Chapter 66 Deadly Decision
Any doubt that Legacy had vanished. This was Blade, he’d recognize the lifeless, dispossessed voice whispered in the confines of a shell or amplified in an open-air stadium. It was less a voice and more a signal of something sinister rushing to fill the air. It flowed into his ear like a complex code, layer upon layer of information that needed to be decoded and deciphered. There was nothing simple about Blade or his words, especially when his message was simple.
He had chosen to open with a threat; he’d chosen to speak first. Blade was giving away something – Legacy racked his brain in an effort to figure out what it was.
The still undercurrent of an unfinished conversation gave Legacy the chance to approach into no-man’s land. He saw Blade’s face for the first time. A lean, haunting face so devoid of life that Legacy imagined that Blade could sit on the slab in the morgue and undergo every observation of the coroner until the first cut, and only then would the barest flinch betray that he was alive, if even that did. The deep sunken sockets from which his eyes, wide and probing, traced Legacy’s progress seemed almost welcoming.
“That’s far enough.” His gun was raised to take aim, but just as the barrel targeted, it squirted free of his hands, the result of a decisive kick by his hostage. It lay yards in front of him and suddenly he was helpless.
Legacy stopped. He said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Blade held up a thin chain, the kind that might be used for a dog leash or a bike lock in a trusting small town. It was wrapped around Wagner’s neck one and a half times. The result was a semi-slip knot that had enough friction to bite into the flesh, enough give that a single tug, like a rope tug on a chainsaw, would separate the two living centers of the body, physical and mental, into two dead halves. This could be done with a single flex, faster than Legacy could possibly move to aim and shoot. There really was nothing to say and nothing to do, so Legacy stood still and let the silence slip between them.
Then something came from Blade that Legacy would have never expected. It wasn’t the words but the urgency that betrayed their purpose, and there was something very familiar about the way he spoke.
“You’re the one.” Blade’s voice raised into a hearty chuckle, then abruptly it died and Blade scolded Legacy congenially, like an old friend, “You fucked this one up good. You should have left me alone.”
“Call it a character flaw.” Legacy said.
“Lots of people dead because of you.”
Something tripped in Legacy’s mind. He knew Blade didn’t care at all about body count. He realized that Blade had been dancing around the topic, holding the chain, speaking of death all in an effort to find the value of his hostage. He’d been waiting for some bargain to be struck so that he’d know how much, personally, that a snap of his wrist would cost the person he was negotiating with. He’d showed his hand by talking about the body count; there was no way that Blade shared remorse for any of his actions, and he actually wanted to see how it impacted Legacy. It wasn’t much, but Legacy knew he might be able to use it.
Blade continued, “Put down the gun or your partner gets it.”
For a moment everything went dark, there was no way he could have known Wagner was his partner, but there it was. He remembered the gun in his hand to his side. It seemed as useless as if it dangled from a lifeless appendage. There was no way to raise it in time. He loosened his grip to let it dangle on one finger. His feet carried him even closer toward the sled, plodding forward like in a dream.
Blade smiled, then twitched and the unconscious motion let a little bit of saliva leak from the corner of his mouth. His tongue smacked around the outer rim of his lips and caught the escaping liquid.
He tugged lightly on the chain and breath caught in Wagner’s throat. Finding a struggling equilibrium, Blade found the exact amount of tension that made Wagner’s breathing sound labored and desperate. The wheeze finally halted Legacy less than ten paces away.
Legacy still didn’t look at Wagner, he knew what he’d see and he didn’t know if after, he’d be able to do what he had to do. “Where’s the director’s daughter?” Legacy opened simply.
Blade bristled with savage pride, he pointed to his temple with his finger and pulled an imaginary trigger. “She couldn’t live with herself.”
“There was only one reason why I wasn’t pointing this weapon at your head –” he said re-seating the butt of his gun into his palm and slowly pulling it toward his other hand to aim.
“What about her?” He tugged the chain attached to Wagner.
“I’ll read her her rights for aiding and abetting.”
“What the fuck are you talking about - this bitch is FBI.”
Flat and final, “If you say so.”
Blade stiffened, and when he spoke next, he had changed his tone. “Laura’s not dead. Yet.”
Legacy heard the sharp turn of the conversation and allowed a moment of optimism. If he could keep his attention off of Wagner, if her life could remain trivial during this crucial stage of negotiation, it might be irrelevant enough to leave it intact. All he said in return was “That seems unlikely.”
