Brightside, Mark Tullius [philippa perry book .TXT] 📗

But the guy’s not budging, and Sharon looks up at us. I can barely hear her saying, “Fucking move!”

Come on, we have to go, Danny. Can you do this?

Danny nods and gets down on his knees. He grips the rungs. Little by little he crawls backwards, down over the edge.

Sara is telling him to be careful. He’s almost vertical when he just stops. Sara’s eyes pop.

What’s wrong? she asks.

Danny must think since he’s outside now, hanging off the edge, that he can talk as loud as he wants. “I found your gun, Joe!”

Danny, be quiet.

Danny’s face turns red. I silently ask him where it is and Danny’s head jerks towards my left. I fear he’s going to fling himself right off the ladder.

But there it is, up against the rock wall of the tunnel.

American metal. Dad’s gift.

I walk over and pick it up.

The Boots are getting closer. We all hear it.

Danny, you have to hurry, Sara thinks. But be careful!

Danny keeps climbing down and I tell Becky to go next. I don’t know why I think she’s going to have a problem with this after she jumped out her window, but it’s a short fear. She drops to her knees and descends like she’s been living in a circus. She even has to slow down to keep from stepping on Danny’s head.

Sara and I lean over and watch them like two proud, nervous parents. But reality comes screeching back when I see the flashlights.

Sara, you need to go. Now!

Sara struggles more than Danny or Becky, but soon she’s over the edge. I’ve got the shotgun aimed down the tunnel. I give a quick look back over my shoulder and see Sara staring up.

Joe, come on!

I’ll catch up. Don’t worry. Keep going.

My finger’s tight against the trigger, and it feels good. It’s not just a gun anymore. It’s our savior and protector, and it’s going to make sure Sara, Danny, and Becky make it to the truck.

I hardly know Becky, but I’m glad she made it. I only wish I could’ve brought more. It feels wrong to leave so many behind, but there’s nothing I can do.

I slide over to the rock wall and lean against it, try to stay out of the moonlight. I don’t want the Boots to see me and duck back, turning this into some prolonged gunfight. I’m too tired and sore, and I don’t have enough ammo.

Two hundred feet down, that’s all that stands between me and home, wherever that might be.

The Boots are arguing with each other. They’re telling one to shut up. They must see the ladder, because they’ve stopped moving. The flashlight clicks off. I was hoping they’d keep it on to let me know where to shoot, but it probably would’ve blinded me.

One eye closed. Shoulders relaxed. Barrel up.

The Boots are trying to tread lightly, just like I told Becky, but those hard heels can’t be silenced.

I clear out my thoughts, focus on the sounds. There’s at least three, maybe four. I assumed there’d be a lot more, but I bet half of them took the other path when the tunnel split. I just wish I could tell if they are walking single file or side by side.

My hand slips into my pocket. I’ve got four more shells. The only problem is there isn’t any cover, so the first round can’t miss.

Inhale slowly. Exhale slowly. Inhale and...hold.

The first Boot comes out. He’s not even looking at me, just marveling at the stars. I wait an extra second to see if another one is going to follow. Sure enough, one Boot does. They’re standing so close I’ll hit them both even if I only aim at one.

I crack off the shot and the kickback slams me into the wall. It fucking kills. I should’ve given myself space, but at least both Boots are on the ground. One’s dead, and the other’s well on his way. I click open the barrel and load two more shells when a bullet rips into the rock by my head. Little jagged shards cut into my neck. My eyes are closed when I start to take aim at the third Boot, but they’re wide open by the time I get the gun parallel to the ground. The next shot tears right through his neck. It looks like his whole head might come clean off, but it stays intact as he falls onto his dead partners.

I load another round and try to be as quiet as possible. I don’t hear any more bootsteps. I don’t hear breathing or even someone cocking the hammer. It’s just silent.

I take a quick look back over the edge, see everyone waiting inside the truck. I know they aren’t going to wait much longer so I get down on my knees and crawl towards the ladder. I keep the shotgun aimed for another twenty seconds or so, just in case the last Boot has more patience than the others.

But there’s not a sound. I need to go.

I slide the shotgun down my back, inside my coat, and I use one hand to shove it in the back of my pants and into the crack of my ass. The rungs are cold on my fingers. I start to back up. The rungs are getting slippery, but I know it’s just my sweat. My heart is thumping in my chest. I realize that in the last hour I’ve stood on a high rooftop and jumped out a window, but there’s just something about facing the fall backwards that throws my guts up towards my throat. I keep telling myself just don’t look down.

