A Man among Wolves

Chapter 6

He didn't even know which direction he was supposed to run towards. So, he allowed his legs to carry him whichever way they went. His body wasn't keen on following his instructions, anyway.

The junkyard became denser with the amount of automobile scrap. They were heaped in piles in some places and it would have been difficult to navigate through them without making loud sounds. But Selva was smaller in stature than the average man with lighter steps and nimble body. He had also absently left his sandals in the car when he had dashed out.

Thus, noiselessly, he traversed across the hills and plateaus of Iron.

Yet he wasn't nimble enough.

He stumbled on something heavy and fell down, hitting his head hard on what looked like the frontal portion of an auto.

As he opened his eyes, Selva spotted him.

Just some meters away, a man was lying on top of a tyre, holding his left leg tightly. His formal black pants were now a shade of brown, thanks to the blood from the gunshot wound. His face was twisted in agonizing pain but his eyes were sharp as they stared back at Selva. There was a complex mixture of fear and defiance in that stare.

It was Balaji Rangan. That journalist. It had to be.

Selva lifted his gun, his eyes still watering from the blow to the head.

Mentally begging his hands to be steady, Selva frowned his eyes to focus.

Several hours seemed to pass. It could have been days. Again, Selva lost the sense of time. All he saw were the fiery brown eyes that were looking back at him. They were steeling themselves for the impact but still, they refused to surrender. In fact, he even thought that they were wordlessly daring him to shoot.

Selva pulled the trigger. His eyes closed reflexively when he did so. The tremors of the recoil could be felt from his scalp to his toes.

Selva pulled the trigger again.

And again.

Until the magazine was emptied and all he heard were soft, harmless clicks.