100 Deathshots Challenge

1

Race felt his back hit the cold wall and a shiver went up his spine. Despite his frame absolutely trembling with fear, he stood tall and confidently. Albert sat in the corner, watching with fear evident in his eyes.

The refuge was a scary place, as basically every newsboy knew from either personal experience or simply by the stories which were told by others. Race was one of those unlucky enough to have known from personal experience, and Albert...this was his first time.

Race felt a hand squeeze his neck, lifting him off the ground. His hands grabbed at the hand grasping him, trying desperately to pry it off. He made several choking sounds in the back of his throat, and felt a horrible sense of guilt when he caught sight of Albert.

The boy was watching, with wide, scared eyes, as Race's throat got crushed by Snyder's hand. He seemed too petrified to help, and Race was thankful—he wouldn't let Albert die on his account.

Eventually, Snyder let go, letting Race drop to the floor. Race gasped, trying desperately to get the air back in his lungs. He gained a sense of security, but it was soon gone.

He heard Albert scream his name. He looked up, but it was too late—a hot, stabbing pain exploded in his gut. As he coughed, blood squirted from his mouth. He slowly looked down, seeing the rusty knife jabbed in his gut. He looked up at Snyder one more time, catching a glimpse of Albert's devastated face, before falling over.

He blinked, and Snyder was gone. Albert leaned over him instead.

"Racer?! Racer, I—oh my God, please hang in there."

Albert frantically looked around, grasping the knifes handle.

"I'm gonna pull it out, okay? It's gonna hurt, but—trust me, it's gonna be okay."

Albert grasped the handle tightly, but Race put his hand over Alberts, making the latter freeze.

Race tried to speak, but barely any sound came out. It was from Snyder strangling him, he decided.

Race felt Albert's tears drip onto his chest as he continued grasping the knife with a shaky hand. "I...please let me do this, Race. I have to save you, I—"

Race shook his head slowly. Even if Albert managed to remove the knife and stop the bleeding, there was no way a wound caused by a knife that rusty wouldn't infect. And as if they had the proper materials to treat an infection.

Albert eventually let go of the knife, instead holding Race close and sobbing into his shoulder. Race allowed a few tears of his own to fall from his eyes. If he had the strength to, he would reach a hand up to half embrace Albert. Even that would be enough, but his body was too weak. He was fading fast, and he knew he would be done.

What a way to go, huh? He can't ask anyone to help Albert for him. He can't do anything else to save Albert from Snyder's punishments.

As Albert held Race, Race slowly moved his body up so his mouth was against Albert's ear. From there, he used what little vocal strength he had left to whisper to Albert his last wish:

"Make it out of here. If Jack ever asks what happened, tell him the truth. I know you can do it."

He allowed his body to fall from Albert's embrace, allowing himself a good look at Albert—his face was drenched with tears, his eyes red and puffy, and his hands soaked with blood.

Race used the last of his energy to smile. He coughed up more blood, and felt his head fall in Albert's lap. Albert ran his fingers gently and calmingly through Race's hair, and for a few moments, Race thought all would be well.

His eyes slowly shut, and like that, the last thing he saw was Albert's solemn face.