Special Present |
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An entry into the January 2008 Twilight Creations contest by Rucht Lilavivat
I have a gun in my hand and a special present in my purse.
I can't tell you how funny that is. I mean, I don't even like guns. I swore that I would never hold a gun in my life. I'm the vice-president of the PTA, for christsakes. I just don't believe in that kind of thing.
But it's funny. I didn't believe in a lot of things until today.
I watch as Mr. Gellar steps out from his grocery store and grabs a screaming woman in a running suit. He pushes her down onto the sidewalk and proceeds to bite her face. He's being helped by Mrs. Talbot, who always walked her three poodles around the block in the afternoon. They both bare their teeth as they push their faces down upon their next meal.
I wonder for a moment if I should help the woman in the running suit and the expensive running shoes when I realize that I only have three bullets left for my gun. Not enough for me to get to her and then get back to where I'm standing. I watch helplessly as she thrashes, trying to get free. On another day, I might have felt guilty. But right now, my brain isn't letting me feel anything.
I open the chamber just like Carter showed me. I carefully load my last three rounds in. I glance over at Frankie, the nice man whom I met at the Army Surplus store. Carter demanded that we go there after he shot my husband.
Frankie has his own revolver from the Army Surplus store. He's trying to load it, but I keep hearing the ping of bullets raining on the ground beneath him. He looks up and I can tell from his expression that one is right on top of me.
I raise up my revolver with two hands, just like Carter showed me. From the uniform it looks like this one used to be a cop. But now he's shuffling around like everyone else. There's a large, whistling hole where his nose has gone missing from his face. This is like a bad joke. "Maybe I should call 911." "Oh wait. The police are already here."
I pull the trigger while the gun is pointed right at its head. In that same instant comes a hollow splattering sound - like a pumpkin being kicked in. In the background, I can still hear the woman in the running suit and the expensive shoes still screaming and struggling. She's a real fighter.
"Head shot! That's two for two, Betsy!"
I look over and see Carter, who I met just about an hour ago at the town square. Carter pumps his shotgun and raises it to his shoulder. "I got two more shells. Get to the car. Come on, come on!"
I push past the now-headless body and I move to the station wagon. Pull up on the handle. I know it's going to be locked. Of course it's locked. I raise my revolver and shoot the driver's side window. It caves in. You know, that was dumb. The door was locked. I don't know how to hotwire a car. And I don't have the keys. Wait.
The keys are still in the car.
Suddenly, I can hear my heart beating. I feel hot pressure behind my eyes. I'm dimly aware of tears shattering on my Gucci pumps in the afternoon sun. A sob escapes my lips. I reach in to unlock the car. Then, I take a moment to sob some more.
"What the...what are you doing? Go! Go!" Carter screams. The shotgun roars again. This time, the woman in the running suit falls over, headless. She got up from being dead pretty fast.
The passenger door opens and Frankie slides in. He screams something at me and I hop behind the wheel. I turn the keys and it starts right up. Gas light is on. Figures. I calmly and quietly wipe off my face before I look over my shoulder and call out to Carter.
"Go! Go!"
I ask Carter politely through my remaining tears if he's coming.
"I'm not going, Betsy. I never was." Carter marches towards the oncoming crowd of bodies. They're lining up behind Mr. Gellar and Mrs. Talbot. He's going to try to kill them all. He's not going to even try to get to the helipad.
"Besty!" Frankie screams at me.
I backup and peel out. In the rearview mirror I see Carter throw down the shotgun. All out of shells. I turn the corner on Main and head down Church Street.
"Um..." begins Frankie, "where are you going? The helipad's the other way."
I smile. The first time that day. I really smile. I can feel the hot pressure behind my eyes getting deeper. The tears are streaming down my face again. I pat my purse.
"We're not going to the helipad, yet," I explain to Frankie calmly and courteously.
"Wh...but. Where are we going?"
As we come up on it, I slow the car to quiet stop. No need to hurry, now. We're there. I look up at the familiar brick building. The normally lit windows are dark and gaping. Trash litters the ground and tumbles in the wind. To my right, a flagpole leans down so far that the flag touches the ground. Frankie tries to stop me as I get out of the car. I leave the keys in it. It's running out of gas anyway.
"But...here? But...why? You...you know I'm not going in there with you. I'm not. I'm not going."
I close the driver's side door gently. "You can stay in the car if you want."
"Besty, wait. My gun. I don't have any bullets left. Don't leave me!"
I walk up the steps and open up my purse. I glance down at my present.
"Oh my God! Just tell me why? Why?"
"I'll be back soon," I explain, stepping over a pile of bloody textbooks. "I'm going to go pick up the kids." The present in my purse feels cold and dense. I pull out the grenade and prime it, just like Carter taught me. Inside, the school is dark. I hear them coming towards me, coming towards the food. I feel the heat and weight of my tears on the back of my hand.
Don't worry, kids. Mommy's here. Mommy's coming to get you.
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