Guns and Roses

Chapter Thirteen

Dedicated to Sherlock Holmes. :)

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Like most others, I don't appreciate being shot at.

It's not because if I get shot, then I might die and all that wimpy fuss.

It's because after you get shot, life gets a lot more fucked up. First of all, there's the fucked up pain after the bullet pieces are removed. It's worse than being stabbed. In fact, I'd rather just offer myself to be stabbed than be shot.

And then, not only will I have to be hobble around in pain like a constipated babboon, but I'll also have to endure another one of Sam's "how-can-you-be-so-reckless" speeches.

On the other hand, if I'm stabbed, I can always pass it as an "accidental" injury so that the hospital staff won't insist on calling up gaurdians, not to mention the cops who would land up. Sam would hardly notice a few bandages on me. But a bullet wound? Nope, it'll fuck my life.

And therefore, it was really pissing me off to no end that there was so much of shooting going around me right now. Bullets were pinging on the exposed body of the jeep giving me cover. Every now and then, we were ducking as the bullets almost found their mark. Not exactly what I had wanted after a crappy day at Lameville. My fantasies had been along the lines of hogging on chocolates and being reunited with my beloved, my bed.

To be fair, the guys from my gang had started it. But it was annoying that we weren't finishing the game off early.

"Remind me why I can't blow their brains off?" I shouted to Ed over the din of the shooting. I crouched and shot around the side of the jeep. Leaning out of my cover, I was just in time to see a guy crumple to the ground thanks to my shot. It was just a hit to his knee. He'll probably be back home tomorrow, in time for dinner with his mother.

Ed rolled his eyes at my impatience and loaded his gun again.

"Because we need to find out where they hid our stash that was stolen. We can't get rid of them before that." He said as he aimed another perfect shot. A bullet scraped by where my hand had been a moment ago. I scowled and replied with another volley of shots.

We, as in the Cursed Vengeance, could right now very well stamp out the Silver Bullets like the rodents they are. But no, we had strict orders from Jake. No one goes in for the kill. We were only to corner them and keep it that way.

The godown was filled with huge ship containers and cars parked along the walls. The containers were arranged in such a way that there seemed to be rows and rows of enormous, metal boxes. There was a faint, musty smell of gasoline in the air. The lighting was dim with only a few rays of light penetrating through the high ceiling. There was dust and cobwebs all around. There were rusted, metal runways all along the upper walls so that anyone on them had the entire view of the godown. Jake was there with Nathan and Cruz, trying to find our stash. Chris and the others were on the north of the godown taking down more of the Silver Bullets.

We had easily overcome them after we attacked. There were probably a dozen of the Silver Bullets hiding between the rows of ship containers compared to more than forty of us surrounding them all over the godown.

But this was the Silver Bullets we were fighting.

They are notorious for their persistance and their tricks. For all we knew, they probably had some nasty tricks to use at the right opportunity. And hence, like morons, we were still trying to take each other out slowly other than us just storming them. Maybe Jake had a point when he said that he didn't want to lose any men unnecessarily and storming them won't get us our stash back. Nevertheless, it wasn't helping to curb my impatience.