Echoes (14 page)
Authors: Jason Brant
Even though he was a maniac who murdered innocent people on a whim, I could relate to him on at least one thing.
"Only these assholes did that to you. Sammy didn't; I didn't. Those police officers did nothing to you. You're just as bad as they are. You can all rot."
Murdock glared down at me, his eyes twitching as he looked over my mangled body.
He continued to watch me as Sammy bent down and picked up the shotgun. Once again she tilted it up under her chin, her finger moving to the trigger.
"Say goodbye to your friend."
"Hey, Murdock!" a tiny voice called from my right.
I looked over and saw Nami standing there, holding the massive Desert Eagle in both of her pint-sized hands. She must have snuck up on us while the cops were trying not to shoot each other. Murdock had been too busy concentrating on everyone else to sense her presence.
"Fuck your mother," she said as she pulled the trigger. The incredible recoil of the pistol catapulted her small frame backward, the gun flying from her grip. She landed on her ass with a stupefied look on her face.
The bullet didn't even come close to hitting anyone. She came closer to hitting the moon than she did Murdock.
"Nice try, Nellie."
"Another of Smith's peons. Come over here and join the party."
Nami stiffened, then rose to her feet and walked over to the agents. Murdock stood still for a moment, concentrating.
"It seems we have to cut our fun short. The police are in the process of setting up snipers from their SWAT teams."
I looked around, searching for anything I could use against Murdock. The Desert Eagle had landed on the ground about ten feet from me. It might as well have been a mile. I started crawling toward it at a snail's pace, knowing I couldn't make it. The entire left side of my body pleaded with me to stop moving. Blood flow from my bullet wound increased as I struggled along. Rage built inside of me at the hopelessness of it.
All of the agents pointed their weapons: one at Nami, President Thomas, Smith, and one put his gun in his own mouth. Sammy still held the shotgun under her chin. Smith and I were the only ones without a firearm aimed at us.
Five feet away from Nami's cannon, I kept inching forward. The fury accumulating in me was startling, almost uncontrollable. My head pounded from the adrenalin surging through me.
"Look at the hero, trying to crawl to his salvation. That looks like it hurts, and I know about pain. Watch his failure with your last dying seconds."
Murdock's marionettes turned and faced me, their eyes pleading for help. The pistol was still two feet from my outstretched hand, taunting me. The frenzied storm swirling inside me caused my body to shake like a rabid dog.
"When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come America, cradle and all."
"No!" I howled, all of my ferocity bursting to the surface.
The Desert Eagle, still two feet away, slid across the ground, settling in my hand. Before I could process what happened I swung the barrel around, pointing it at Murdock.
"What? That's impossible!" Murdock said. I relished the astonishment in his eyes.
"Pop goes the weasel, asshole."
I shot him just under his left eye. Most of his head disappeared in a sea of red mist.
Sammy, Nami, and Smith all slumped forward as Murdock's body fell to the ground. The Secret Service agents went to work without hesitation. Two of them grabbed President Thomas, who stopped blubbering long enough to order everyone's arrest, and carried him in the direction of the nearest patrol car. The other two secured Murdock's body, even though he had essentially been decapitated.
The moment I shot him, our connection broke, and the echoes crashed in like a tidal wave. Bleeding from my shoulder amplified even more. The adrenalin had temporarily increased my awareness, but my senses were fading again. I couldn't be sure if it was from blood loss or the thousands of thoughts reeling through my mind.
Nami looked at me like I had three heads. "Did you just use the force?"
"Telekinesis. Unbelievable," Smith said, awe in his voice.
I tried to respond but only incoherent mumbles came out. I was fading fast. Even if I could have answered, I honestly didn't know how it happened.
Sammy crawled across the lawn to me, putting my head in her lap.
"How did you do that?" she asked. "Oh God, look at all the blood!"
My eyelids felt like they had weights hanging from them. I had the vague sensation of pressure on my shoulder as Nami tried to slow down the bleeding.
The two agents who had secured Murdock were now doing the same thing to Smith.
"What the hell are you doing? Do you know who I am?"
With their guns trained on him, he was ordered to the ground. He hesitated a few seconds before complying. His eyes never left me. Behind them I could see dozens of cops rushing to our position, their firearms held out in front of them.
My head drifted down, further into Samantha's lap, though I tried to keep it upright. She put her hands on either side of my face, holding me steady. Her breasts rested against the top of my head as she looked down into my eyes. At least I got to touch them once.
"Help is coming, Ash! You did it, you stopped Murdock!"
White light began to envelope everything, starting from the outside edges of my vision. It made her dirty, stressed face look angelic.
"No, no, no, no…" Sammy said.
The echoes faded away, giving me peace for the first time in half a decade. Euphoria wrapped around me. Focusing on forming words, I summoned what little strength I had left.
"The voices are gone," I whispered as I gave her my best smile.
Warm tears splashed on my cheeks as she bent down and gently kissed my lips.
And everything was white.
ECHOES
by JASON BRANT
Copyright © 2012 Jason Brant
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Jason Brant.
