Page 243 of Shadowman
I hate being afraid. I don’t want to admit that I am, but I’ve never been shot at before. I’m shaking so hard I can barely move.
What am I doing out here??
Moments of shitting myself later, I overpower the locked muscles just enough to look around. It’s hard to tell where thegunfire is coming from. But when I follow the aim of the guys’ scopes, I see them.
Snipers. On the fucking roof of the prison.
Okay, this is fucking nuts.
They’re too far away for me to make out who they are, but I have to assume they’re people I know…
“It’s too hairy,” one guy barks, popping off three more rounds in the snipers’ direction. “We’ll have to go around—”
His words are cut off when I move out from behind the tree.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“Get down!”
They’re shouting at me, but I don’t care.Fuckthis.
I need to get over there. I need them to know it’s me.
Velle, Joy, Rook… Hancock, Jasper, Peters…
They wouldn’t be shooting atme, would they??
On some level, I know it’s naïve to think this way, but either way, this is happening. If they want to kill me,fine. But they’ll need to look me in the eye when they do it.
Slinking between the trees, I harness all of my skills at being invisible and rush closer to the east, following the trail of debris. The pops of gunfire fade, in my head and into the background. It’s growing farther as I leave it behind, jogging toward the gaping hole in the prison with my blood rushing in my ears.
This is my first time seeing the damage up close. It’s fucking mind-boggling. Alabaster Penitentiary, my home for the last three years, is inliteralshambles.
The guard tower only fell on the east, but it’s clear that the damage was much worse because of how old and weathered the prison is. If the building was properly maintained, I’m sure it could have withstood such things.
As soon as I’m close to the giant piles of concrete that used to be walls, I see men, at least two of them, guarding the opening.
One of them spots me, and hollers, “Come out! Slowly…”
“Show me your hands!” another voice shouts.
Sucking in a deep breath, I step out from behind the trees with my hands up. They’re dressed in guard uniforms, familiar ones—clearly, these are Velle’s men. But they’re wearing masks, so I still can’t tell who it is.
“Oh, shit… 62??” one of them rumbles.
“Are you alone?” the other barks.
“Yes,” I attempt to project while stepping forward slowly, ignoring the M16s aimed at my head.
“Are you armed?” they ask, and I shake my head.
“No.”
Once I’m within a few feet, they rush me, grabbing me hard and shoving me up against a collapsed wall.
“Just like old times, huh?” I grunt as they pat me down aggressively.
“He’s clear,” one guy announces. Then he whips his mask off, and I let out a gust of relief when I see Hancock.
