The Last Motel by Brett McBean

the dark grey magazine.
    “Here we go,” Judy whispered from behind.
    Morrie moved over to the bed where he lay down the rifle and started thumbing the cartridges into the magazine. When it was full, Morrie picked up his rifle and locked the magazine in place.
    Without speaking a word, he ran out of the bedroom, down the hall and towards the garage. Judy stayed close behind him the whole time.
    Holding the gun firmly in his right hand, Morrie crept through the dim, cold garage. He knocked into the boxes, gave them no thought, and made it to the side door.
    “You stay in here,” Morrie whispered. He unlocked the door with his left hand, and peeked through the small gap. He saw the two men not by the front door, but wandering around the lawn. They appeared to be gazing around at the house, talking to each other.
    Wonder which one’s the gook , he thought.
    With a deep breath, Morrie stepped out of the garage. He held the rifle low by his right side. “Can I help you?” he asked. His voice came out strong, threatening.
    The figure closest to Morrie started walking towards him. Just like Judy said, the stranger was wearing dark sunglasses, and an equally dark suit and fedora hat.
    “Hey man, what kind of party is this? What are you supposed to be?”
    Morrie could tell by the voice that the one venturing closer was the Asian. The other figure remained back.
    “Don’t come any closer,” Morrie warned.
    “Very funny, now let us in.”
    The other person said something to the Asian, which Morrie couldn’t quite hear. The Asian turned around and answered him. He then turned back around and kept on walking.
    “I’m gonna have to ask you men to leave,” Morrie demanded.
    The Asian laughed. “Very funny. What took you so long anyway?”
    Morrie still held the rifle by his side. His hand was twitching; should he bring it up?
    The figure standing back removed his sunglasses. Morrie glanced over at the man, caught a glimpse of his face, but quickly brought his eyes back to the approaching Asian.
    “Stop!” Morrie bellowed.
    The Asian brought up his hands. “Hey, it’s cool.” He chuckled.  He then lowered his right arm and reached into his jacket.
    Oh my God! Morrie screamed in his head.
    Before he had a chance to think twice about it, Morrie raised the rifle, aimed it at the Asian’s chest and fired.
    The loud crack echoed through the night, and Morrie saw the Asian lunge backwards. He heard Judy cry out from behind him, and he fired once more, the bullet hitting the Asian just above the first wound.
    He saw blood spurt out into the night; although it looked like black oil.
    The Asian never made a sound.
    He fell back with a dull thud. Morrie heard him gasping, then gurgle.
    Then all was quiet.
    Judy had stopped crying and the remnants of the blasts faded with the clouds of smoke.
    Still with the rifle poised, Morrie blinked down at the dead Asian.
    The only reason he looked away was that his eyes caught the movement of the other figure running towards the street.
    Shoot him. Should I shoot him?
    He placed his finger on the trigger, but before he could fire at the fleeing man, he had vanished.
    Morrie remained in the same position for what felt like ages. When Judy touched him on the back, he gasped and turned around fast.
    “It’s only me,” she said quietly. “Did you have to shoot him?”
    Morrie stared at her blankly. “He was reaching for a gun.”
    “Oh my God,” she breathed. “They were going to kill us? Who were they?”
    Morrie felt himself shake his head. He turned around and walked over to the body. Judy remained near the door, watching.
    He looked down at the lifeless body of the Asian. He had a white shirt on under the black jacket, so the two small holes in his chest stood out like shit in a flower shop. Blood dribbled from the two wounds. The grass underneath was considerably darker than the rest of the lawn.
    Morrie crouched down.
    “Don’t touch him,” Judy called out. Her voice sounded