Blade slapped the metallic side of the sled, and the clang rang out loud and sustained for longer than either man would have guessed. Blade’s words were almost drowned out by the noise. “I’ve had a hundred guns waved in my face, but I’ve never felt like the bastard would pull the trigger – with you, I have no idea. It’s –” he searched for the word, finding the one furthest from Legacy’s mind “fuckin‘ refreshing.”
Legacy knew he’d been bluffing all along, trying to sort out how valuable his hostage was. It was the pause after he’d announced that she was his partner that gave it away. Blade wanted a reaction. No, he needed a reaction. He wouldn’t have given away his insight for free if he had been certain of it.
Legacy could see in his eyes, the windows to bright streams forming calculations that typically are carried on the warm impulses of the average human, except that they functioned so much better beside the cold circuitry that coursed through Blade’s body. Legacy peered behind the sockets of Blade’s eyes and saw only a reflection of human evaluation, although Blade’s brutality tinted the image with an animal perspective. Not a nice or curious animal like a otter nor with a single instinct like the piranha, or even consciously evil like a rat feeding off of the carrion of its own like flesh. Legacy saw and categorized the evil burning within his adversary. It was the evil of purpose. Blade did things because he could. He was the gale force wind that whipped into a tornado whenever he was near trailer parks and needy neighborhoods, but calmed when confronted by authority and left the brick bank building standing.
Legacy had won the opening move, and he sensed that Blade knew this as well. He had to be careful in the next moments not to give him any opening for payback.
“Make no mistake, I’d like to soak you in your own blood, but I have orders.”
“Afraid you might never find the body?”
“Her body is not worth your life. Think of that before you speak again.”
“This life must be worth something to you, innocent life, agent of the United-fucking-States.”
Legacy made a mistake by glancing down at Wagner, he realized it the moment his eyes touched her face. There was so much life left, so much potential – and even now it didn’t seem possible that any of it would be reached. Both men knew that she could be dead with a single thought; it would only be a conscious act of mercy or preservation – “no” Legacy thought, there was one other option. One way to keep her face, swollen from the strain of the blood being pumped through the trunk arteries into her head while the release veins were unable to carry the same volume back under the pressure ringing her neck. She had about two minutes.
Wagner must have used a different analysis, because her face pleaded for an immediate release of pressure, death was on her lips waiting to be pulled in with the next intake of bre
ath, as far as she knew. Legacy could see it and although he had full control of his pity reflex, fear was something else. He learned it abruptly in the most disturbing way. In between heartbeats, as he glanced at Wagner, her face became that of his daughter, Chess. It was like the introduction of a single image in a continuous feed, and the shock went through his body. He froze in the moment and there was nothing he could do to bring himself back to the reality of the situation. Blade hadn’t noticed in the dim light and with Legacy always presenting a front as flat and smooth as a pane of glass, there was little change from expressionless to frozen. But Legacy also knew that frozen oozed fear, and that fear was a mainstay of Blade’s cravings, he couldn’t leave it on the table long unrecognized.
He heard Blade’s voice before his eyes focused on what had actually happened. “Stupid bitch.”
Wagner had lurched upward, the only direction she could go and not increase the pressure. It appeared senseless, Blade standing behind her. Her neck sprung upward like a jack in the box, except that it traveled along the path of a pendulum, always the same distance from Blade’s hands. Both men were shocked, and it seemed like it was the last of the strength that Wagner had. She slumped forward, and the wheezing sound stopped.
Blade still held the chain, the weight of Wagner’s body tugged against it.
“I’ll drop this when you drop your gun, you might be able to bring the young thing back.”
Legacy paused, he wanted to throw the gun to the ground immediately, but he knew any sense of urgency would give Blade the upper hand. “Tell me where Laura is first.”
Every second was a fresh metronomic pound within his mind. There were only so many pulses that could be ignored before the body forgot which way the currents flowed. His own temple throbbed waiting for Blade’s response, which was slow coming.
“Still with Laura, you’re like a dog. I’ll leave a map a mile up the trail. You might be able to save everyone. Be a fuckin’ hero, agent. All you have to do is drop the gun.” Legacy tensed. Blade must have thought he needed the extra coaxing, and he added. “Do it and it’s over, then we’re even.”
Legacy had heard the cadence before, different words, but the exact same illocutionary force. His eyes widened as he realized that this conflict wasn’t even close to over, the matter wasn’t close to over. Until that realization he’d been willing to examine several options; now there was only one.
