As Willie watched, one of the men carrying the woman was cut down by gun fire, and Alfred quickly picked up the fallen mans’ burden and continued forward. Willie was torn, Alfred had to make it through in one piece with the woman, or Luther would have Willie's balls, he had told him as much, and Luther didn't bull-shit.
The gunfire from the Court House, and the War Memorial was restrained somewhat, but they apparently had more than a few shooters who could aim well enough to miss the woman. When they were less than a hundred feet away, the kid went down, and the remaining man struggled to get the woman over his shoulders and continue on. Willie hesitated, only an instant longer, and then leapt up and sprinted for the man. Chips of asphalt flew all around him as he ran. The War Memorial crowd was trying to stop him from reaching them, he realized. But gunfire was nowhere near as bad as Luther, so he kept on, marveling that he hadn't yet been hit, as he ran the last few feet and grabbed the woman's body along with the other man.
He felt the man behind him go down just ten feet from the safety of his small band of disciples, and he felt as well the ripping of his flesh, as three rounds caught him in the back. He stumbled the last few feet pushed forward by the impact of the rounds, fully expecting to finally drop dead as two men rose from behind the barricades to take the woman's body.
He had done it, he had reached safety, he realized, and he had also caught three solid rounds in the back doing it. That made him happy, as he wanted nothing more than to lay down right here on the pavement and die, it would feel so good, so right, he thought, as he began to ease toward the road. His hands were clasped across his stomach. What's left of it, he thought. He could feel his insides trying to squirm out through his fingers.
Good, he thought, very fuckin' good. Very, very, good. So, how come I'm not dead? he asked himself.
Takes longer, his mind whispered, this ain't a friggin' movie.
Okay, fine, he reasoned, this ain't a movie. But how come it don't hurt even, huh?
Shock, his mind told him.
Well fuckin' fine, but...
Two of his men squatted and quickly picked Willie up, just as his eyes slipped shut. "His gut's is hanging out, Tommy," one complained, gagging.
"Shut up and get going, we ain't leaving his body here, no way."
The two men ran off down the Street, and deeper into the north side of the city, carrying Willie's body between them as they ran.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wendell (Dell) Sweet wrote his first fiction at age seventeen. He drove taxi and worked as a carpenter for most of his life. He began working on the internet in 1989. He was honorably discharged from the service in 1974.
Thank you for purchasing this book. The rest of the series is available at all major book sellers.
All music, lyrics, artwork or additional written materials attributed to characters in the novels, unless otherwise noted, are Copyright © 2009 - 2017 Wendell Sweet
