Free Gun Lake by Travis Thrasher Page B

wondered what they’d call him.
    He didn’t want to be known as some sicko, some Jeffrey Dahmer freak. That wasn’t him. He didn’t kill for pleasure. But sometimes the killing just had to be done.
    Yeah, that was it. He was the kind of guy who got things done when everybody else was running around messing up. He couldsee himself like the gladiator in that movie—just taking care of business. Or like Jim Morrison, the Lizard King himself, up there on that stage or living in Paris and daring to take things just a little further than anyone else was prepared to go …
    Sean held the gun in his hand and made sure the safety was off. This would be quick, painless, and then they could get on the road. This was unfortunate. But if Wes had already shot one of them, he might as well dispose of the other two so the Stagworth Five couldn’t be blamed for this. Some might suspect them, but that’d be all. And it wouldn’t matter, because they’d be long gone.
    He had to keep telling these other idiots he was with to remember Stag. Remember those nights and those hours of being able to do absolutely nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Nothing. Remember not being able to sleep or eat or go to the can without having someone watching and supervising and chaining you down. That wasn’t a life. And he wasn’t going back there. If a couple of unlucky people stood in his way, he’d do what any other intelligent person would do.
    He opened the door to the Steerhouse, expecting to find the old guy and the steak eater huddled in a corner booth somewhere. The eruption of gunfire that sounded as he opened the door surprised him. The sound shocked him more than the round that ripped into his shoulder blade. For a moment he didn’t even know he was hit.
    But then the pain came. Yeah, he was hit.
    As he dove behind a wooden wall separating him from the restaurant and the place where someone had let go with a series of blaring shots, he knew it’d be easier now.
    It won’t be murder
, he thought amidst the deafening roar of gunfire.
It’ll be self-defense
.

18
    A WHOLE UNIVERSE of stars rotated above them as they walked, and all Kurt could picture was jagged flecks of light
    orange and yellow splashed on a black-and-white snapshot
    and this was all he was able to remember. Sometimes he questioned those images, those memories, wondering if they really happened. He didn’t know.
    The night sang with stillness. They left behind the subdivision with its neat curbs and street lamps and sprinkling systems going off on lawns.
    You were a suburbanite once, remember?
    Kurt led them over a stubby field toward the gas station in the distance, maybe a mile or so down the road. It glowed in the night sky. The farther they walked, the better Kurt felt about things. The more he could—breathe. Slow down his pulse.
    These guys walking with him didn’t know him. They didn’t know his fears, his issues. He had just aimed a gun at Lonnie’s head! Who was he trying to fool? But he couldn’t appear weak to these guys. He had to try and play the part, just as he’d been doing since he arrived at Stagworth.
    “Have you tried calling Sean?” Lonnie asked.
    Kurt shook his head, then felt for the cell phone in his pocket. He took it out and remembered it was off. He found the button to turn it on, then heard the beep that said he had messages.
    “Hold on,” he said, stopping, dialing in for the messages. He had three.
    “Kurt, where are you guys? Give us a call.”
    That had been Wes with his deep Georgia drawl, music blaring in the background.
    The second message was from Sean.
    “Hey, it’s me. Maybe sometime you’ll turn on your phone and decide to let us know what you’re doing.”
    The third message was Wes again. This time his voice sounded frantic, loud, rushed. He cursed several times and asked where they were and what they were doing and then cursed more and said things had gotten bad and to call.
    Kurt felt the perspiration pop out on his forehead