Time to Live: Part Five Read Online Free

This wasn’t that pink-tinged stream that he’d come to expect after a night with the boys in the joint, the gift of pummeled kidneys; this was a dark crimson that turned the toilet water scarlet. So, being gut-shot wasn’t about unspeakable pain after all.
    It was about bleeding to death on the inside.
    In the distance, through the frosted open window, he could hear the sound of approaching sirens. Taking a long pull of air through his nose, he held it then let it go through pursed lips. So this was it. They were coming. Now was the time for all the tough choices.
    He had to get ready. Once the cops heard that this was a hostage situation, the first thing they’d do was call in a tactical unit. Out here in the boonies, that might mean just a couple of good old boys with shotguns, but the one constant to tactical units everywhere was a sniper with a long gun and the temperament to use it. Starting with what was closest, he shut the bathroom window and locked it. The frosted glass would obscure them enough to keep the shooter from getting a good view.
    Nicki called from the other room, her voice trembling. “Brad, I hear sirens!”
    He flushed the toilet and opened the door. “They’re faster than I had hoped,” he said. The next stop was the living room, where he pulled the draperies closed. “Listen to me,” he said to Nicki. “This is very important. Stay away from the windows. If they see you, they’re likely to shoot.”
    “Oh, my God,” she gasped.
    His belly hurt. He was feeling light-headed, too. The cops’ first steps when they got on the scene would be driven by whatever the kid had told him. If the responding officer came to the door, Brad would have no choice but to shoot. In his current condition, he couldn’t fend anyone off in a fight.
    He needed to stop the cops from leading off with the wrong move. His brain wasn’t working all that well right now, but in the seconds he had to plow through his available options, he came up with only one, and it righteously sucked.
    He limped to the phone and picked up the receiver.
    Then he dialed 911.
    * * *
    Carter cowered behind a tree, trying to make himself invisible. Where the hell was the shooter?
    “Show yourself,” a voice said from the woods. It was a young voice, and stress made it crack.
    Carter didn’t respond. The gun changed everything. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
    “I could shoot you now if I wanted you dead,” the voice said. “I can see you.”
    Carter’s skin crawled as if covered with ants. Laying on his belly in the saturated mulch of the forest floor, he was shivering.
    Two more shots shattered the afternoon and chips flew from his tree, just inches above his head.
    “The next ones will kill you,” the voice said. “Now, stand up where I can see you.”
    Carter’s mind raced. What were his options here? He could stand and be shot, or he could lie on his belly and be shot. He decided to go for the greater dignity and he raised himself to his knees. When he wasn’t shot down immediately, he thought that he might actually have a chance.
    “Okay,” Carter said to the forest. “Now it’s your turn.”
    “Put your hands where I can see them,” the kid said.
    Carter made a shrugging gesture. “They are where you can see them. I’m not armed.”
    “Put them up in the air, then.”
    Carter thought about that. It was time to piss on a new fire hydrant. Someone was going to be in control of this situation, and in a perfect world, that person was never the one with the gun. “No,” he said.
    “Excuse me?” The incredulity in his voice nearly made Carter laugh.
    “I said no,” Carter repeated. “Not until you show your self.”
    Some bushes rustled up ahead. Out stepped Jeremy Hines, a pistol clutched in both hands. It looked like a World War Two–vintage .45, with a muzzle the size of a manhole.
    “You can put that down,” Carter said. “I’m not armed. I’m not here to hurt you.”
    The boy looked