Last Words
Matthew Ryan Fischer
It was anti-climactic. He could feel the blood pulsing from his
body. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t need to. It was seeping through his
shirt, trickling down his side. He was sure the shirt was stained dark, pants
probably too. Each breath was shorter and harder than the previous. Soon, one
would be his last.
The kid was nearby. The kid was the best tracker he had ever met.
The kid would find him. It didn’t matter. It would be too late. He hated to do
this to him. No one should find a dead body. What an awful thing to see and
have to remember. If he had the strength, he would call to the kid and tell him
to stay away.
He opened his mouth, but no words game, just a gurgling sob. He
didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t want to die at all. A tear ran down his
cheek. He didn’t want to put this on anyone, especially not the kid.
The kid, not a son, but like a son, had been a good partner. The
kid would make it. He would get through this and become a true fighter someday.
God have mercy on anyone who got in his way. But that would be years from now
and the way things were now, it hadn’t been enough tonight.
They had tracked Dom to the warehouse, but shots were fired and
things got messy and they were separated in the fight. It was a lost cause, but
they had tried their best. Best being subjective and, in this case, not enough.
Dom was somewhere lost in the wind. If he focused, he could catch a whiff.
Getting further and further away. The smell, dissipating with every second.
Soon it would be gone. The kid, as good as he was, wouldn’t catch the scent at
this distance.
Maybe someday Dom would catch justice. Maybe someday the kid would
give it to him.
He could hear the rustling sounds of an approach. The kid was a good
tracker, but he wasn’t subtle. Someday he would learn to make less noise.
“It’s okay… it’s okay… don’t worry about me…”
Was he saying it out loud? He couldn’t tell. No one responded.
“You did good, kid… You did good…”
The kid didn’t say a word.
A shadow fell. He struggled to turn his head an inch.
The shadow raised its arm.
It wasn’t the kid.
A shot rang out.
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