Thirty years ago, Legacy had been interrogating an Indonesian boy of sixteen continuously each hour, matching up with a year of the youth’s life. He’d been the messenger, the courier of explosives that were meant for an army installment on the western tip of Bali. Legacy had discovered that he was actually the mastermind of the rebel group. He’d trapped this youth who was so confident in his own intellect that he doubted the very existence of anyone smarter than he was. Until he sat across from Legacy. The interrogation had started like so many others had, but somewhere, the questions seemed to flow organically and uninterrupted by thought from Legacy’s mouth. He had all of the names of the other conspirators and he placed treason onto each of them until the boy believed that he was the last one in the empire that he had built. He gave up everything piece by piece, not realizing it until the very end, still confident that his own mind hadn’t given up anything important until the information formed in front of him as a summation in the words of the American interrogator.
Confronted by the loss of everything, and only upon the realization that he’d told Legacy everything, only then was his manner contrite: his words came out carefully, almost clinically, “Release me and I’ll never bother you again.”
Legacy remembered his blood turning to ice. The boy was not lying – it was pure truth. He had placed himself at the center of the morality compass and labeled himself good, which Legacy recognized was the closest thing to pure evil a man can do. Everything about the delivery seemed genuine, his face a fixed mask. But the likeness didn’t fit the part of his voice that was attached to, and it made Legacy shudder. The hatred that burned deep inside that child wouldn’t rest until it flamed up and engulfed him, his family, his friends, his people. Revenge would be the boy’s life until Legacy was extinguished; Legacy could tell that. At least, he believed he could, because it made him feel better about the fact that he recommended a swift, clean military scrub, off the books. Legacy even accompanied the escort that walked the boy out into the fields under a satin black moonless sky.
Two shots from a service-issued side arm and a lifeless body fell to the ground. The boy hadn’t said anything, but just before the bullets had entered him, he laughed like the punch line that was about to come somehow amused him.
Legacy hadn’t said anything in reply to Blade’s “deal.” As far as Legacy was concerned, it was a promise of future destruction that included everything in his life. Blade was just like the Indonesian teen. He would never give up on turning the tables. Legacy suddenly felt scared. Saving Wagner meant losing a grip on someone who would not rest until he had revenge. That wasn’t where the fear arose, however. It was the thought that his frustration would include the destruction of anything that he loved. Blade would certainly come after his family first. And he’d have resources.
Legacy’s hand twitched reminding him that his aim had been held too long – how long had he drifted off into his own thoughts, a minute or more? Blade looked content to dangle Wagner’s life in front of him until his offer expired.
He could tell from Blade’s expression that it was only seconds that had slipped passed since the entreaty. There was no urgency creeping into the sunken cloudy whites of Blade’s eyes.
Legacy could think of no alternative other than raising his pistol and shooting Blade. He couldn’t have this standoff repeated with Chess dangling from Blade’s chain and it thundered in his mind that this ugly creature in front of him would not rest until that very reprise.
He turned on the laser sight and a red bead traveled across the space between the men until it rested at Blade’s feet, then suddenly Legacy dropped his weapon. He said in the most direct command tone he had ever produced.
“Now drop her.” The play-acted contrition would take a second to dissipate and in that window he might get Blade’s will to acquiesce to his own. It was only a theory when Legacy shouted, but it became surprised reality when Blade suddenly dropped the chain and sent Wagner falling to the ground.
What happened next Legacy should have expected.
Blade looked behind him where Wagner had knocked his pistol into the brush then, finding the metal gleam in his headlights, dove toward it. Legacy retrieved his gun only to find that Blade was out of sight, and armed. He took off at a sprint reaching Wagner’s body in time to flip the sled onto its side and deflect three of the four bullets that rained from the darkness. The other bullet hit just below the rim of the metal sled and ended up in Legacy’s left shoulder. The Kevlar stopped it from piercing the skin, but the joint felt like it had been ripped open along a very narrow seam. Legacy had felt many kinds of pain before in his life. There was the dry sustained pain of torture, the white-hot pain of a bullet vaporizing blood on its way through the body, the needles around a broken bone fixed in the field that needs to be traveled upon. This was new. It was local to the point of feeling like a surgical procedure had just been completed on the exact area of the ball socket of his shoulder. It was a metal sliver in his flesh that had serrated edges.
Legacy switched his weapon to his good arm and swung it across the dark entry into the forest. Every third heartbeat, he took his eyes off dark brush and pressed his lips to Wagner’s, forcing air into her lungs. He could tell from the level of resistance that the windpipe had been damaged but not entirely broken and after a few breaths, Wagner spit back air in a raspy gulp. She was alive, but that was where the good news ended.
