Fuck them.
The flare whips past the man’s head, heat licking his skin, his bare arm. He recoils as if he’s been shot, stumbling back onto his stupid arse. A split second later, the flare bursts in the sky, slicing the gloom with a violent flash, fire blooming to stain the clouds, drenching us all in the colours of a real fucking war.
Blood in the water.
Ash in the sky.
I lower the gun.
The vessels draw level and I let them see me through the smoke and carnage. Let them hear me as I give them the flat truth of their miserable lives.
“Next time, I won’t fucking miss.”
17MAL
Oscar’s waiting on us when we get back. He wades barefoot into the water and catches the rope Sol throws him, securing the boat to land. “I saw the flare from my house. You are both okay?”
“Never better.” I hop from the boat and toss empty beer bottles into a nearby bin. “Might want to fetch Sol some new kecks, though.”
“Twat.” Sol alights on dry land beside me and gives me a stressed look. “You could’ve warned me you were going to unleash level ten Rambo on me.”
“Them. Not you.”
“Fine. You could’ve warned me you were going to shoot them then. How’s that?”
“Incorrect. I didn’t shoot anyone.”
“Tell that to the idiot going home medium rare. Or his harpooned sidekick.”
“If I’d hit him, he’d fucking know about it.”
I stretch muscles still tense with spent adrenaline, shaking my head a little, as if I can bully the static of a non-existent comms mic out of my head.
Sol frowns. “What if you had?”
“Then I’d have meant to. Killing people is what I’m good at.”
Sol flinches, his heart too soft for words that harsh. “Don’t say shit like that.”
Oscar, though, he doesn’t blink. “What happened?”
Sol fills him in. And by the time he’s done, Oscar is nodding as if it all makes sense, and maybe he’d have shot at them too. “You think they will come back?”
He’s asking me, not Sol.
I shrug, popping the cap on the bottle I’ve brought from the boat. “Maybe. I don’t know these fuckheads.”
“Then what?”
“I aim better.”
“Fucking hell.” Sol scrubs a hand through his wild hair, stress cinching his brows. “I can’t tell if you’re taking the piss and it’s freaking me out.”
Can’t help him with that. Or maybe I don’t want to engage in the kind of thinking that would allow me to. Either way, I leave him with Oscar and another empty bottle, and head inside for no reason other than I want more fucking beer.Coldbeer this time, so I can drink it in the dark and pretend I’m not alone with the depleting rush of a successful mission.
Moron that I’ve become, though, I haven’t counted on how busy the Joker is at this time of night, and I slip inside to a wall of sound. Of unfettered fuckingnoise. And fuck me, I’m not in the mood for it.
I pick the locals’ bar to shoulder my way into. Regret it, but with a band tearing up the tourist side of the pub it’s the lesser of two evils. And make no mistake, it’s still evil as fuck. Idiots barge me and tread on my feet. I grit my teeth through it all until some fucker gets in my face.