Grab Your Gun

You reach inside your jacket, grabbing for the hilt of your pistol. Draw smoothly, slow is fast, target the nearest threat, double-tap, engage next threat, keep moving—

Shock as your fingers close on air. Shit. That’s right, no pistol. No weapons. You just wasted valuable time. Too slow. Too damn slow—

Another bang, and your head snaps back as a white hot hammer slams into your temple. Darkness constricts your vision, and you feel a curious sinking sensation as you fall to the floor. It doesn’t hurt. Legs, arms, head . . . everything is numb, distant.

Stupid. Should have brought backup. Should have . . .

Your old sergeant, Hudec, had been right. The cruelest thing in life was . . . was . . .

With a final, choking breath, consciousness leaves you.

. . .

You have died.