The sound of a motorcycle engine being gunned drew Legacy’s attention, but there was no clear target to draw his fire. A cloud of dirt covered the tailligh
t and there was nothing to aim at except the grumble of the engine and perhaps the seam that separates silhouette from the black backdrop of night. It would be like firing at a fleeing shadow, and Legacy actually questioned if a bullet would meet any resistance if it bisected him in his current state. He couldn’t take the risk of wounding him anyway. This was a demon that had to die tonight, and he had to be there when it happened or he’d be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life.
He tugged at Wagner’s shoulders and pulled her backward through the door of the bar.
“Legacy? Where –” her breath entered her lungs like a leaky pipe in reverse, great labor went into every syllable “I thought I was dead.”
“You were.” He said leaning in close, it might have been his mouth or maybe just his breath brushed her ear. Wagner looked up at him, the surface of her eyes smooth as glass, a question within pushed past Legacy’s determination without a sound. He decided that there was no quick way to answer her gaze, and instead pretended to misunderstand - it was one of the most awkward moments of Legacy’s life. In his mind he converted the sentiment into an emotion that he could process; he came up with concern, Wager was concerned about her well-being. Legacy looked up and found Burly only a few feet away. “Take care of this one, keep her head at an angle, body prone – tell the next paramedic not to trach her unless she turns blue.” He tilted his head back toward Wagner. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your looks.”
He started to pull away, but a sudden burst of strength and Wagner held his forearm. Legacy was surprised to see that she had tears in her eyes. “You told him I was nothing-”
“If he thought you had any personal value – I” Legacy thought for a moment, he actually believed that Blade would have killed her no matter what he was able to convince him of – he didn’t know how to explain to her that most of what he did was merely stalling. Then, suddenly he knew exactly what to say. “I’m glad you killed yourself, made the negotiation much easier.”
“You know how to give a girl a compliment.”
He felt the smile even though he’d turned away, heading to the door. There was nothing about a person’s voice escaped him, especially the shape of the mouth of a person speaking. Legacy was certain that it was a smile.
Legacy dislodged the chain that held the sled to the second motorcycle. The body of the bike was still warm as he straddled it and kicked the engine back into action like it had never stopped. Legacy had seen the damage on Blade’s motorcycle, and he knew that the trail would amplify any mechanical defects. Blade would have to be careful to get out of this mountain valley alive. Legacy had none of the worries that Blade did, only the commitment to kill or die. It was like the old days.
The noise of the chopper engine, something that must have been a point of pride approaching any of his biker hangouts, was now a serious detriment to Blade’s stealth. Legacy heard it as a hum that even the intervening foliage couldn’t mask at over a mile off. Every quarter mile, Legacy cut his own engine and coasted the lumbering wheels, struts squeaking, as he listened for the far off grumble. It was getting closer each time he checked.
The road, cut deep with ruts, pitted by indentations of the granite geological migration, had been treacherous in the car and Legacy’s presumption that a bike handled the path faster had been true. However, the idea that it was less dangerous had been tested several times since leaving the bar and Legacy had come to realize that a single gash misjudged would land him face first in a stand of trees. His back wheel kicked out by an unexpected stomach-sized rut, and his forearm had brushed one of the corners. The blunt end had hidden a razor sharp point. It had opened up his protective vest like a zipper, stopping just short of his wrist and cutting just deep enough for a breeze to come through to his skin.
It would be embarrassing to die chasing someone, Legacy thought, although he wasn’t quite certain why. He preferred dying, however, to letting Blade get away. Legacy knew that the snare on his arm was nothing compared to the torture of his heart worrying each day that Chess would be used to exact revenge upon the man who disrupted the perfect business. Blade really ought to have turned the blame onto himself for allowing the vapor trail that led back to him out onto the cold mountain air. He would bring that up next time he saw him.
Legacy pressed his ride faster and faster. They were nearing the river, and natural foot trails must traverse the banks from one side or the other somewhere near the road. He cut the engine expecting to hear the engine noise growing, but the burble of water was the only sound.
