2021 riverrun Final PDF

look for more victims. His eyes snapped up searching to see if the two knew what
happened. They did. He was good at his job. He pulled out his pistol before they
could reach him, shot Zach in the chest twice, silencer hissing, and then shot the big
guy twice in the head. At least, that is what he would have done.
Zach saw this before it happened, and before the man could turn around
pushed the bigger guy back into the club and shut the door. Bile filled Zach’s mouth,
and he retched on the floor making people scatter from the corner.
“Why the fuck you come back inside to do that man,” a particularly stoned
shadow asked him. Zach met the person’s gaze unable to see his eyes, deadness
crawling through his own. He didn’t want this.
“What was that about?” the large guy asked.
“I just saved your life,” Zach said sneering. He grabbed another drink and
headed for the door.
“Hey wait. Wait!” Zach was already gone.
Tonight wasn’t cold enough for how Zach felt; he couldn’t call the cops.
They would have no way of finding an unmarked van like that. He couldn’t remember
the damn license plate. Too many things had been rushing through his body. It
was warm, comforting, and the lights of the city lit the smog to a soft orange. The
streetlights had moths dancing around them like magical dust around a wand. He
passed a couple of homeless men wearing old winter coats, fingerless gloves, and
snow boots. It wasn’t too cold, but they were going to be in that alley all night. They
looked so calm laying back-to-back on the cardboard. A group of kids passed him on
the street, kicking the ground as they cruised on their skateboards. He passed a
woman looking for work; no, he didn’t want to think about that. She tried to stop
him, but he just kept walking without looking at her black coat coming to her thighs
and nothing but bare legs heading into heeled shoes. He didn’t even look at her face,
just kept his eyes on the ground.
He finally came up on the gas station he was looking for. The LED lights
flooded the place with bleached light. He grabbed two packs of beers and headed to
the counter. Still too sober. The cashier, kind of a hippie kid, tossed his tail of dreadlocks
over his shoulder, a strange contrast to the black polo and jeans, and sucked on
his lip ring. His name tag read, “Taylor.”
“That gonna be all man?”
“Nah, give me a pack of Marlboro too.”
“Aight,” he said, grabbing the cigarettes.
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