Flash Fiction: Hunting Range – Part 2 or 3

The action continues…with the second part of Hunting Range!

If you haven’t seen the first part, join in on the dystopia thriller by clicking here: PART 1

For everyone caught up, here’s part 2!

I don’t think about my destination, only about the line I walk. I keep moving from side to side with skittering, random steps; left and then right, a lurch every time I feel a bead being drawn on my back. The drunks responded to the call first, and you can tell from their aim. The shriek of projectiles are a background noise. They’re like a hovercraft in the air: heard, but still miles away.

That is, except one. One of them sounds like a fly right in my ear. I keep running forward but it grows stronger and stronger. It’s buzzing in my eardrums, it’s running through my mind and then…and then…and then….

And then I’m knocked off my feet. A full millisecond of air-time before I land on my back, my wife slamming down on the street with a dull crack. My ears are ringing, thumping against my jaw. I crawl towards her slowly, each movement getting me closer to standing again. My final step brings me looking down at her.

She’s not howling anymore. I would know. I can see her lungs. Or, at least, what’s left of them. There’s a hole inside her, larger than my head. Her rip cage is the only thing holding her in one piece now. I stand and stare for a moment before the pavement explodes next to me, flipping her body and proving that the hole went all the way through.

The flying debris cuts my face, and leaks blood into my mouth. I don’t taste anything.

Another shot rings nearby, and I’m broken from my stupor. Either they are sobering up, or some better shots joined the party. I don’t even flinch this time as a street light nearby me falls like a chopped tree. My feet move on their own accord and I keep running forward, taking the first turn that’s available to me: the dark of an alley, a pocket made from a drug store and a rifle shop. Seems appropriate.

There’s a fire in me now. It threatens to eat my mind, and make me scream, and behind the dumpster in the alleyway I can almost feel myself burn. It rises and rises as the sounds of the continuous alarm chirps through the hunter’s phones. They walk closer, laughing, and crushing cans. One keeps firing rounds into the sky; a frightened cat runs down past me, joined by a mouse made ally through fear.

To be continued….

Special thanks to: Collin Pearman, Dylan Alexander, and Zeony.

Did you like the article? Dislike? Tell me about it in the comments. I would love to hear your opinions! If interested in specific articles, or want to write as a guest, you can message me at scifibrandonscott@gmail.com. If you want to help keep this blog going, consider becoming my patron at https://www.patreon.com/coolerbs. Thanks for reading!

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