Blade was out there, hovering in the air. He wasn’t running, so he had to be attacking. Legacy laid down his bike, and immediately heard a spitting sound as two rounds cut the air inches above his hairline. Legacy rolled, finding the cover of the trees bruising as he came to an abrupt halt. The sapling tree behind him shook with a surprised tremor like it was expecting Legacy’s back to bend rather than have the force carry into its leaves. Blade knew exactly where he was, that was good Legacy thought, disoriented, the world still spinning. Legacy didn’t need his senses under control to act. It was one of the things that had kept him alive on several missions behind unfriendly borders. A weapon was in his hand. A single bullet fired, seeking out a target he hadn’t even recalled choosing, and the gas tank of his target’s motorcycle erupted in flames.
A cry of fury down the trail was reward. Of course, Legacy thought finding his feet, Blade had wanted to replace his defective wheels, gain the advantage of unhindered flight while choking off his singular pursuer. His hand must have known the motivation. He’d thank his finger later, now he had to be far away from this place. He flung a rock across the road knocking at a tree on the far side. He took a deep breath then set off low and fast along the exact same path as the rock had flown, not two seconds previous.
It was a field maneuver that called for following an obvious decoy, but it only worked when getting a position on a target that valued reasoning over perception, and those targets were far and few between. Legacy had used it only a couple of times and neither time ended up dead – ending up dead, his field instructor had often said, was proof that the tactics were wrong.
Blade would know that there was no way that Legacy had gotten across that road quickly enough to make the careless noise of a rock striking a tree. He’d also think that the lit up road would be impossible to cross without detection. And as Legacy’s legs burned from his crouched sprint, legs bent at acute angles throughout each power stroke that propelled his body skimming across the road at half his normal height, he felt the firelight flash on his face, flames still shooting into the air just above the lowest boughs of the trees. Legacy felt so exposed in the darkness that it was hard to fathom that Blade was not taking a bead on him like a target in a shooting range, leading him slightly and pulling the trigger. But Legacy considered unlikely that Blade had even caught a glimpse of him unless he was staring directly at the point of entrance or exit to the road. The fire was acting like a natural floodlight on the dark landscape amplifying any shadow passing in front of it while engulfing everything directly behind the flare.
Legacy half expected that Blade might have the kind of vision that the beast from the movie “Predator” had. Chess had made him watch the movie to ask if Special Forces was really like that. He remembered his answer, “Yes, exactly, right down to the tactics he’d used to fight his last alien.”
Five steps from the safety of the brush, on the other side of the road, was the area of greatest danger. If the predator had been tracking Legacy, this was where the proof would come. Legacy dreaded that the last thoughts of his hyper-perceptive cranium would be focused on the idea that he couldn’t believe that the muscle-bound man he’d seen murder every principle of wet work was now the governor of the largest economy in the union. He slid, without a sound, into the bristle and undergrowth of the wooded fringe. Eyes closed, he held his weapon ready to return fire by gauging the sound of the report of Blade’s weapon. But there was no sou
nd other than the crackling metallic blaze in the roadway. Legacy swung his head, no longer concentrating on the last position that he’d known Blade to occupy, rather intent on the patch of ground on the other side of the road that the gunfire had come from only seconds before.
Legacy waited, he would have waited for dawn, but Blade’s confidence in killing strategy went against him that night. The fire had fallen, collapsed onto itself and darkness reclaimed the landscape. There was a black tide that lapped against the edges of every form and the periphery blended so much into the abyss that if a person was not looking directly at an object, he couldn’t really be sure it was there. It was the kind of landscape where death came out of nowhere and was so swift that the blackness beat the wave of pain and the last image a dying man had was the same as the one he had only a split second before. Blade had silently flanked Legacy’s last known position and stood with his chest pressed close to an old growth lodge pole pine.
It was the perfect place to attack; therefore it was under Legacy’s silent surveillance even before he saw the swift shadow of Blade add the slightest increase in darkness to the shadow the tree cast. It was as though light itself had a fear of his form, or perhaps he was simply faster than the eye believed.
Even looking directly at the tree, Legacy barely made out the agile approach. He was certain, however, that a bullet would track the shadow down.
Legacy had only a second before Blade realized that his target had fled and he was the one exposed. He put a shot through the meat of the tree about three feet from the roots. Spring, and the damp sap inside the tree might have slowed the bullet and kept it from breaking out the other side. In the dead of winter, it might have frozen the outer ring and directed the bullet harmlessly away, but the late fall was dry, brittle and offered less resistance to the composite metal round that Legacy’s pistol fired. Blade stumbled back, then shouted “Son of a –‘
He fumbled his weapon, sweeping the other side of the road, looking for a sign “Fuck – nobody does that to me.” He unloaded all nine rounds in his clip at all of the possible places of cover that he could see.
