became louder and heavier. Breathing heavily he finally stopped, perhaps
ten steps above a landing. Looking up, Bruno saw that the stairs ended, and the
path straightened and flattened out. Once he made it over this last flight of
stairs he was nearly at the end and would soon be back on the street. With a
sigh, Bruno started once more.
A great crash behind Bruno made him shout out loud. He
whirled around, but the duffle bag unbalanced him and he fell onto his side on
the hard concrete stairs with a clang. The bag took some of the force, but
Bruno felt a stabbing pain shoot through the ribs on his right side as he
looked down the stairs. The vest he wore had a rigid plate in front, but Bruno
had fallen on his side, and the soft fabric, while bullet resistant, provided
only scant protection for that kind of blow.
The door leading to the landing was flung open and in the
half-moon’s weak light, Bruno could see a figure standing there a few meters
below him. By some fortune, he still held the flashlight clenched in his left
hand, and he pointed it down the stairs.
The beam splashed onto the figure’s face. The shirtless
figure’s long, dark hair couldn’t obscure the oozing sores on her face and
neck, nor could it hide the coffee-colored fluid running down from her face to
her breasts. Her hands trembled as she shambled towards him.
“Please, help me!”
Bruno slithered backwards up the stairs, the pain biting
into his ribs as he tore his pistol from its holster. “Stop! Don’t come any
closer!”
“Please don’t hurt me!” she shouted, insistent. “My son,
he’s dead—I need help!” She shuffled toward him faster than he thought someone
that sick could. He dropped the flashlight and took aim at the center of the
dark figure below him as he rolled to his back. “Stop! Don’t make me shoot!” he
cried, and yet still she came. He yanked the trigger hard. He lost count after
the third shot. He saw her stumble backwards, falling onto the landing. Ears
still ringing from the shots, he held the pistol at eye level until he noticed
his hands trembling. Forcing them lower, Bruno holstered his pistol and scrambled
back to his feet. Pain shot through his ribs, making him wince as he gathered
his flashlight from where it lay next to the duffle bag.
“Please don’t kill me!” the voice below him shouted. Bruno
shone the light down onto the woman. Instead of clean shots to a vital area, he
must have hit her low in the gut. Her face was twisted with pain and she lay in
a pool of blood.
She sobbed as she spoke, her words coming out in stutters.
“P—lease, I don’t want to die!” He dared not get any closer, though he may have
already been exposed, for all he knew. Her sobs grew louder as she bled out
below him. He knew he should end her suffering; he knew it in his bones, but he
feared what more gunfire would bring. And yet, he couldn’t just leave her like
this, no matter what the risk. He pulled out his pistol with his right hand and
aimed the flashlight towards her with his left hand. He braced the pistol over
his left wrist and aimed.
By now, she had stopped writhing and was lying on her
stomach, moaning. As the light fell on her, she lifted her head and looked up
at Bruno. Everything else around her faded to darkness, but the light shone on
her face, spotlighting her eyes. She fell silent as her eyes burned into his.
Her mouth opened, dark spittle running down her chin, but she made no sound.
Instead, she raised her trembling hand towards him, fingers outstretched,
pleading with Bruno to spare her life with that quiet gesture. Bruno squeezed
the trigger as he gazed into her eyes. This time, the bullet found its mark,
shattering her forehead. He holstered his pistol and turned off his flashlight.
Though shadows shrouded the bloodshed below him, his gaze stayed fixed on what
he had done.
His second execution cut more deeply than his first. Wiping
away tears with the back of his hand, Bruno wondered if he
ten steps above a landing. Looking up, Bruno saw that the stairs ended, and the
path straightened and flattened out. Once he made it over this last flight of
stairs he was nearly at the end and would soon be back on the street. With a
sigh, Bruno started once more.
A great crash behind Bruno made him shout out loud. He
whirled around, but the duffle bag unbalanced him and he fell onto his side on
the hard concrete stairs with a clang. The bag took some of the force, but
Bruno felt a stabbing pain shoot through the ribs on his right side as he
looked down the stairs. The vest he wore had a rigid plate in front, but Bruno
had fallen on his side, and the soft fabric, while bullet resistant, provided
only scant protection for that kind of blow.
The door leading to the landing was flung open and in the
half-moon’s weak light, Bruno could see a figure standing there a few meters
below him. By some fortune, he still held the flashlight clenched in his left
hand, and he pointed it down the stairs.
The beam splashed onto the figure’s face. The shirtless
figure’s long, dark hair couldn’t obscure the oozing sores on her face and
neck, nor could it hide the coffee-colored fluid running down from her face to
her breasts. Her hands trembled as she shambled towards him.
“Please, help me!”
Bruno slithered backwards up the stairs, the pain biting
into his ribs as he tore his pistol from its holster. “Stop! Don’t come any
closer!”
“Please don’t hurt me!” she shouted, insistent. “My son,
he’s dead—I need help!” She shuffled toward him faster than he thought someone
that sick could. He dropped the flashlight and took aim at the center of the
dark figure below him as he rolled to his back. “Stop! Don’t make me shoot!” he
cried, and yet still she came. He yanked the trigger hard. He lost count after
the third shot. He saw her stumble backwards, falling onto the landing. Ears
still ringing from the shots, he held the pistol at eye level until he noticed
his hands trembling. Forcing them lower, Bruno holstered his pistol and scrambled
back to his feet. Pain shot through his ribs, making him wince as he gathered
his flashlight from where it lay next to the duffle bag.
“Please don’t kill me!” the voice below him shouted. Bruno
shone the light down onto the woman. Instead of clean shots to a vital area, he
must have hit her low in the gut. Her face was twisted with pain and she lay in
a pool of blood.
She sobbed as she spoke, her words coming out in stutters.
“P—lease, I don’t want to die!” He dared not get any closer, though he may have
already been exposed, for all he knew. Her sobs grew louder as she bled out
below him. He knew he should end her suffering; he knew it in his bones, but he
feared what more gunfire would bring. And yet, he couldn’t just leave her like
this, no matter what the risk. He pulled out his pistol with his right hand and
aimed the flashlight towards her with his left hand. He braced the pistol over
his left wrist and aimed.
By now, she had stopped writhing and was lying on her
stomach, moaning. As the light fell on her, she lifted her head and looked up
at Bruno. Everything else around her faded to darkness, but the light shone on
her face, spotlighting her eyes. She fell silent as her eyes burned into his.
Her mouth opened, dark spittle running down her chin, but she made no sound.
Instead, she raised her trembling hand towards him, fingers outstretched,
pleading with Bruno to spare her life with that quiet gesture. Bruno squeezed
the trigger as he gazed into her eyes. This time, the bullet found its mark,
shattering her forehead. He holstered his pistol and turned off his flashlight.
Though shadows shrouded the bloodshed below him, his gaze stayed fixed on what
he had done.
His second execution cut more deeply than his first. Wiping
away tears with the back of his hand, Bruno wondered if he
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