Brightside by Mark Tullius (story books to read txt) 📕

Alex and all my coworkers ready to tackle me, but the floor’s empty, everyone evacuated.

My office is right there and I think about hiding, crawling under my desk, curling into a ball, curling so tight that I wake up and find myself back on the couch with Michelle and Lily. The TV still on Letterman and my ears fine. No flashbang. No gunshots into Lily’s ribs. All of it just a terrible dream.

But hiding in my office isn’t going to keep me alive. I need to get to the cave, find Danny and Sara. If Wayne’s holding Danny and Sharon refuses to let them join her, Sharon won’t hesitate. She’ll tell Melvin to take them both out. I’m sure by now they have guns. I have to keep moving.

When I get to the elevators I see the red numbers rising. If the doors open, I might get off a shot, but it stops one floor down.

My lungs start working again. I lean against the wall, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of here. I can see Carlos’s office, think about just climbing out the window. It’s one less floor than Paul fell. Maybe I’d just break an ankle.

Then I hear the stairwell door open. Whispers. They’re checking offices. Looking for Wayne, for me.

My finger goes to the trigger, but I remember I didn’t load it. I’m digging around in the backpack. An office door opens. A voice says, “Clear.”

I’m picturing the floor plan. There are only three offices between the stairwell and the elevators.

A different voice, another, “Clear.”

I finally get a shell in my hand. I’m sliding it in. Trying to click the barrel closed as quietly as possible.

Then a voice whispers, “Joe.”

I turn, ready to fire, when I see Wendell peering out from the bathroom. He’s waving me in with that big, meaty paw. He seems friendly, more friendly than whoever is searching our offices, so I step towards him. I’m ten feet from the bathroom. I hear bootsteps. I turn around and back in to the bathroom so I can still take a shot if they come around the corner.

Wendell shuts the door without making a sound, holding the handle so there isn’t a click. Then his fat finger presses to his lips as if I need to be reminded to stay quiet.

The whispers are at the elevator. I can hear them through the door. I push Wendell back and put my ear against the wood and listen. They must be giving hand signals. It’s quiet, but I know they’re coming.

I look around the bathroom. The stalls aren’t going to keep me hidden for more than a few seconds. They’ll just kick in the door.

A walkie-talkie goes off. A voice tells them someone is on the roof.

Bootsteps running, fading until I hear the faint sound of the stairwell door slamming shut.

Wendell exhales, thinks we’re safe, but I know we’re not. I only heard one set of boots running. There were definitely two whispers. I silently tell Wendell to get back against the wall. I press myself against the sink, the small puddle of water on the counter seeps into my pants. The gun’s aimed at the door. I see the handle slowly turn. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I’m trying not to blink. The door begins to open. I see the barrel of the revolver, the eyes of the newbie, the Boot that was guarding Robert’s door so no one would see him swinging from the ceiling, his dick still hard.

The newbie enters. He’s shaking, staring down the Mossberg. He’s telling me to drop it, but I’m not moving. Wendell’s against the wall. The newbie doesn’t see him. He just keeps telling me to put it down. His voice trembles. His finger tight against the trigger.

I know he’s going to fire, whether he wants to or not. I stay real still, knowing even a twitch will get him to take the shot.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I’m putting down the gun.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good.”

I bend forward, gently placing the shotgun on the wet floor. He tells me to kick it towards him. I do it.

“I just want to get out of here,” I say.

He looks confused, as if I’m telling him I’m from another planet. He stretches out his leg and puts his foot on the Mossberg, slides it back. The revolver still aimed at my chest. He takes one hand off the gun and goes for the walkie-talkie, his eyes never leaving mine. He fumbles the walkie, nearly drops it.

Wendell’s inching forward, and I can hear his fucking breath from here. The newbie starts to turn, but Wendell drives his shoulder into his stomach and plows him into the paper towel dispenser. I grab the newbie’s arm, pry the revolver from his hand. Wendell’s got him against the sink now, and the newbie’s flailing, his hand finding Wendell’s face, trying to force the big fellow off.

Wendell lifts and the newbie is off the ground for a second before Wendell slams him down. The newbie’s head cracks against the sink. His body slumps to the wet floor. I can’t tell if he’s dead or just knocked out. Wendell’s breathing in clumps, like he’s about to have a heart attack. He drags his sleeve across his lips, just stares at the newbie.

I want to tell him thanks, but the whole thing is just too crazy. I keep my eyes on Wendell until he finally turns. He’s more shocked than me.

“You okay?” I ask.

Wendell nods.

“Okay, okay,” I repeat, trying to think. The newbie’s body is still splayed on the floor and there’s no way we’ll be able to explain it to the Boots.

“You, uh...” Wendell takes a second to catch his breath. “You have to get my sister.”

“What?”

“You have to help her escape. She’s working in the deli.”

I didn’t even know Wendell had family here. For a second, I think Wendell might be a part of Sharon’s club, but he tells me he just learned about it, overheard someone’s thoughts. He says Sharon would never let him in. He says, “I’m too fat.”

A voice comes through newbie’s walkie-talkie. The voice says there’s no one on the roof, says he’s coming down.

“Her name’s Becky,” Wendell says. “She’s at the deli. You have to get her. You have to.” Wendell’s eyes are as wide and pleading as I’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” I tell him. “We’ll go get her.”

“No,” he says, “just you.”

The ding of the elevator.

One set of boots.

I grab the shotgun. Wendell picks up the revolver.

You know how to use that?

Wendell shakes his head no.

Just squeeze and don’t close your eyes.

Wendell nods, but he’s so out of breath he can’t hold the gun still. If someone walks in, I’m going to get shot from both directions.

The stairwell door opens and shuts.

The bootsteps are moving, but not towards us. There’s a muffled conversation.

I decide to peek out, figuring they’re going to come here eventually. The elevator doors are still open.

Follow me.

No.

Goddamnit, just do it.

I’m staying, Wendell thinks. Just go.

There’s no time to argue. I take off, angle my body to slip in just before the doors close. My fingers mash the button. I hear the Boots, the bathroom door click shut.

“He’s in there!” one of them says.

Their yelling is muffled. I can’t tell if one of the voices is Wendell. The lower the elevator goes, the harder it is to hear. But the next six quick sounds are unmistakable.

The elevator slows, it’s about to hit the first floor. I shove the shotgun up under my jacket, angle it so it’s not poking me in the chin. Then the doors start to open and I immediately regret it. I should’ve kept it out. Who knows what’s waiting? Luckily, there are people everywhere, everyone jostling towards the front doors. I keep my head down and sink into the crowd.

Two of the Boots are on walkie-talkies. I stay hidden behind a few Brightsiders. We’re almost out the door when the voice over the walkie-talkie says they got the guy.

Wendell’s dead.