Too Far Gone

92

Shotgun primed and at the ready, Alexa moved swiftly toward the point. She was almost to the tree where Manseur had been wounded, when sensing-rather than seeing-Leland, she stopped abruptly and dropped to her knees. Leland’s shotgun exploded, and she saw the bright blast from the muzzle. She felt the windblast as the buckshot passed inches from her scalp.

Without hesitating, Alexa shouldered and pointed her shotgun at the kneeling figure now silhouetted against the water, exhaling to steady herself. As she aimed at him, Leland Ticholet’s image morphed into that of a silhouette target-the only target Alexa had ever fired a round into. I will kill him. I will kill him. I will…

Holding on to the slide, Leland stood, jerked the shotgun violently in one hand, feeding in another round, dropped the gun into the same hand so he was gripping it like a pistol, finger in the guard, barrel rising up from his waist.

Watch the pellets hit him!

Alexa’s shotgun roared.

The recoil shoved her shoulder back sharply, the barrel rising so she couldn’t see the buckshot hit Leland. He fell back, and impacted the ground like a tree falling. Jacking in a fresh round, she slid toward the mud-encrusted bottoms of his feet.

Leland’s arms were outstretched, and the vest he was wearing was dotted with shiny lead pellets. His eyes were open. The fingers of his right hand moved as though he were beckoning a child. Trembling, Alexa aimed the barrel of her gun at his head.

Leland coughed and his eyes began to gain focus.

Without saying anything, Alexa kicked the shotgun away from him.

Leland stared up at her.

“Do it!” Larry Bond urged as he ran up.

She shook her head reluctantly.

“Then step aside,” Bond told her. He was holding his rifle pointed at Leland’s chest.

“No,” Alexa said.

“Step aside. I’m going to send this murdering piece of shit to hog heaven.”

“Cuff him,” she said.

“He killed Boudreaux. He shot Michael. He caved in Kennedy’s skull. He’s not walking out of here.”

Leland looked at Bond. He said hoarsely, “Fuck you, pussy-ass.”

“Leland Ticholet, you are so under arrest,” Alexa said.

“He’ll go to a nuthouse,” Bond growled. “He’s nuts. He’s got to go, here and now.”

“It’s not our call,” Alexa said, moving between the two men, her shotgun aimed at Leland’s head.

“Get out of the way!” Bond barked.

“If you kill this man, I’ll make sure you go to jail. I don’t think you’re willing to kill me just so you can kill him, Larry.”

Angrily, Bond shouldered the rifle by its sling and yanked out his handcuffs. He snapped one of the cuffs on Leland’s right wrist, grabbed him by his ear, lifted him into a seated position, then cuffed his wrists together behind his back. Bond put his own hands under Leland’s armpits and lifted him to his bare feet. Once Leland was upright, Bond retightened the tourniquet. “Keep this tight, you piece of shit, or you’ll bleed to death.”

“You shot me, but you can’t shoot worth a piss, you dog pussy bitch,” Leland told Bond.

“I may shoot you for keeps, you naked piece of shit,” Bond roared.

“I doubt you can even hit me from there.”

Bond said, “You have the right to remain silent and I suggest you do just that, you ignorant killer swamp monkey. You have the right to a poorly skilled attorney and to have the prick present during questioning. If you cannot afford one, which is as obvious as your limp dick, one will be appointed for you at no cost. Do you understand these rights, like I give a shit?”

“I understand you bastards owe me a new boat,” Leland said. “You think you can come to a man’s place and burn his boat, you’re the limp dick.”

Shaking her head slowly, Alexa picked up Manseur’s shotgun. She carried it over her left shoulder as they made their way back to the cabin.