The Wild Ones - 1 - The Start

17.

Behind an upturned desk, against a cold white wall, sat Tom and Max. They were both positioned with their legs bent, Max slightly huddled over his more than Tom, who was watching the strange man with a gun rummage through his uncle's folders. Tom had never felt this horrible in all his life. His heart refused to stop banging at his rib cage. He felt sick. And hot. And ice cold. He'd started to briefly bite his nails before realising it had taken him several years to grow out of it, and picking it up again wouldn't be ideal. He wanted to smoke. Now was the perfect time for a cigarette. Ease the tension of a madman threatening you with a gun.

He instinctively knew his brother felt worse, because he always did. He hadn't uttered a word since they'd been told to sit up against the wall. He'd jumped when the guy had pushed over the desk in a fit of rage. He'd watched the gun waving around in the man's hand, pointing in all directions. But he hadn't said a thing.

"It's gonna be fine," Tom said, not quite as reassuringly as he'd meant it; perhaps a tad too brazenly.

Max looked at him and gritted his teeth. "How?"

"What?"

"How could you possibly know?"

"Because it always is, isn't it?"

Max turned back and sighed, "He's got a bloody gun, Tom. He's clearly not all there. He could put a bullet through your head right now without a second thought."

"But he won't," Tom said with force.

"What?"

"C'mon Max; we've just had this weird dream saying we're going to save the world. It must mean something; that we're important somehow. We're not gonna be gunned down by some random guy, are we?"

Max stared at him open mouthed. "You really believe that, don't you? You really exist in this fantasy world where you're safe just because you had one stupid dream? No one's invincible, Tom. You're such an idiot."

"Shut. Up," the man yelled at them, his gun hand shaking slightly.

Max and Tom stared at him. Tom realised his beliefs held little ground.

"You know what; you two can help, yeah?" the man said, pushing his hair back with the sweat on his forehead. "I just need a piece of paper, OK, in this office somewhere. You need to find a piece of paper with 'Confidential' watermarked across it in big blue letters. They need to be blue, right?" He nodded to them constantly, as if excitedly letting them in to his plan.

The brothers stared at the crazy man, then at each other, then back at the crazy man, and nodded in agreement. Anything to get rid of him.

Tom pulled out the bottom cabinet from a tower at the side of the room and tipped it out in front of him and his brother. Papers and coloured folders collapsed to the floor. Without hesitation, the two began looking through them, in no semblance of an organised fashion.

"What do you think he's after?" Max whispered, eying up the man briefly.

"I dunno. What confidential stuff would Michael keep in the office?"

"What the hell are you boys doing?"

Max and Tom both looked up to see their uncle standing in the doorway, staring in disbelief at his nephews who were currently on the floor, swimming in piles of his documents.

The gunman's ears immediately perked up, and he moved out of the shadows into clear view of Michael. Michael's face dropped.

"William?" he said, concern and fear heavy in his voice.

Without a reply, either through words of facial expressions, Will raised the gun and fired. The bullet pierced Michael's skin, tore through muscles and cartilage and blood vessels, and lodged itself precisely 8mm from his heart. The force of the impact caused Michael to stumble backwards, and the momentum from his limp, unstable body had caused him to flip over the balcony. Gravity took over.

The screams from below were audible even over the ever-persisting thumping music. Tom felt sick again. His throat stung with acid and his stomach jumped around wildly. He looked at his brother who had tears in his eyes.

"Max..." he started.

"No one's invincible," Max said quietly.