The demonic choir is calling for blood.
“
Not really,
”
Chris says. His big hands are shaking. He can
’
t seem to match the numbers on the boxes to the artillery tags in front of him. None of the numbers line up.
“
Get those handguns there,
”
Devin points,
“
and hand me that box of shells.
”
He glances down into the glass case, dropping to a knee. The fireman
’
s head swivels back to the window as he empties a box of 12-gauge shells onto the ground. The rounds slide up into the dual-chamber with a click.
Devin cocks the weapon and stands in one smooth motion. He points the shotgun at the front door, but even the dead body is now gone. Pane after pane of tall glass stands temptingly across the long entry area.
Hundreds of wicked eyes stare back at them from just beyond the windows, plotting and planning in the dark.
“
Ever fired a gun?
”
Devin asks. His eyes are locked on the violence standing only feet away. Shadows around the downtown sporting goods store swell with brief shimmers of
orange
.
“
Sorry,
”
Chris says, his voice hardening.
“
Not every black man knows how to use a piece.
”
The 17-year-old snatches a lantern off a nearby shelf and slams it onto the gun counter. Its soft,
yellow
glow illuminates the girl sitting silently on the floor next to him.
Terra
’
s thin arms are wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes are lost under strands of darkness. The beautiful teenager looks tiny and frail behind the glass cage, as if her entire body could be swallowed up at any moment by the horrors that stalk them.
“
Jesus, mate! Is everything a bloody argument with you?
”
“
Only in certain company.
”
Chris
’
s eyes flash dangerously.
“
You and me are gonna chat about that later.
”
“
Looking forward to it, love,
”
Devin smiles. He points at the front windows.
“
Until then, I need you to put your little testament to manhood away and focus on what
’
s happening outside that glass.
”
Devin picks up one of the pistols on the counter and pops in a clip.
“
I presume I can trust you with this?
”
Chris clenches his jaw, wanting to tell the man just where he can stick that weapon. He forces a nod instead.
The fireman quickly cocks it, holding the weapon grip out.
“
Right, then. Guns are pretty simple. This is a Beretta, one of the first guns my father ever let me shoot. Safety
’
s on the side. Just flip it up, aim, and fire at what you want to bring down.
”
Chris takes the gun slowly. His eyes trace down the slick metal barrel and over the handle
’
s grain. The lantern
’
s dim light sparkles along its edges. Just holding the weapon is comforting somehow. His eyes narrow. Their deep brown flickers with a violent sense of empowerment. The feeling is strange. Invigorating. On the basketball court, he
’
s always been confident. But this is something else
—
i
nvincible almost. Chris smiles.
The teenager tests the gun
’
s dense weight before tucking it into the back of his jeans. He pulls his navy West Seattle High sweatshirt down to conceal it.
“
The rest of you should probably pack something more punchy, too,
”
Devin yells behind him. He glances around for the last two of their group.
“
Abd? Isabel?
”
Devin scans the dark store, his eyes growing worried at the silence.
“
You seen them?
”
Chris shakes his head.
“
Izz!
”
he booms.
“
Back here,
”
a soft voice reverberates from somewhere behind them.
“
Won
’
t get far on candy and Coke,
”
the pregnant flight attendant says. Isabel walks back up the aisles with a new purple Huskies bag bursting at the seams.
“
Healthy me. I went for the energy bars and sport drinks. There
’
s some water in here, too.
”
“
Nice,
”
Devin says.
“
Is Abd with you?
”
“
No, I thought he was with you guys.
”
Isabel glances around.
“
Abd?
”
she calls. Her eyes stop cold.
“
Devin,
”
she whispers. The breath hisses out of her.
A jagged red line stretches from the entryway into the store. Death
’
s color traces across shards of broken glass on the linoleum floor
,
and turns the corner past a metal aisle display fifteen feet in front of them.
“
Hold on,
”
Devin whispers. He cocks the shotgun and begins cautiously toward the metal
case
. His shoes crackle on fragments of glass scattered all along the ground. Ten feet. Five.
The fireman spins past the corner, his gun barrel raised.
Abd sits all alone in the deep shadows of another display rack. The rise and fall of his chest seem
s
more relaxed than normal.
“
Needing a breather, bloke?
”
Devin asks.
