Winner of the Silent Character Contest!

Lucky Day
Derek Cockey

     “You gots nowhere to run, Porky!” A spray of automatic gunfire perforates the cinderblock wall like a rimshot for his half joke. Chunks of manmade rock and flakes of paint drizzle down and form a puddle not far from where I’ve hunkered. His maniac friends laugh, demons comfortable in Hell. I pray for deliverance.

     He’s right, though. There are seven of him and his between me and freedom, and I’ve only got six of my own little glistening friends with which to clear a path. There is no back-up, a fool’s chance of a passing good Samaritan, and very little hope. I think of my loved ones (all seem to be former holders of that title), which doesn’t take long.

     Above the ugliness of the wall’s bullet holes and graffiti, a dusty mirror spans the width and half the height of the room. She is my ally, telling me the secrets of my enemies’ number, and sporadic hints of their movements among the dead industrial machinery that crowds most of her composition. She is the flirtatious wink of a benevolent goddess.

     Another burst of gunfire interrupts us, and a portion of wall closer to me crumbles. Erratic lead ricochets off a nearby unidentifiable hunk of rusty metal and wiring, coming out of retirement to find use again in protecting my hide.

     “You ain’t doin’ yo’self no favors makin’ us wait to kill you. Trust me!” My noble enforcer of justice feels cold and steady in my hands, eager to pop its virginal cap.

     My goddess winks again, and whispers in my ear that a fiend approaches from my left. I pivot, take quick aim, and squeeze the trigger. My goddess roars in ecstasy as the enemy demon falls.

     Accompanying the tinkling sound of blood and other skull fluids on the cement, I hear a partner enemy whimper, then the slap of plasticky rubber shoes coming after me. More automatic fire pierces the tortured wall. My lady stands hushed, watching, confident. Already I can tell he’s coming down the aisle to my right.

     I press my feet to the left wall and kick off, my back sliding on the slick, red floor like a bowling ball towards the gutter. The gunfire slows, his gait becomes hesitant, and his wails lost in the vacuum of my concentration.

     In the brief span of time eclipsing the aisle, my hands unsteady, I take a shot at center mass. Three feet south, his kneecap explodes like a bone-chip piñata before I skid to a temporary sanctuary. I rest my back against the cold metal skin of another useless behemoth.

     “Take ’im! Take ’im now!” the rally cry sounds. Three, Four and Five rush down respective aisles, dropping shell casings like absent-minded flower girls.

     Leaning to the left, I take out Five, the easiest of the trio. Wet life coughs out of his new stoma. Now to the right, my sluttish revolver switches hands, experimenting with the left. Her sights bounce around, and the hairs Four’s missing me by grow thinner and thinner. I force my lungs still, and launch a sloppy bullet at him. A dark stain pools on his chest as I spin back to my hallowed roost.

     Before I can get comfortable, I hear the last footstep as Three crosses his aisle’s finish line. He turns to me, his trophy, eager to collect. We raise our weapons in unison, offering a fatal handshake. Our hands each grip tight, and speeding bits of lead sail past each other. Three falls, a dead fish, and I get the pierced ear my dad said I could never have.

     My ear burns like the devil is talking about me, but I hear another spray of bullets and my goddess screaming. I gaze up in time to see her go all to pieces. Her parts tumble to the ground from Olympus, shattering more as they crash onto mortal earth.

     “Now you’re mine, Peeping Tom!” Six laughs. My goddess is dead.

     I check the rounds in the revolver, finding one unspent. I can almost hear it say, “Don’t look at me; I have no idea what you’re gonna do.”

     I mourn for my lady’s lost secrets. Six and Seven approach with stealth and cunning, traits that helped them outlive their peers. With a clumsy grip on my gun and ear blood running down my sleeve, I take hold of the rusting carcass who’s been shielding me and pull myself up. My palms burn on the fresh bullet holes.

     Atop my new post, the aisles spread beneath me like naked valleys. Seven turns a corner, gun aimed with care, smirk saturated with pomp. His bullet whizzes just by me. Mine breaks two teeth and one brainstem.

     Six’s five fingers wrench around my ankle and pull me crashing down to the machine, then to the mirror-strewn cement. Breath abandons me. The back of every body part bleeds. Six kicks the gun from my hand, not caring if I fired six bullets, or just five.

     Forgoing the insults or taunts, he trains his black kill machine on my face as I push a shard of my divine lady’s cadaver through the back of his thigh. Distracted bullets pockmark the floor near my head, splitting some mirror pieces into even smaller ones. Blood douses his jeans.

     Six leans down, fondling the loose meat of his right leg. His relentless grip on the gun forbids my capturing it, so another sliver of goddess severs his jugular, ruining his entire wardrobe.

     I rise to depart, my footsteps quickening as his heartbeat lags. My savior will watch over them until back-up can be summoned. The rim of the exit door burns bright against the dim interior. A welcome promise of exodus from this boneyard of dispatched hellions.

     A flash, and the world grows darker; even the rim fades. I spin around collapsing, catching a glimpse of a smoking gun, a yellow half smile, and a disassembled knee cap before the blackness encapsulates us all.

© 2009 Derek Cockey

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