Written by: roseyn
Reece wiped a hard hand across his brow wondering how the hell they had gotten to this point. He caught Brian’s eyes, rigid and unblinking, staring at him… speaking to him… then flick ever so slightly sideways.
He knew what lay to Brian’s left.
The emergency pistol.
Reece twisted to face Joey. “Thought you were about saving lives,” he said, surprised at the noticeable steadiness in his voice. “Not about taking them.” His attempt to guilt-trip the man was ridiculously lame but he hoped it afforded Brian the distraction he needed to unstrap the pistol.
“Shut up,” Joey hissed. His top lip had lifted into a quivering snarl. “You know nothing. Just… just… do as I say… now.” With a jerky hand, he again pressed the nozzle to Sam’s temple.
She whimpered. Her skin took on an unnaturally pale hue.
Reece gritted his teeth, felt an irrepressible urge to whip the gun from Joey’s hand and smack him senseless with it. But as much as he found the entire idea appealing, he knew it’d be a dangerously, stupid move.
He sensed a small tug of his sleeve, saw it was Brian, saw his triumphant, little smirk. “Let’s do what he says,” Brian calmly suggested.
Reece grunted, shot Joey one last threatening look and hopped out of the helicopter. Brian followed next, then Sam and lastly Joey.
One of the cops was tallish, middle-aged with a belly that, in Reece’s opinion, had seen far too many doughnuts. The other had a foxy face, pointy nose and peeling sunburn. Both had weapons aimed directly at them. Sam’s knees began to buckle. Brian reached out, grabbed her before she fell.
Reece groaned, wondered about Brian’s plan in using the emergency flare. He could only hope it was a damn good one.
Reece began studying the surrounding forest searching for a possible escape route.
His first thoughts were of witch hats… tall, green witch hats. That’s how his mother had always described the fantastical beauty of the spruce-fir conifers. A half-baked sunlight infused in patchwork patterns amongst them, sprinkling onto luxuriant tangles of grazing underbrush. Reece breathed deeply, smelt the sweet, citrusy odour, sensed the clean, oxygenated air stream through him.
Any other day, he would’ve wallowed in its medicinal effects.
But not today.
Today, it had been contaminated… by sheer, human greed.
A sharp, almost animalistic cry snapped Reece’s attention to his right. There, crumpled by his brother’s frigid body, was Joey wildly rocking backwards and forwards.
Minutes dragged past.
Like time on a coffee break.
Until Joey eventually stilled.
With his shoulders rounded, he stood and slowly turned. A thirsty mixture of hatred and lust marred his expression.
Reece’s muscles grew stiff.
As they did, the unmistakeable sound of gunfire followed.