-rashed face. The much larger hole on the back of his frill pours forth its liquefied wickedness, the sundered brain matter quickly retreating into any porous home it can find underneath its previous housing.
I stand motionless for what feels like an eternity. A wisp of smoke furtively dances at the tip of the revolver’s barrel, captivating me with its insubstantial grace. It vanishes, but I keep my eyes forward. I can’t bear to comprehend what I just did. My arm quakes and my grip loosens. The expended piece topples from my hand, coming to rest next to the lifeless body of Charles Rossi.
I… I can’t… I didn’t…
At once, a wave of panic washes over me as I spin toward Aubrey. My legs barely get me there, nearly giving out as I stumble the few feet it takes me to arrive at her side. I lower myself, pleading with God or anyone who will answer that she’s still alive. Bringing my ear within millimeters of her mouth, I listen.
Breath. She’s breathing. It’s soft, and steady, nearly the same as when she sleeps curled up in my arms. I quickly assess the damage to her head. There’s blood, but it appears to just be a cut underneath her hair. It doesn’t even seem to be bleeding anymore. That’s my girl. Just please, be okay. You got knocked out, that’s all.
Another cough. I turn toward Pierce who once again begins the arduous task of getting to his feet, even more labored than before. I’m awe-struck that he’s still operational; even so, he isn’t running on anything but fumes. I need to get him, and Aubrey, to a hospital.
I thrust my arms underneath Aubrey, being careful to support her neck as I hoist her up. My own breathing is still in rough shape; my chest is on fire and searing pain flows through my cheek. All the same, I do what needs doing and get my feet underneath me, cradling the unconscious form of my lover in my arms. The tip of her bristled tail drags against the ground, just as limp as her other limbs.
I make my way to the car as quickly as I can. A waddle is all I can manage; Aubrey is a slender woman, but she’s still a dinosaur, and that tail dragging on the ground between my feet isn’t weightless. I curse myself for not spending more time in the gym as I awkwardly shuffle forward, trying desperately not to rip any feathers from her appendage with a clumsy stomp.
A minute later, I arrive next to the Fairlane. Its front end is abysmal. Both headlights are demolished, the bumper dangles impotently on one side, and the hood is bent into the shape of a V. Here’s hoping it still runs. I gently slide Aubrey into the passenger seat, taking care to hoist and tuck her tail onto her lap so I don’t slam the door on it. With her situated, I circle the car, utter a quick prayer as I take my position, and test the ignition.
It gurgles, churning out a series of annoyed whirs before reluctantly coaxing the engine to life. A sigh of relief escapes me. Disengaging the parking brake, I shift it into first and slowly crawl down the pathway. The front bumper growls, unhappy about its angled arrangement against the road. I can’t worry about it right now. We need to get out of here.
Pulling up next to the terminus of our fates, I engage the parking brake, daring not to cut the engine at the risk of being unable to bring it to life it again. Pierce is mostly upright, moving slower than ever, but he’s shifted to a position directly above Charles’s body. He bends over painfully, gritting his teeth as he rummages around in Charles’s pockets.
I climb out of the car. “Pierce, we have to go. Come on.”
He only responds with a quick, annoyed glance before continuing his search.
With a huff, I circle the car. “The cops could be here any minute. There’s no way they ain’t been called with all the commotion we caused!”
“We have to… do one more thing…” His words are incredibly labored, barely more than a whisper.
“What do we—” He ascends slowly, having found his prize. With a flick of his thumb, Charles’s lighter flips open, and with another flick in the other direction, its flint ignites the oil-soaked wick housed within. The small flame dances at its tip.
“There’s… evidence of us… everywhere. This… is the only… way…” His eyelids attempt to close, but he shakes his head, fending off unconsciousness again. His eyes turn remorsefully to Marty. “I’m… sorry. You… deserved better… than this…”
I bite my lip. As much as I want to stop him and pull Marty out of here for a proper burial… there’s no way in hell that I could manage that. If Pierce goes down before getting into the car, he isn’t moving from his spot either.
I’m sorry too, buddy. You were a good man.
With a decisive huff, Pierce looses the lighter from his fingers. It glides through the air, remaining alight as it travels. Upon landing next to the gasoline-soaked ground, the flame instantly spreads, climbs and grows. It furiously rolls outward and upward, hungrily engulfing the fuel and beginning to chew on the wood.
Pierce steps backward, nearly tripping on his lifeless tail. I dart forward to catch him, keeping him upright with a considerable amount of effort. We both continue back until we are clear of the building, free of its lapping flames.
He doesn’t turn to me. He merely stares ahead at the unfolding spectacle of destruction. “It’s just… you and me, now…”
“Yeah.”
“So are you in… or are you out?”
A wall collapses, bursting glass offering a comparatively pathetic pop against the growling fire. The tin roof peels and buckles, strands of the worthless stuff falling deeper into the pit of flames. Black smoke rolls upward, melting into the midnight sky above. The entire dock is coated in brilliant orange and red, a churning roil painting living outlines against the backdrop of street lights and skyscrapers. Even the ocean waves fall silent in obeisance to the majesty of fire, its roar proclaiming victory over man’s hubris.
I watch helplessly, next to the only man in the city I can rely on. A man who would have sooner painted the alley walls with my blood than give me a chance only a few weeks ago. Someone who I’m still reluctant to call a friend, but who’s offering me an opportunity.
Me… a killer… I’ve got blood on my hands now, too. Almost in reply to the thought, the wail of sirens in the distance slowly make themselves known. What chance will I have if I try to strike out on my own? If I run away with Aubrey? A life on the run from the cops is no life at all. I can’t do that to her, or to us.
I want a chance at life. It isn’t gonna be easy, but it’s all I’ve got for now.
“I’m in.”