Sundown chapter 1

Chapter I: Start With a Bullet
         
The cloudless morning carried with it a calm, relaxing chill as the refugees flocked to the pier in order to get on the last remaining ship out of the city.  They trickled slowly past the government-reinforced checkpoint as many others were backed up farther than the eye could see.
         “Hold up,” grunted an Army officer as he waved a metal wand around the body of a woman and her daughter.  The wand made a couple of creaking sounds as it passed around the little girl.  The wand made a chiming sound, as a green light flared to life. 
“She’s clear!” 
The officer waved the metallic device around the mother this time, but the wand started making the same creaking sound like crazy, and a red light accompanied a guttural shriek.
“She’s infected!  Mark-Three Quarantine!”
         “Mommy!”  The girl sobbed uncontrollably as the mother was taken away by two more soldiers.  The mother cried out to her daughter and tried to wrestle herself free, but her efforts were in vain…
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         “You’re all clear.  Go ahead.”
         A young boy in his teens skulked past the officers with his head down low; his semi-long hair covering most of his face.  He trudged down the dock past all the confused parents, children, lovers, and other family and friends.  He raised his head up and surveyed the emotions of them all.  He gazed upon them for several seconds, then followed them aboard the boat.
         The boat was a makeshift cruise liner, only without the posh trimmings and the fancy decor one would normally find on one.  The teenage boy looked around the deck of the ship, as he had never been on a ship like this.  He took a second to look at the ruination that has befallen the city.  Smoke still billowed from some of the buildings.  Some cars were left unattended to on the city streets, and some cars still housed skeletons of the unsuspecting masses as they tried to escape the plague. 
         “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”
         The boy turned to find a bald man in his mid-to-late thirties sharing the view. 
         “They say that the things we make help make us.  It’s ironic to think that we helped manufacture this disease.  We tried to create the ultimate cure for sickness, but then it became a sickness.  Pretty ironic, eh?”
         The boy didn’t answer.  He turned around and went to check out the inside of the ship…
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         “There he is, I see him!”
         Flicking his cigarette away, a bald African-American man took the binoculars away from another African-American sporting corn rows.  He looked through the binoculars and saw a teenage boy with semi-long brown hair walk down the deck and disappear from view.
         “That’s him, alright.”
         “Woo-hoo!  We got him!  We gonna kill him, bro?  Can I be the one to waste him, please?  How about you let me bust his ass up first, and then you waste him, huh?  How about we both smoke him at the same time?”
         “How about you shut your ass up, before I bust you up?”
         The corn-rowed man scoffed as he went for a cigarette.  As he smoked, he looked over at his brother.  His brother still gazed through the binoculars as if he was still looking at the boy.
         “Yo Arian, snap out of it man!”
         The bald man lowered the binoculars and gave them back to his brother.
         “Yo DeJean, you got your piece?”
         “Yeah I do.  You?”
         “Oh yeah.”
         “Then let’s bounce!”
         The two brothers made their way aboard the ship, with murderous intent in their eyes.  As they entered the cabin, one thought was on both of their minds:
         
Teru Murasame, you’re a dead man…-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
         Down one of many long stretches of corridor, Teru made it to his room.  The room was nicely furnished, and he had his own washroom.  He needed a shower, so Teru locked the door and proceeded to undress.  He threw off his coat and kicked off his boots.  He shed his baggy long-sleeve tee, which concealed a belt holding two brilliantly adorned pistols.  He undid the belt, and smirked at it.
         “Lucky to have gotten you two past security.”
         He marveled at his brilliance as he carried the weapons into the washroom with him.  He kept the firearms on the vanity adjacent to the shower stall as he waited for the hot water to kick in.  As the temperature was to his liking, he stepped in.  As he ran his fingers through his wet hair, his mind wandered into the past.

It was raining that night.  Total washout.  Even some thunder and lightning as well.  It was a horrible night to have been out.  What the hell was I thinking?          
Teru rubbed and caressed his sopping wet hair, remembering every little detail, every nuance.  As he brought his hand down, his finger brushed against a scar running down his eye.  With that came another detail dealing with that very same memory.

Sprawled out on the street as the raindrops kept pounding at my wounds.  Fucker came out of nowhere, drew a knife at me.  Didn’t see it coming.  Lyra also got knifed, cut right across her face.  God, there was so much blood.
         Teru jumped from the scar on his face to the scar tissue that results from gunshot wounds.  He took the time to feel every one; the various textures added to the story.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…  Fucker unloaded everything he had into me.  Lucky I’m not dead.  The other asswipe, the annoying one, killed her with just two shots.  One in the heart, one in the head.  Execution-style.  He used a 9 millimeter on her.  I got plugged with six 38 caliber slugs. 

Slugs!  I really am lucky that I’m not dead.  Either I’m lucky, or he was just plain stupid.  Doesn’t guarantee death, oh no, but the pain is strenuous. 

Lyra, I tried to save you, but I couldn’t.  I could barely move after I got shot.  I somehow managed to track a few of those fuckers down, though.  Gunned them all down when they decided to have another go at me.  Yes, I was still in pain, and yes I was still bleeding.  You always told me I was an idiot.  I guess you were right.  You’re my big sis, so you’re always right.          

