The Sandy Bluejacket

Chapter 2

I looked up at tall trees towering above us as the cool autumn breeze ruffled my hair. The leaves crunched underneath my old sneakers as my dad kicked a pinecone from out of the wet dirt, therefore initiating the 'kick the pinecone' game. I smiled and kicked it after him.

"So, I talked to Coach McKinley earlier today in the market." He said, kicking the pinecone over towards my side of path.

"What did he say!" I asked, hoping it was something about this weekend's semifinals.

"Well, he said that the youngest player on the team would get to be the first in the batting lineup!" A large smile grew over my face, I couldn't believe it.

"He did! Really!?" I screeched as my dad wrapped me in a hug.

"I knew you could do it! Did you do the mind control technique?" He asked, letting me go.

"Uh huh." I smiled, beginning to walk again, but this time with my head held higher. "I brought him one of mom's cookies on his birthday and told him I made them for him." I smiled, knowing that my mom's cookies were the best in the universe and could make anybody like me.

"I told you it would always work." He smiled, holding his hand down to my level to give me a high-five.

"Did he say anything else?" I asked, resuming the game and punting the pinecone further up the path.

"No, not much else, he's the quiet type, you know?" I chuckled as dad kicked the pinecone.

"But he has plenty to say when someone gets a strike out." My dad laughed as I moved a little father off the path to retrieve the pinecone we were playing with.

"I bet he does." Out of nowhere, a shot rang out, startling the crows perched high up in the trees. My dad reached out and grabbed my arm, keeping me still as he stayed quiet, listening for anyone or anything along the path were on. From behind us, there was an echoing crack and a horse drawn cart stampeded out from behind the tree-cover. One of the horses tried to run off to the left as the other horse was slowing down with blood spilling out of its hindquarters. It fell down after swerving off the path, causing the other horse to choke before it reared and tried to break out of the restraints the cart induced. As the cart began to break and splinter, the coachman dove out from behind it, trying to save himself.

Dad started to push me off the path, but I wasn't going to leave his side just like that. Another horse galloped down the path as the man riding it fired his gun with abandon, hitting the horses several times and sending stray bullets into woods. The gunman's horse kicked up dust as it reared up before the coachman pulled out a small pistol and tried to fire it at the man on horseback.

"Kyvon! Run!" My dad commanded, trying to push me forwards and away from the fight, but my legs just wouldn't move. Dad worked in one of the high-ranking council offices, so it was his job to stay and break up the fight, but there was no way I would leave him. Not here, not now.

"No! I'm-" I started before he cut me off.

"Just go! Before you get hurt, run back home and—" He suddenly yelled in pain and fell forwards, letting go of my arm and grabbing onto a tree branch to stay steady. I jumped back as more shots whizzed my head.

"Dad!?" His eyes rolled back in his head as he stumbled down to the ground, dark red blood pooling around him. Gunshots kept firing, people were screaming, or maybe that was just me, and blood—all the blood; I took off running, my small legs going faster than I ever thought they could. My breathing was rapid and shallow as tears flowed down my face. Don't let them get you. Don't let them kill you too. A tree branch came into view and smacked my face, flinging my 'Blue Devils' baseball cap off my head, but I kept running, desperate to get away from the rogue gunman. My legs were numb, and I was pretty sure I was lost, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped, they would kill me. You'd be shot and bleed out in the woods with no one to see and no one notice. You would die alone, and back home, no one would be able to find your severed, rotting body.