Eagle and Wolf
Gothic City. The room was dark, only the afternoon sun illuminated the dingy room six stories up in a housing project tower. Eagle had rubbed Vaseline under her nose to tune out the stench of cat piss. The door was barricaded shut with a chair under the doorknob.
She lay prone upon a dingy kitchen table; eight towels stolen from a Motel 6 made it a semi-comfortable perch. To her left lay two Remington's; a Model 870 12 gauge, and a 1911 in .40 caliber. Her cheek rested upon the stock of a Remington 700 chambered in .308. She bought all of it at a Walmart seventeen hours ago. Eagle liked Remington and Walmart. They simplified life.
Out the window, down six stories and four hundred yards set sixteen year old Micheal. Everyone called him Scales, but Eagle didn't know or care what his name was. Eagle didn't care who is mother was, or what his grades were, or what his future could be.
She did care about the brown paper bag under the steps he was sitting on, and the corner he was watching. In the bag were bindles, paper folded up to hold small quantities of heroin. The corner was in a mutant neighbourhood.
Wolf tapped her on the shoulder. She looked over and he showed her the screen of a T-84 calculator. Also Walmart. Four hundred and twelve yards, twenty two inch barrel, hundred and seventy five grain round, and more all accounted for. She nodded to him and Wolf put the calculator back in the bag. Eagle adjusted her scope, eleven clicks.
Then she put her cheek against the wooden stock and put the cross hairs on Micheal's chest. Took a deep breath. Let half of it out. Just barely squeezed the trigger. In the tiny room she could hear the boom through her earplugs.
The hundred and seventy five grain bullet left the barrel at two thousand six hundred feet per second with two thousand six hundred twenty seven foot pounds of force. Three hundred yards later it hit Michael in the teeth traveling two thousand and ninety nine feet per second with about one thousand seven hundred and eleven foot pounds of force.
His head bounced off the door behind him. Five of his teeth were shattered. His tongue was nearly torn in half. The one hundred and seventy five grain bullet traveled down into his neck penetrating his trachea through and through before cracking his spine and ricocheting out his upper back. He was instantly paralyzed from the neck down.
Eagle worked the bolt.
The second shot hit him in the skull. Death was instant.
Wolf helped her disassemble the rifle and pack it in a large canvas suitcase. He tucked the shotgun under his overcoat and Eagle put the pistol in her purse.
"Denny's?" She said.
"We ate there yesterday. IHOP." Wolf. "I'm in the mood for breakfast anyway."
Wolf removed the chair from the door and they headed down the stairs toward the rear exit. Their stolen Toyoda was parked on the curb. If someone else had stolen it they would just steal another.
"Alright. There's one close by. When we're done I want to hit the corner of 86th and 12th." Eagle.
The Flock had come to Gothic City.
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