Fighting Rough

17

As Ricky had gotten closer to the camp, he’d quickly chickened out and completely abandoned his plans to take on everyone by himself. He’d retreated back into the woods, wondering what to do.

That was when he’d come across one of them. He was tall and fairly young, completely out of breath, and apparently completely unarmed. There was a wild look on his face and in his eyes. Ricky didn’t know what to make of him. The only thing Ricky knew was that this was the opportunity he’d been looking for, the opportunity that would save him.

All Ricky needed was information.

But the man wasn’t talking.

“Who are you?” repeated Ricky.

The man stared back at him with his wild eyes. Ricky couldn’t look too long at those eyes. There was something about them that unnerved him.

“Speak!” shouted Ricky.

He was losing his patience. He didn’t have all night, after all. He’d been gone a long time. He needed to get back to Anton with the information.

The man opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” shouted Ricky. “You want something to make you talk? Well, I’ll give you something.”

Ricky had his pistol out and in his hand. He took reckless aim, and squeezed the trigger. The gun’s recoil was satisfying. As was the sound. He’d been lucky enough to get a high caliber pistol. He liked the seriousness of the weapon, the way it made an impact.

The bullet struck the man in the knee. He screamed in pain, clutched his knee, tried to maintain his balance on one leg, and then fell down into the snow.

Ricky walked slowly over to him, his rifle slung across his back, his pistol pointed at the man’s head.

“You’ve got to know that you’re going to leave this world soon enough, buddy. You might as well make it easier on yourself. I’ve got five more bullets right here loaded, and plenty more in my pocket.”

“Don’t…” muttered the man, wincing from the pain.

“Don’t what? Come on,” said Ricky. “Don’t hate me. This is nothing personal. I’m probably in a worse situation than you. I’ve got an asshole boss who’s been breathing down my neck. That’s bad enough, but you know how it is since the EMP. Now it’s life and death, even if it’s just a bad boss. Same shit as before, only magnified.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Pity you’re wasting your dying breath with words like that,” said Ricky.

Ricky stood over the man, one leg on either side of his body. Ricky pointed his revolver straight down at the man’s head.

Standing there, having shot the man in the knee, Ricky knew that he had the power of life and death in his hands. And if made him feel good. He felt powerful. When he’d been with the other men from the compound, he’d felt weak. At any moment, an order from Anton could see him executed. Or worse.

Now it was Ricky who was in charge.

Practical thoughts soon flew out the window. Ricky momentarily forgot what he was trying to do. He didn’t remember that he was trying to get information that would keep him alive, keep Anton from murdering him out of frustration.

The sense of power over this man had completely overwhelmed him.

“We’re all in this shit world together now,” said Ricky. “Although this new world isn’t exactly a team sport, if you know what I mean. It’s every man for himself. And sooner or later, it’s all going to get us. The grim reaper, the big man with the scythe, whatever you want to call him.”

Ricky was getting carried away with himself, ranting like there was no tomorrow. He recognized somewhat that he was losing control, but he let himself continue. It was fun, after all, to be in power, to wield life and death, to speak with authority.

“OK,” said Ricky. “I’m going to give you something else to think about. And after that, we’ll see how much you want to tell me. I have a feeling that you’re not as tough and silent as you’d like to think you are.”

Ricky aimed the pistol at the man’s shoulder. He squeezed the trigger.

The man screamed, his face contorting in agony.

Ricky had always thought that the knee was one of the most painful places to get shot, but the shoulder seemed to really do it this time. Ricky briefly wondered why. Did the man have an old injury? Was the whole “shot in the knee” myth just that, a myth? Or was it simply that two injuries hurt more than one alone?

Suddenly, for a brief moment, the expression of pain on the man’s face vanished. His eyes darted to the side, seemed to show some recognition, and then came immediately back to Ricky’s gun, where they’d been pointed before.

“You see something out there, buddy?” said Ricky, turning his head in the direction that Ricky had looked.

Ricky didn’t see anything. It was just the same old regular snow-covered woods.

But he’d sworn that the man had seen something. Something familiar, something that would make him momentarily forget the intense pain of two gunshot wounds.

“Who’s out there?” said Ricky, his voice becoming tense and agitated. His mood was starting to shift again, this time to paranoia.

The man’s eyes flickered off to the side once more.

Ricky turned again to look.

But it was too late.

Something heavy hit Ricky in the back of the head. Hard.

Pain seared through his skull. It felt like someone had driven a steel spike through the back of his skull.

He reeled in pain, falling to the ground. The cold snow covered his face, somehow making the pain even worse.