were his last words before the explosion knocked him off his feet.
Chapter Nine
It was like it was all happening in slow motion while Peter
was waving and saying hello to us. Dreamlike, a bottle somersaulted head over
end above him, the glass and fire catching reflections of the sun, sparkling
and drawing our attention to it. It arced high over Peter like a satellite in
orbit with no hope of ever returning to Earth. The next instant, it came racing
back down, the weight of the fuel and the heavy glass bottle dragging it bottom
first toward the top of Peter's head. For a brief instant it seemed like it
would smash into his skull altogether. Our facial expressions went from
disinterested to horror before his wondering eyes.
Poor guy doesn't have a clue what's about to hit him, I thought.
As the bottle hurtled toward him it spun less, the force of
gravity correcting it until it was right side up with the thick bottom rushing
down to kiss the asphalt. The flaming rag atop the sealed bottle merrily danced
like a wild-eyed, redheaded seductress, lost in the epiphany of the impending
destruction it wantonly foretold.
Before any of us could call out to warn Peter, the Molotov
cocktail smashed down next to him, narrowly missing the top of his head. There
was a loud explosion as the bottle burst, the flames greedily licking at the
embarrassment of riches bestowed, a drooling puddle of pure fuel. Instantly
Peter was knocked off his feet. Fiery hell shot up and engulfed his whole body
as he screamed in pain.
In the distance, a man dressed all in blue stood laughing.
At his feet were several more Molotov style cocktails waiting to be ignited by
his Zippo lighter. Several men rushed to Peter, taking off their shirts and
jackets and holding him down to put out the fire consuming him. Peter wailed in
agony, panicking and having to be repetitively told to roll over and to not
stand up.
Stop, drop, and roll , I thought. This is why they
used to try to teach us that in school .
The sound of gunfire cracking off took us by surprise. I
looked up to see Joel aiming at the man responsible for this tragedy and firing
away.
“No!” John cried out. “Cease fire!”
Joel wasn't listening. His face was twisted up with hatred.
Something inside of him must have finally snapped!
“Put that gun down now! That is an order!”
“Come and get me, cracker!” The gang member loudly crowed at
us, then turned and dashed toward a cluster of nearby buildings. Instead of
lowering his weapon and obeying orders, Joel charged forward. He cleared the
barricade and began running after the culprit at a full sprint, determined not
to let him get away.
“Stop him!” John ordered to Bruiser. Bruiser nodded. He
pulled out both his guns and rushed past the cars toward Joel. Several men
roughly patted Peter to make sure the fire was out. He moaned and shook in
shock. Most of his hair and skin were burned away. There was a good chance that
he wasn't going to make it, even if they did get him medical care. I could
understand why Joel had been upset, but that didn't mean he should rush into
unfamiliar territory and risk his life.
For all we know this is a trap, I thought.
No sooner were the words formed in my mind than the yelling
and shooting began. The man responsible for burning up Peter had turned the
corner at a full dash with Joel in hot pursuit and Bruiser not far behind him.
A second later five Unity thugs had come running toward them, guns drawn,
shooting wildly.
“Do something,” Tom screamed.
“We can't,” John protested. “If my men open fire they might
hit your brother or Bruiser.”
Joel just missed getting shot in the face by throwing
himself at the ground. Bruiser wasn't so lucky. Being a big guy he had a lot of
momentum going as he ran full tilt to try to catch Joel. By the time Joel
ducked down to avoid the muzzle being pointed at his face, it was too late for
Bruiser. He didn't even know what hit him. The gun went off and the
Chapter Nine
It was like it was all happening in slow motion while Peter
was waving and saying hello to us. Dreamlike, a bottle somersaulted head over
end above him, the glass and fire catching reflections of the sun, sparkling
and drawing our attention to it. It arced high over Peter like a satellite in
orbit with no hope of ever returning to Earth. The next instant, it came racing
back down, the weight of the fuel and the heavy glass bottle dragging it bottom
first toward the top of Peter's head. For a brief instant it seemed like it
would smash into his skull altogether. Our facial expressions went from
disinterested to horror before his wondering eyes.
Poor guy doesn't have a clue what's about to hit him, I thought.
As the bottle hurtled toward him it spun less, the force of
gravity correcting it until it was right side up with the thick bottom rushing
down to kiss the asphalt. The flaming rag atop the sealed bottle merrily danced
like a wild-eyed, redheaded seductress, lost in the epiphany of the impending
destruction it wantonly foretold.
Before any of us could call out to warn Peter, the Molotov
cocktail smashed down next to him, narrowly missing the top of his head. There
was a loud explosion as the bottle burst, the flames greedily licking at the
embarrassment of riches bestowed, a drooling puddle of pure fuel. Instantly
Peter was knocked off his feet. Fiery hell shot up and engulfed his whole body
as he screamed in pain.
In the distance, a man dressed all in blue stood laughing.
At his feet were several more Molotov style cocktails waiting to be ignited by
his Zippo lighter. Several men rushed to Peter, taking off their shirts and
jackets and holding him down to put out the fire consuming him. Peter wailed in
agony, panicking and having to be repetitively told to roll over and to not
stand up.
Stop, drop, and roll , I thought. This is why they
used to try to teach us that in school .
The sound of gunfire cracking off took us by surprise. I
looked up to see Joel aiming at the man responsible for this tragedy and firing
away.
“No!” John cried out. “Cease fire!”
Joel wasn't listening. His face was twisted up with hatred.
Something inside of him must have finally snapped!
“Put that gun down now! That is an order!”
“Come and get me, cracker!” The gang member loudly crowed at
us, then turned and dashed toward a cluster of nearby buildings. Instead of
lowering his weapon and obeying orders, Joel charged forward. He cleared the
barricade and began running after the culprit at a full sprint, determined not
to let him get away.
“Stop him!” John ordered to Bruiser. Bruiser nodded. He
pulled out both his guns and rushed past the cars toward Joel. Several men
roughly patted Peter to make sure the fire was out. He moaned and shook in
shock. Most of his hair and skin were burned away. There was a good chance that
he wasn't going to make it, even if they did get him medical care. I could
understand why Joel had been upset, but that didn't mean he should rush into
unfamiliar territory and risk his life.
For all we know this is a trap, I thought.
No sooner were the words formed in my mind than the yelling
and shooting began. The man responsible for burning up Peter had turned the
corner at a full dash with Joel in hot pursuit and Bruiser not far behind him.
A second later five Unity thugs had come running toward them, guns drawn,
shooting wildly.
“Do something,” Tom screamed.
“We can't,” John protested. “If my men open fire they might
hit your brother or Bruiser.”
Joel just missed getting shot in the face by throwing
himself at the ground. Bruiser wasn't so lucky. Being a big guy he had a lot of
momentum going as he ran full tilt to try to catch Joel. By the time Joel
ducked down to avoid the muzzle being pointed at his face, it was too late for
Bruiser. He didn't even know what hit him. The gun went off and the
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