Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 4 - A Car Chase Gone Wrong

The piercing ringing in my ears personified a thousand times over until it was all I thought of. My senses were trying to restore themselves and I forced my eyelids to open, battering them to clear my blurry vision. I faced the grey matted ceiling of the car, one of Katrina's ducks lying shattered between us. Its head faced me, separated from its body as tiny pieces of porcelain duck created an entourage for the lonely head. My neck was stuck and stiff, and a continuous dripping, almost splattering sound, landed somewhere near my ear. The intense smell of petrol seeped into my clothes and stung at my nostrils making my eyes water.

I tried to move, but I was wedged in; my seatbelt choking me. Whenever I shifted in the slightest manner, my chest erupted into a sharp burning pain.

I gingerly moved my hand up to my chest, gently prodding it. An excruciating electric charge ripped through the left side of me, leaving me coughing and in more pain.

"Uggghhh," I moaned, leaning back and swallowing excess spit and blood. I felt something slide down the side of my forehead and moved my hand up to greet it. More blood. Not surprising since my forehead ached as much as the rest of me.

I tried to swivel around in my seat, the pain flooding my muscles with an agonizing need to stay still. Through the tears now welling in my eyes, I found myself looking across at Katrina. Her pale face was cold and motionless. Her chest didn't rise like mine and blood created lines down what was left of her face, which was now firmly plunged deep into the steering wheel. It dripped onto the roof in an awful splattering motion, pooling at the bottom.

I slowly reached out, grabbing onto my broken ribs as I did so.

"Come on, wake up, Katrina! We have to go!" I wheezed, pushing and poking her until I was physically exhausted. My efforts were to no avail - I was useless.

I tried not to breathe as I swivelled back to the front and away from Katrina. I fumbled for my glasses, finding them cracked, though still hanging from my nose. They were the same pair that'd been smashed in and patched back up again with tape too many times to count. They were a physical part of me and reminded me of everything that's gone wrong in my life.

I wish I was somewhere else, not swimming in a hazy heap in my head. But I wasn't, I was strapped to a car seat leaking blood. My eyelids closed and I forced them open again, blinking furiously. I wasn't about to let myself go blank in a dark hole. I was too young for that to happen just yet.

I spotted the shotgun lying several feet away amongst the scattered junk surrounding me, halfway smashed between the windshield. I outstretched my hand and grunted with effort. I stretched as far as my body could go before the build-up of strain became unbearable. My arm collapsed beside me, dangling helplessly.

"Shit," I muttered, feeling a little more lightheaded. I needed to be prepared if they got out of their vehicles. I needed to try again. Willing with all my might, I gently reached up and with one final grunting push, grabbed its slick barrel. Ha! I got it! I smiled, but it quickly faded. Point and shoot. Point and shoot was all Katrina said I had to know.

Jesus! What was I thinking? I couldn't shoot a gun!

I jumped as a pair of tires screeched to a halt outside the upturned vehicle. This was it. I tensed up, the pain in my chest getting worse. Doors opened and slammed shut.

Footsteps came towards me through the mud.

A pair of slick brown boots walked into my line of sight. They were pristine leather things and a little fluffy white sheep had been sewn into the ankle. I remained fixated on the sheep until I saw his knees bend. It was as though my brain didn't know what to do. Instead of grabbing the gun and shooting him, like I'd been told to do, I simply squeezed my eyes shut.

"Looks like both of them are dead, boss," the man said, his gruff voice cutting through the ringing that was still making my head spin on fluffy white sheep.

"Have you checked for pulses?" someone replied.

I felt a cold hand touch my neck. The fingers were smooth and icy as they pressed into my artery to find the weak pulse that was still pumping my blood through my body. I hoped the pulse would be too weak for him to find and I nearly gulped as I tried to calm myself down, but he must have detected something.

"We have a problem," he grumbled as he pulled his chilled hand away. "The kid's still alive."

"Well then kill him too! But don't shoot him, suffocate him. Forensics won't know the difference."

"On it, boss," he replied.

Oh shit! Oh shit! OH SHIT! This would be the moment I died. The moment their grubby hands landed on the file. Maybe that's what was supposed to happen, the way fate had designed itself, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn't. I clenched my eyes tighter and waited, counting sheep over in my mind as I hung helplessly from my seat waiting for Death to come and rescue me. The little white sewn sheep filled the cusps of my inner vision as my only thought was of how quickly I'd die and whether it'd be messy or smooth. Dying was like sleeping, right?

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine...

Surely something would've happened by now. Slowly and cautiously, I opened an eye, then both. Three upside-down faces stared curiously back at me. One still had a gun pointed at my head.

"Sixty-one," I said shakily, squeezing my eyes shut again. This was all just a dream. One hell of a scary dream. "Sixty-two...sixty-three..."

"Why's he counting boss?" the one holding the gun asked.

"I have no idea," he replied, the sound of utter disappointment crossing his voice.

I didn't want to focus on the three musketeers. I didn't want to die. "Seventy-two...seventy-three."

"There a bomb in here kid?" one asked.

I continued counting.

"Hey! I said something to you! Is there a bomb in here or not?" he persisted.

I whimpered as the pistols' cold, hard edge landed on my temple.

"If he moves, shoot him," the disappointed one declared.

"Got it."

My chest was heaving in bouts of sharp pain, until I couldn't take the suspense anymore. "JUST DO IT ALREADY!"

There was a pause as I waited for the bang to go off. When nothing did, I opened my eyes and stared into their cold eyes. Where the hell was this confidence before?

"Don't you remember me, Butch?" the disappointed, dominant one persisted.

I had no idea what he was going on about, let alone question why he knew my name. Unless...they knew I had the file. I shifted my gaze to stare at him, wishing I could remember who he was. But my stupid brain wouldn't let me, I was too confuzzled and all this suspense was taking its toll. My eyes were beginning to droop. Would they even take me to a hospital, or would they just let me die here?

"He must have been hit in the head pretty hard for him not to remember us, boss," one of his minions said.

I was desperately trying to stay awake as my eyelids slouched further. Then it dawned on me.

"Jack..." I slurred.

He smiled callously through the hazy envelope.

"Hello, little brother," he said in an eerily cheery tone as I passed out.