Free The Odds by Kathleen George

something.
    He drew in a deep breath and climbed the stairs. They were up there. He could sense breathing. Dirt got on his pants from the banister that was torn down and just hanging there. Meg would kill him. It meant he either had to wear dirty pants to school next week or …
    Joel surfaced on the top floor, heading toward the little bit of light.
    At first he couldn’t take in what he was seeing. But he knew he was in the middle of something bad.
    There was one man to his right, almost behind him now as he lurched forward. The man was lying against the wall with a lot of something all around him. Tar. Blood. He knew it was blood. He could hardly take in that sight because a second man, five feet in front of him, to his left, lying curled up, held a gun on him. The man didn’t move and his eyes seemed half closed, but still Joel felt pinned to the spot. He saw the clenched jaw. He saw the glittering eyes. Suddenly the man grunted and made a terrible face.
    “I … was looking for my friends,” Joel said. His voice went high, embarrassing him. “Please don’t—?”
    The man jumped and shifted forward, seemed to relax the gun downward. Was that a trick? “Wait. Wait. Who’s coming here, did you say?”
    Joel didn’t want to say their names. He shook his head, tried to break the gaze of the man. He wanted to back away, but he didn’t know how long it would take to aim the gun again or how far back the stairway was. Now he could see there was a lot of blood around the dead man. And that the man who held the gun was curled awkwardly over his leg and there was blood there, too.
    “Come here.”
    “No.” He looked around him. He wanted to run, but not—not slipping in the blood.
    “You have to or I’ll—”
    He came a couple of steps closer.
    “You’re just a kid.” In one move, the man leaned forward and grabbed his leg. He heard the gun bump against the floor and the man made a terrible sound as Joel toppled and fell forward. Judo, martial arts. There were answers to how to get away. He tried to remember something—kicking under the chin, something. He fell across the man’s body and onto the other side of it. The man shouted again, a terrible sound, but the vise-hands didn’t let up squeezing his leg.
    “Let me go.” Everything in him flailed—arms and legs, head, torso.
    “Oh, man. Stop. Fuck. Stop.”
    He kept kicking. The man screamed and let go. Joel managed to get up on one knee, but he couldn’t right himself and the sounds the man made frightened him and pretty soon the man grabbed and he was down again.
    Joel’s shoulder hurt. He was not breathing right. He gulped for air from his lying-down position.
    “Listen. I been in this place maybe twelve hours. What time is it?”
    “Like ten thirty.”
    “I’m not going to make it out of here without help. Listen to me.”
    “Let me go. I’ll go get you help.” Joel began to get up slowly, an inch at a time so as not to scare the man. He could see the gun was on the floor, two feet away.
    “No police. No ambulance or anything like that.”
    Joel went still, he didn’t mean to, but he did and the man felt it.
    “No police. You can’t tell anybody. You understand?” He reached over and slid the gun closer as he asked, “Is anyone else with you?”
    “No.” Joel wished he had said yes.
    “What day is this?” the man asked.
    “Saturday.”
    “Okay, under twelve hours then. I need you to listen to me.”
    Joel wondered if he ran whether the man would shoot him in the back like a coward.
    “I can’t stay here. I’m going to need to move. And I can’t walk. Are you listening? I need water real bad. And a bandage and alcohol. My leg’s torn up and I can’t walk. But if I could get to my car … I’m going to need food, too. You’re the only one can help me get out of here.”
    “I don’t care. You killed that guy.”
    “Listen to me. You don’t know what happened here. It isn’t what you think. The thing is, listen, you tell