The Hunter (2)

He looked so innocent, just a tired man on his way home from work. He was a small man, small head, small hands, small feet, big beard. His eyes were hidden behind prescription glasses with reactive lenses. Nothing about him said mass murderer - except the gun he produced from under his red hoodie and started firing at random. 

The skinny skateboarder with warlock tattoos and nose ring was the first to take a bullet. I remember thinking that he really was unnaturally slim as his pencil body crumpled and metal tore flesh. The normal hum of the day was replaced by screams and gunshots. The grandmother in tartan trousers showed reflexes that belied her age throwing herself over her three grandkids - willing to take the hit to save the future. The children beneath her screamed in fear and shock as the human shield did its job and the warm blood spread over them. The redhead with the black leggings and those weird boots that look like wellingtons was the next to fall, her pretty features contorted as the pain receptors sent messages to her brain. I looked around, this was carnage. The woman with the pram stumbled and fell, a small dog ran free as his elderly owner released the lead, I couldn’t see if he’d been hit or had just  panicked but he was lying on the ground motionless. The dog after running free soon came back to stand guard over his fallen master. The gun was empty, the man calmly reloaded, there was no emotion on his face, no rage in his eyes, just a small man going about his daily business. Without the sound of gunshot it felt like there was silence despite sirens wailing in the distance and people crying and sobbing. No one knew what to do, some were running, some cowering, some frozen to the spot. The dilemma? Help the fallen or save your own skin. I lent down and held the redhead’s hand. This wasn’t out of altruism or bravery but out of the knowledge I was going to die and didn’t want to die alone; perfectly selfish even in this charitable act. I could see she was shot in the shoulder. She looked at me with pain in her eyes and clasped my fingers so tightly I had pain in mine.

Then an explosion, louder than the gunshots, louder than anything I’d ever heard. I expected debris but all there were was smoke; lots of thick, dense smoke. Then voices, loud, angry voice competing with the ringing in my ears. There were figures around us, in black, helmeted, some tending the wounded, others finding the best shot. Then one more gunshot rang out and I instinctively breathed a sigh of relief. I knew it was over. The fog cleared and paramedics arrived. The girl let go of my hand and I mouthed thank you to her as a medic tended her shoulder. She looked confused like it should have been her thanking me but I knew I would not have made it through without her.