Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

my ears like a pair of cupped hands. I lost my balance and fell backward. I heard a whizzing sound, like a zipper pulled up fast, and felt a small current of heat move by me. I felt a tug at the collar of my jacket, like it was caught on something. The bullet had missed my neck by less than an inch.
    As I fell backward I kept the shotgun level, and when my back hit the ground I ignored the jolt that rang through me and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked hard and instantly the smell gunpowder was in my nose. But my aim was too high. The man ducked out of reflex but was still standing, the gun still held in his outstretched arm. Before he could regain his aim I pumped the slide fast and squeezed the trigger, this time taking aim. The gun kicked hard against my ribs and the man on the top of the bank folded and fell dead.
    I scurried up to him and took the gun from his hand. I sensed confusion from the Firebird. I was about to climb back down for cover when I saw the man’s face.
    I stopped and my mouth dropped open. I didn’t want to believe it. I looked closer to make sure but there was no mistake. It was the man with the limp. I remembered the last thing he had said to me. His words rang in my ears.
    I slid to the bottom of the bank, stood, then checked the gun. Its clip was empty. I returned the clip to the weapon and flung it with an overhand though as far out into the bay as I could. The water swallowed it with a thump.
    I pumped a new shell into the chamber, then pulled the body down to the bottom of the bank. I knelt by it and looked up at the bank, waiting for more. None came.
    I removed as fast as I could the dead man’s coat. It was a Navy surplus pea coat. Every few seconds I would look to the top of the bank, waiting for someone else to show. Once his jacket was off, I removed mine and made my way into his.
    I heard voices then, none that I recognized, calling from the Firebird.
    “Len. Len. Len. You there?”
    I took the shotgun by the grip and rested it over my shoulder like a victorious hunter with his trophy. I climbed up over the bank and limped as fast as I could toward the Firebird. My only real fear then was that Augie would shoot me. But he didn’t fire a shot. I don’t know if he recognized me or was under cover and hadn’t seen me or what. All was quiet except for the wind and the lapping of the waves against the shore. I kept my head down to hide my face and held the trophy up for them all to see. With each step I got closer to the Firebird, closer to them.
    It was when I was five feet from them that my worries came alive in my stomach. I knew these men were looking at me. One was even telling me to hurry, calling Len’s name. Theirs were, I thought then, the voices of ordinary men; there was no quality of evil to them, nothing sinister or monstrous.
    But they were killers, just like the man with a limp was, and I was wearing his coat and walking straight into their fold.
    The minute I reached the front fender I lifted my head. I saw two men and two handguns but no faces. I stepped forward and lowered the shotgun and pressed it to the chest of the nearest man. He looked more surprised at my face than he did at the barrel pushing into his chest. I held the gun with one hand and pulled the trigger. The man crumbled. The shotgun kicked upward and I caught it in my left hand and pumped the slide, then aimed at the other man. He was raising his pistol with the same look of surprise. I pulled the trigger and the gun kicked and the deer slug crushed his chest.
    I pumped a new round into the chamber and made a sweep of the area. There was no one else there.
    I stood and raised my voice to call out to Augie, but another sound, the shrieking of a girl, filled the night. It sounded too familiar. I looked over the roof of the Firebird and saw that Augie was out of his ditch and standing by the opening to the path. That was why he hadn’t fired at me, I realized. He wasn’t even in the ditch when I made my walk to the Firebird. I heard male voices speaking but could not hear a word of what was being said. I looked into the woods to my right, searching out a route that might bring me around to the path so I could come up behind the man Augie was talking to. But before I could make out any real option I heard Augie’s voice calling my name. It filled the clearing.
    “Mac. Mac, come out. Come out.”
    I waited for a few seconds, then stepped out from behind the cover of the Firebird.
    “Come