David’s assassin racked the shotgun again as the cicadas droned louder. He cringed into the driver seat as he awaited the next explosion. An explosion that never came. The dry click brought on another string of incoherent curses. This time the rifle itself clattered against the pavement near the rear of the Lincoln. For a while, the shooter continued his monologue somewhere behind the still idling car. Then came the sounds of scuffling. What, are there two people back there wanting to shoot holes in my car now, David thought. It was a long moment before David hazarded a look, but was not prepared for the scene.
At first, David’s eyes seemed to deceive him. He blinked furiously into the ever-adjusting darkness to see that his assailant had a plastic lawn chair in an armbar. The man, half dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, He could not, but help to silently stare as the inmate continued to grip and strike the inanimate object in the slowest of motions ever. It seemed that David and his car had been completely forgotten. Jailbird continued to work his slow-motion jiujitsu. Striking, throwing, kicking, and strangling the offending chair. David was mesmerized. For several long minutes, he could not help but stare and laugh quietly. Laugh? Yes, laugh! The insanity of the entire evening seems to finally warm up to me, he thought. Quietly, David pulled up his cell phone and began to record the altercation. If I die, at least this fool won’t go away unnoticed. For several long minutes, the convict continued his imaginary foray. Several times he kicked the chair over in a spectacularly pathetic means, only to set it back up and start over.
A loud rev from the engine interrupted the martial arts display. The assassin realized what he first set out to do. David cursed himself for trying to get a better view. The horror of the situation reasserted itself. This man is going to kill me, David thought. How the hell did this get away from me? David saved the video and tucked the phone back into his pocket. In the darkness, he could still see the shooter, though the sentiment was not mutual. The shooter seemed to pace back and forth uncertainly trying to see if something else was going on. David could not tell if he was on drugs or simply had succumbed to the madness that has been prevalent the entire evening.
The convict began his drunken miner rambling as he approached. David hunched back down into the driver’s seat and floorboard. He could hear the man making his way to the driver’s side door. David poised himself to spring on the man, should he open the door. While nowhere near as quick or skilled as in his youth, David figured he could use his size and readiness to his advantage. That and the guy being drunken didn’t hurt either. David waited as the cursing became louder. Like a crouched tiger, he poised himself to strike as soon as the door opened, or a face peered into the broken window.
When the door opened, David’s shooter was trying to dig something out of the jumpsuit. The thought of a second gun did not even enter his mind as he lept out and grasped the convict with both hands. His body barely cleared the car, as his feet became entangled under the gas and brake pedals, resulting in a weird jack-in-the-box action. Thinking quickly, David pulled his assailant into the vehicle and threw him into the passenger’s side.
The following melee was equally confusing. David attempted to gain a better position, but his opponent continued to flail about at him and the weapon he seemed to have trapped in his waistline. David himself seemed unable to land a successful blow with his fists amongst the flailing. Davids feet finally freed themselves from under the pedals as his assailant lept against him. Wrestling in the tight confines of the car, David planted his feet against the convict and forced him into the floorboard of the passenger side. Bracing himself with his arms, David stomped down into the chest and face of the shooter. David continued to do so until his legs cramped and his knees screamed in protest. Even still, he stomped further until he could not move at all.
In the darkness, David didn’t even know if the man was still breathing. He could not feel his legs, let alone the body beneath his feet. David waited for several long moments, poised for any reaction from his intended killer. The provocateur did not respond. David hoisted his pain-racked body back into the driver’s seat, stabilizing his mind and body with the steering wheel. After several long breathes he glanced back at the body in the passenger’s seat. Iraq tried to offer its own horrors, but they could not compare with the experience of killing someone so close. So personally. Davids mind seemed to refuse to register that the man was dead. Any moment he expected the corpse to jump up and begin the battle anew.
When he had stopped hyperventilating, David searched the man’s jumpsuit for the weapon he had fighting with. His search resulted in a Glock. Expensive, David thought as he half-cocked the slide to check the chamber. Fully locked and loaded, as the magazine check showed shortly after. Had his opponent produced this weapon, he would not have to worry about misfeeds or malfunctions. He could’ve unloaded the magazine into the car and David at ease. David gave a silent thanks to God above before he opened the door and shoved the body out into the pavement outside his car.
No other assailant halted his process of movement as he backed up and drove through the second gap. David progressed across the bridge uncontested as he crossed over to the exit ramp and back onto highway 65. Though he was hurried, he wished he had stopped to grab the shotgun. David did not know if its magazine was empty, but he might’ve been able to get more rounds regardless. Resident Evil popped immediately into his mind. He had only played it a few times, but suddenly the overall theme made sense. Consolidate all resources, however trivial, in order to ensure one’s survival.
Woulda, shoulda, yeah yeah yeah, David thought to himself. I made it this far. made it to Exit 228. I am turning off to get to my home despite all the insanity I have survived. Everything I have lived through has brought me to this point, and it has been easy. I’ve got this. I’ve got this! I’ve! Got! This!
James C Gilliam 