“
Or did you just decide to nod off on us?
”
He crouches down next to the abnormally quiet man, his charm trying to mask the concern.
Devin sees the Arab
’
s answer spreading across the tile floor.
“
Just resting. I was cold,
”
Abd mutters. His pitch-black eyes glimmer as he looks up into the face of the fireman.
“
But not anymore.
”
“
Let me see what we got here, alright?
”
Devin asks.
Abd looks down at the fireman
’
s hands on his shoulders. The traces of a smile spread across his face.
“
I
’
m not much for hugs.
”
“
No offense,
”
Devin winks,
“
but you
’
re not exactly my type either.
”
The fireman tips Abd
’
s chest gently toward him and glances down. The left side of the Arab
’
s aquamarine jersey is soaked completely through and dripping onto the floor.
“
Bloody hell, man. Why didn
’
t you say anything?
”
“
Would you have cared?
”
Abd asks. The truth on his paling face slams into Devin like a jackhammer.
The fireman
’
s eyes dart around the shelves closest to them, then back to Isabel.
“
Find some bandages or an athletic wrap to slow the bleeding.
”
“
Is he alright?
”
she asks.
“
Now, Izz!
”
There
’
s a solemnity in Devin
’
s green eyes that makes her heart drop. She rushes off without another word into the store.
“
Chris! Watch the door,
”
he yells.
“
You see anyone popping their little head in, you be sure to give them a pop right back.
”
The fireman kneels and puts his hand to the Arab
’
s damp back. It pulses ominously through his fingers as he tries to apply pressure. Abd
’
s eyes look different in the latern
’
s dim light. There
’
s an odd sparkle
at
the edges
—
a flickering of understanding just below their dark surface.
“
We
’
re gonna get you all patched up, mate.
”
“
I
’
m not a child, Devin.
”
Abd smiles at the man
’
s forced confidence.
“
I know what comes next.
”
The Arab looks up proudly into Devin
’
s face.
“
It
’
s okay. I
’
ve served my God
’
s purpose.
”
“
Your Allah
’
d be a might proud of you back there,
”
Devin smiles.
“
Not the brightest chap. But you
’
ve got some bollocks on you for sure.
”
Devin
’
s smile fades. The sparkle is dimming in Abd
’
s eyes.
“
Hurry, Isabel!
”
He hears the crash and scattering of her futility across the floor.
“
Be responsible for them,
”
Abd whispers. He takes Devin
’
s hand, gripping it tighter than the fireman ever thought he could. Abd
’
s blurred eyes focus on Devin
’
s. An intense love spreads throughout his body, warming him with a deep purity he
’
s never known before.
“
Saving life is not enough. You must protect it
…
”
The Arab
’
s eyes soften. A dark gray haze dances across, wrapping them in certainty and an unrelenting calm.
“
Protect it
……
.
”
Isabel runs up the aisle and drops to her knees. She rips into the packages of gauze and tape, thrusting them out to Devin.
Chris and Terra emerge with her from the store
’
s deep shadows.
T
hey watch on as Devin closes Abd
’
s eyes forever. His tan hands clutch one another in his lap. The Arab
’
s slumped body looks almost peaceful, praying eternally into the night.
Flickering orange beyond the glass storefront watches on
—
the evil waiting patiently within the darkness.
* * *
Devin paces through Warshal
’
s. His exuberant spirit feels like it
’
s been carved out of him with an ax. A brittle silence hangs on the air, the crushing weight of mortality and death threatening all still with a voice to test it. The absence of words is somehow fitting
,
as if speaking of those now lost would just bring more pain to a world that will never again be what it was.
The fireman grabs another pistol off the counter. He slides down the chamber and looks inside its sparkling coffin. The metal feels like ice in his hands. Devin rummages through the stacks of fatal components around him, mechanically shoving bullets between the clip rails and slamming them into the gun bases of anything he can find. Weapon after weapon he fills with their deadly cargo. They soon lay in precise rows along the streaked counter top.
Devin
’
s eyes close tight. Metal and glass shake in his grip.
A delicate hand finds his shoulder from behind.
“
It
’
ll be okay, Devin.
”
“
You sure about that?
”
Guilt continues to gnaw through him, feeding upon the tattered remnants of his hope.