A tree root six inches from Legacy’s face split, the smell of acid smoke and earthy decay filled his nostrils. Across the road the crack of gunfire died out. Click, click, click came the sound of a pistol empty of rounds.
He leaned out from his hiding spot to see Blade spill into the roadway at a bullish stagger. He had the air of someone who wanted something desperately; perhaps it was simply to see the eyes of the man who killed him. His wound oozed a dark liquid that clung to his shirt and made it shine like an oil slick.
“I’m bleeding, I’ve been hit and I’m bleeding.” Blade said in a quiet astonished voice. “I need – I need – help me, for god’s sake, you fucking fed.”
He pointed a long accusing finger at the dark bank of trees. Then, as if he’d entered a bargain with the blackness in front of him, he eased the frantic grip of his other hand, which pressed into his wounded belly. He dropped his bloody pistol onto the road.
Legacy stepped forward enough so that his form lifted from the dark contrast of the tree trunks. From the road it must have looked like one of the trees had taken human form to stand at the edge of the road.
He had seen men at the edge of their own mortality change into submissive creatures, and although he hadn’t expected this quick of a transformation of Blade, even he could tell that the shot in his stomach left him only about thirty minutes of life, if left untreated.
Blade stared at him, blinking obsessively, pain glistening in the sweat beading up on his face and collecting in the craters where tears would never run. He slowly raised his hands. “You beat me twice, should have known you wouldn’t be easy.”
“Don’t take it so hard.”
Blade snorted, caught off guard. He stared hard at the officer of the law who’d so often surprised him, and his eyes narrowed. “Always knew the only man that could catch me would be a killer worse than me.”
“I’m not a killer.”
“So you don’t advertise” He said with a wry smile, “your secret’s safe with me. I have one too.” Blade smiled, he’d brought his hands behind his head and was linking his fingers behind his neck.
Legacy had his pistol trained on Blade’s chest, his eyes fixed in conversation somewhere behind Blade’s eyes. There was nothing on the face to indicate what was about to happen, and it was the ripple of his laser sight that actually caught Legacy’s attention. There was a flash of movement that started in the torso and spread, conscripting Blade’s hands into sudden motion, chopping downward with great speed.
It could have been like a some kind of harmless ritual dance, which Legacy thought no doubt there were many performed under the silver moon at one time in this part of the country. The spirit of one of those dancers could have been taking a stroll through the countryside when he’d come upon Blade’s dying body and decided to inhabit it for one last physical thrust before entering the ethereal plane.
It was nothing that poetic, flashes of metal left both of the hands released sharply just after passing Blade’s ear made their message much more deadly, but equally eternal to the argument of the spirit wanderer.
Legacy pushed off of the earth with his leg and he felt the first knife hit and imbed just above the knee joint. He jerked his head suddenly to the left like a man cracking his neck. He heard the other knife brushing by his right ear, feeling a glancing slash to the neck. Blood trickled down his shoulder blade. He was unbalanced and fell sideways onto the road. The concussion hit his ribs and made his next breath of cold air burn. That second one was aimed for my eye socket, Legacy thought, blinking and pulling his gun to sight on Blade.
Blade was deadly still, in fact if it weren’t for the inarguable fact that a piece of sharp metal was sticking from his left leg, Legacy might have believed that Blade had not moved at all. Blade stood there like a statue, arms outstretched like they were ready to carry in a load of wood.
“That’s the third time you’ve –”
Legacy raised his weapon and fired. The bullet entered the neck and cut off all further discussion. Blade’s next draw of breath was filled with blood, and it spat out instead of his next word. Anger swelled as color entered Blade’s cheeks for the last time. He began flailing his arms about, casting symbols and sign with them for a moment, like the positions meant something.
He dropped forward onto his knees and the blood followed the gravitational pull, pouring out of his neck. He caught a breath, not daring to look up again on the chance that he’d lose this last opportunity to speak. He spoke to the dirt inches in front of his nose.
“I was born to kill: either other people or myself.”
Legacy walked up pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of Blade’s head and bulled the trigger, twice. The shots rang out in the night. “You made the wrong choice.”
Legacy thought of how the execution would look in his final report, it brought a fleeting smile to his face.
Legacy rode back to the bar with the knife still stuck in his leg. With what Blade knew about killing, Legacy wouldn’t have been surprised that the removal would have led to a river of blood, and his quick passing.
He felt a wave of what his wife must have felt, knowing she was going to die, not knowing how the living would continue without her. It was the longest ride of his life.