My ankle throbs, but I keep moving. I’m almost halfway down when the rock next to my face explodes, spraying bits into my eyes and mouth.

Another bullet. But not from above. It came from somewhere off to the left in the distance. My cheeks and eyelids feel like I just dove into a pool of needles. I grip the rung with my right hand, while my left wipes away the little shards in the corner of my eye.

I hear Sara and Danny screaming from below, but I still can’t look down. I turn left and see this twenty-something Ranger posted up on the hill, the muzzle of his rifle aimed right at me. Palmer, the dickhead Boot, gets out of his car, stands beside him, hands behind his back like he’s watching a tennis match.

Melvin fires his revolver, which has no chance of doing anything except add to the noise, because he’s too far away.

Danny screams for me to hurry and I’m trying, but my ankle keeps giving out and I can only come down with my right foot. I’m halfway down. A hundred feet from the ground.

The next crack of the rifle is almost as loud as the crunching sound the bullet makes as it blasts through my clavicle. My left hand just flies off the rung so now I’m holding on with only my right. I finally look down.

Fuck me...

I force myself to look up, which isn’t any better. The Ranger takes aim, the barrel of that rifle pointed right at my skull. If I don’t move, I won’t even hear the crack. My brains and blood will just rain down on Sharon’s chosen few.

I try to swing my left arm up to a rung to give me some stability, but all I feel is red-hot pain searing through my shoulder. I can’t even squeeze a fist.

Palmer smiles and cocks his finger at me. The Ranger fires off a shot and I curl my body back under the ladder. The bullet zips by my neck as I slam into the rock. The ladder is all twisted now and I try to flip it back before the Ranger reloads, but my right hand slips. I don’t know how many rungs I try to grab on the way down before I finally get one, my legs wrapping around the ladder. Everything’s tangled and the shotgun falls and cracks against the rocks below. I force myself to look. Need to know exactly how far I have to fall. It’s at least another fifty feet. I have to drop if he fires again, even if I shatter my legs.

I look out and see the Ranger and Palmer enjoying themselves. But I’m enjoying something, too. Melvin has moved into position.

They don’t see him. The Ranger reloads. Palmer gives him the signal. I see my left leg is over the rung, meaning even if I let go, I’m just going to flip upside down. I try to pull out my leg, but it’s impossible with only one hand. My left is just hanging at my side.

Another shot fired. Then another.

I squeeze my eyes, wait for death, but it never comes. I finally peek and see Palmer and his Ranger both slumped over, both dead.

Sheriff Melvin is making his way back towards the truck.

My right hand is starting to lose its grip, but my left leg is still over the rung. I pull up with everything I’ve got and jerk my leg up and free myself. I take a second to catch my breath. It’s just fifty feet. I can do this. It’s slow and painful, but I’m coming down rung by rung. Only twenty feet to go.

I take a small break, look out at Danny and Sara, expecting to see smiles or them running towards me, but everyone is just staring up. It’s not good.

Six Boots all poised at the edge of the mineshaft. Each one armed and pointing at a different target. Sheriff Melvin is running, but he’s still too far away.

I just start to laugh. Why I thought the worst was over, I haven’t a clue.

“Fucking do it!” I yell. “Just fucking shoot me!”

Then comes a low rumble. A stampede of a hundred feet mixed with wild howls. It just keeps getting louder and louder until the entire night is filled with this primal roar.

The Boots come flying off the ledge. Arms and legs flail against the laws of nature. They pass me one by one, each smacking like slabs of meat on the rocks below.

I look out at Danny and Sara. I’ve never seen them so happy. Then the ladder starts to shake and I look up, see a pair of feet coming down. I lean out and see more feet following.

Brightsiders climbing down from hell above.

I have no choice but to get moving. I drop two rungs at a time, knowing if I don’t I’m going to get kicked off because they’re all coming. I drop the last few feet and rip more tendons in my ankle, but Danny and Sara are there to help me to the truck. Sharon’s yelling at the driver to go, but he gets out and runs over to us.

I finally see his face, and I can’t decide whether to hug him or punch him. He smiles and thinks, We’ll have time for both, Joe.

Dad tells Danny to grab my legs. “Come on, we have to get him in.” They fling me into the back of the truck, crammed in with the others.

Brightsiders run for