Page 83 of I'll Be There
Blankenship scrambled to his feet and dove for the relative shadow of the woods, just beyond the women’s porta-potty.
Conner grabbed Micah by the collar and dragged him to the truck. “Get in, stay down.”
Micah growled back a moan even as he scrabbled onto the driver’s seat. “The tourniquet isn’t holding.”
Conner glanced at him, at the way Micah held a hand to the shredded meat of his leg, his face so white he should probably be passed out, if it weren’t for his sheer, stubborn grit.
“I need a hospital, right now.”
It wasn’t even a what-if, not a moment of indecision. “Let’s go.”
But when Conner shoved Micah over, a shot took out the back tire.
Micah stared at him. “End it. Now.”
“Get in his car. Hurry.”
Micah nodded, and Conner shot out from the truck, sprinting across the pavement toward the latrines, diving into the grass as bullets followed him.
He hit so hard he might have rattled out his teeth.
Blankenship hid behind the opposite porta-potty, out of his sight line.
“C’mon, Young! Isn’t this enough for you? Show yourself!”
Conner stilled, trying to sort out—
“Let him go, and you can have me.”
The voice reached out and took Conner by the throat. Stopped his heart in his chest. Put a fist in his gut.What—? How—?
“Isn’t that what this is all about? Flushing me out, finishing what you started?”
“You’re the one who started this,” Blankenship shouted from his cover. “All you had to do was take the money, keep your mouth shut.”
“That’s not what my grandfather taught me. Taughtus.Young men don’t let it go, don’t let people like you win.”
Conner pressed his hand into the soft grass, his head woozy, trying to catch up. He crouched in the shadow by the men’s latrine as the gulls screamed overhead, as the wind ferried in the tragedy of the day, and the street lights overhead popped out. One. Two. Glass rained down.
A grand entrance for the man who jumped over the guardrail and ran down the embankment.
He slid behind the car.
“I’m going to need more than that, Young.”
Conner’s pulse hammered
“Let them get in the car. When they drive away, I’m yours.”
No.Conner felt the word, more than heard it, form in his head.“No!” He hit his feet.
“Get down, bro! For Pete’s sake, what’s wrong with you?”
No breath, his heart in his throat.
And then, maybe because Connerdidmake the perfect, sighted target, and because if he didn’t move, and fast, Blankenship would have even more say-so, the man behind the car stood up. Unprotected, raising his hands, his gun high. “Right here. I’mright here. Don’t shoot him.”
Justin.A brutal outline against the moonlight. Taller than Conner remembered, maybe, leaner, broader shouldered, and by the grim set of his jaw, just as ready as Conner to end this.