Stepping out of the shower with a towel in hand, Teru dried off as best he could.  He re-examined his past wounds after wiping the steam off.  As he stared deeply into the eyes of his reflection, the faces of his tormentors came back to him: One was bald with a tattoo across the back of his head, and the other had corn rows and a cocky smirk on his face.

I am an idiot…
         
Teru turned to exit the room, when he saw his pistols still lying on the vanity.  He reached over and grabbed one, feeling the plush, black, ergonomic handgrip as he held it.  Staring long and hard at the black and silver gun, he knew what he must do.  He knew who was waiting for him on this ship.  He even knew how many bullets it would take.

I am an idiot for letting those two bastards keep living…
         
The fires within his forest-green eyes continued to burn as he kept those two faces in his mind.  Gritting his teeth with contempt engraved into his conscience, he violently whipped back the primer on the pistol, letting it spring forth with a metallic *shing*.

No more mistakes, dammit!  You will not fail anymore!
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         “So, how we gonna do him, man?  We gonna walk up to him and blow his head off?  Huh?  You listenin’ to me?”
         “DeJean, shut the fuck up, man!  We don’t need the whole boat up in our business, you dig?  We wanted killers, baby, so obviously we ain’t supposed to be here.”
         “Yeah man, I feel you.  Y’know, that’s some bullshit, man!  Why the hell is our crew bein’ offered up to those fuckin’ monsters anyway?”
         Arian stood up from the bed, holstered his .38 pistol, and pulled his shirt down to hide it from view.  “It’s cheaper than payin’ for an execution, you dig?  Besides, what crew you talkin’ about, anyway?  That fuckin’ Teru Murasame wasted our crew. That’s why we here, man.  Now get your piece and let’s do this.”
         DeJean grabbed his 9mm and followed Arian out of the room, making sure it was well concealed.
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         The brisk night air helped Teru set his thoughts in order as he watched the full moon reflect off the ocean, while munching on some food he smuggled out of the cafeteria.  Once in a while, his gaze would shift from the moonlight to his two pistols holstered on his belt, perfectly concealed by his coat.  After he was reassured, his gaze would shift back to the moon.  It was a peaceful moment that only someone with horrible luck would have it taken from them.
         “Well, well, well, if it ain’t the Devil known as Teru Murasame, right here on this very ship.”
         The cackling brought back the very memories he just relived not too long ago.  He turned to finally see the Haifa brothers standing out on the deck with him.
         “Ah, the Haifa brothers.  I didn’t expect to see you here, considering the circumstances.”
         “We got away, and just in time too.  You and we need to have a talk!”
         “I agree, Haifa.”  Teru then shrugged off his coat, revealing his two pistols.  “Let’s start with a bullet.”
         “Ah, so this is how it’s gonna go down.”
         The Haifa brothers revealed their weapons they had hidden away.  DeJean had the 9mm Glock that murdered his sister, and Arian sported the .38 that scarred Teru’s body in a gruesome fashion.  Teru caught himself a glimpse of the weapons, then darted his gaze back to the eyes of the Haifa brothers.
         Teru watched the eyes of the Haifa brothers like a poker player would do; to search for a tell to indicate what was in the hands of the opposition.  Arian’s eyes were stoic and learned; thus he had the perfect game-face. 

Arian is no dummy, Teru mused, as he was one of the only idiots that ever got a drop on me.  Despite the fact that he snuck up on me like a coward, he knew who he was dealing with.          

DeJean, on the other hand, would be easy to read.  Arian is smart, but you’re only as smart as the company you’re with.  DeJean is a dumbass, and I know the relationship between him and Arian.  Every time DeJean fucks up, Arian has to save his sorry ass.  Teru searched the eyes of Arian’s younger brother, and all he found was an ever-growing lust for Teru Murasame’s blood.

Perfect…
         
It was DeJean who impulsively drew first, and just as Teru expected, Arian drew next to cover up DeJean’s mistake.  Right on cue, Teru whipped out his two pistols with a hard slap of the leather holsters.
         With dazzling precision the bullets from both guns hit exactly where they were supposed to go, accompanied by a splash of blood.  The continuous *rat-a-tat* from Teru’s pistols were synchronized to the gory wounds that filled out the Haifas’ silhouettes.  As soon as the chambers were emptied, the bodies of the Haifa brothers fell to the deck with a wet *thud*. 
         Teru ejected the empty magazines from the firearms and filled them with two fresh cartridges as he stared at the bloody mess that used to be Arian and DeJean Haifa.  With fifteen rounds in each body, and as least two impacting a vital organ, Teru successfully placed his guns back into their homes as a sign that he killed who he wanted to kill.
         Suddenly, a guard who was in charge of security on the boat appeared on deck.  Teru’s eyes met the guard, who looked as if he knew who he was.
         “It’s you!”
         That statement- plus the arrival of several other guards with weapons brandished- was an indicator to danger, so Teru weaved his way through the gunfire, grabbed his coat, and flew off the deck into the icy ocean.
         The guards looked at the tremor left by Murasame flinging himself over the edge, and waited to see if he would resurface.  As the minutes passed, the guards assumed that Teru was dead, so they returned to tend to the massive flock of people rubbernecking over the dead bodies and the ensuing commotion.  Teru Murasame was the least of their worries now.
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         As the boat continued on course, Teru finally resurfaced with a massive *gasp*.  Inflating his jacket for use as a makeshift flotation device, Teru made his way to shore, wherever the hell he was…