firing a pistol was almost impossible, unless you were an expert.
Indecision tore at Abe. What could he do? Fear gripped him and stole his ability to move, to act. “Screw it,” he thought, “I got a gun, I can at least help this guy out.”
The decision being made, he ran back through the house to the front door, where he pushed the chair aside and unlocked the bolt. He opened the door and took a few steps onto the front lawn. The man was still about seventy yards down the street and running erratically.
"Why didn't the guy just run full out instead of stumbling back and forth?" Abe thought.
"Hey buddy!" Abe yelled. "Over here!" Abe drew out his handgun and kept shouting at the guy.
After repeated yells, the guy noticed Abe and began running toward him. The postman followed. Though neither were moving very fast, they seemed to be Olympic runners now that they were moving toward him.
Abe dropped to one knee and got into a shooter's position, the way he had been taught. He yelled at the man to move out of his way. Close enough now to understand, the man tried to change directions too quickly and tripped over the curb on the street. Abe didn't pay attention to the man but saw the postman still stumbling along in his direction. He was covered with blood; it started from the top of his head and had poured down his face onto his uniform. His open mouth screeched at Abe.
"Hold it right there," Abe said, loud enough for the man to hear. The postman continued on, his movements bumbling but determined. Abe gave another warning, this one a little faster, his adrenaline pumping.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" he said one last time, not wanting to shoot the guy.
Abe lined the postman up in his sights and pulled the trigger. The gun didn't have much kick to it and that wasn't a problem, but the sound was ungodly and Abe had forgotten about that. Startled by the sound he dropped the gun. He looked to the gun on the ground and back up to the postman who was still walking toward him and only ten yards away. The man who tripped on the curve was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," Abe said, and grabbed the gun from the ground and tried to calm his shaking hands. He sighted the man again and fired twice more into the chest. Nothing. Abe really began to shake and fear slowed his reflexes. All he could think was, “Run!” He remembered what his brother said and again put the gun's site on the ever-closing postman. He was close enough now that it wasn't that hard, except for his own arms which seemed to be of lead. The shots rang out and the postman dropped.
Abe forced himself back on his feet and let the gun drop. Utterly exhausted and scared, he just sat there and look at the dead postman. He had never fired a gun at a person before, and a sick feeling rose up inside him. He leaned over and threw up on the grass. Heaves shook his body as he cleared out his breakfast on the lawn. His body was finished, but Abe still leaned over, eyes closed. Sweat dripped down his brow and onto his nose to fall to the ground. He slowly leaned further over and picked the gun up to replace it in his holster.
Still feeling sick, Abe got up and walked slowly toward the postman. The dead man’s eyes were still open but they were filmed over, not showing his pupils. The blood made it hard to look at the man, but not so much as the small round hole at the top of his eyebrow. Disgusted Abe turned around, almost forgetting the other man.
Still too stunned to do much, Abe walked back a few feet toward the house and hoped there wasn't another sick person around because he knew he would be dead if there was. A small squealing sound came from the side of his house, back from where the man tripped on the curb. He was lying on the ground and convulsing on the ground.
"I got to tell you man, I wished you had hit him way earlier than this because we both almost got caught by him," Abe said, trying to loosen his own mood. Feeling a little better that there was another person to
Indecision tore at Abe. What could he do? Fear gripped him and stole his ability to move, to act. “Screw it,” he thought, “I got a gun, I can at least help this guy out.”
The decision being made, he ran back through the house to the front door, where he pushed the chair aside and unlocked the bolt. He opened the door and took a few steps onto the front lawn. The man was still about seventy yards down the street and running erratically.
"Why didn't the guy just run full out instead of stumbling back and forth?" Abe thought.
"Hey buddy!" Abe yelled. "Over here!" Abe drew out his handgun and kept shouting at the guy.
After repeated yells, the guy noticed Abe and began running toward him. The postman followed. Though neither were moving very fast, they seemed to be Olympic runners now that they were moving toward him.
Abe dropped to one knee and got into a shooter's position, the way he had been taught. He yelled at the man to move out of his way. Close enough now to understand, the man tried to change directions too quickly and tripped over the curb on the street. Abe didn't pay attention to the man but saw the postman still stumbling along in his direction. He was covered with blood; it started from the top of his head and had poured down his face onto his uniform. His open mouth screeched at Abe.
"Hold it right there," Abe said, loud enough for the man to hear. The postman continued on, his movements bumbling but determined. Abe gave another warning, this one a little faster, his adrenaline pumping.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" he said one last time, not wanting to shoot the guy.
Abe lined the postman up in his sights and pulled the trigger. The gun didn't have much kick to it and that wasn't a problem, but the sound was ungodly and Abe had forgotten about that. Startled by the sound he dropped the gun. He looked to the gun on the ground and back up to the postman who was still walking toward him and only ten yards away. The man who tripped on the curve was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," Abe said, and grabbed the gun from the ground and tried to calm his shaking hands. He sighted the man again and fired twice more into the chest. Nothing. Abe really began to shake and fear slowed his reflexes. All he could think was, “Run!” He remembered what his brother said and again put the gun's site on the ever-closing postman. He was close enough now that it wasn't that hard, except for his own arms which seemed to be of lead. The shots rang out and the postman dropped.
Abe forced himself back on his feet and let the gun drop. Utterly exhausted and scared, he just sat there and look at the dead postman. He had never fired a gun at a person before, and a sick feeling rose up inside him. He leaned over and threw up on the grass. Heaves shook his body as he cleared out his breakfast on the lawn. His body was finished, but Abe still leaned over, eyes closed. Sweat dripped down his brow and onto his nose to fall to the ground. He slowly leaned further over and picked the gun up to replace it in his holster.
Still feeling sick, Abe got up and walked slowly toward the postman. The dead man’s eyes were still open but they were filmed over, not showing his pupils. The blood made it hard to look at the man, but not so much as the small round hole at the top of his eyebrow. Disgusted Abe turned around, almost forgetting the other man.
Still too stunned to do much, Abe walked back a few feet toward the house and hoped there wasn't another sick person around because he knew he would be dead if there was. A small squealing sound came from the side of his house, back from where the man tripped on the curb. He was lying on the ground and convulsing on the ground.
"I got to tell you man, I wished you had hit him way earlier than this because we both almost got caught by him," Abe said, trying to loosen his own mood. Feeling a little better that there was another person to
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