Under Blood-Red Skies

Flanaghan looked around for a moment up the ridge and then eased his face around the corner of the building. First he looked forward to see if anyone was standing or laying there. Nothing. He looked down; the blood trail continued along the back of the building. It looked as though the victim hugged the wall and used it to support himself as he walked. There were smears of blood along the wall. The blood droplets in the snow had grown more numerous per footstep. His target was bleeding out. He edged himself slowly along the wall, listening for anything. Only the winter wind howled. He got to the next corner of the building and peered around it. There he saw his victim laying on the ground about thirty feet away from him. His head was up and he was clutching his leg. The white snow was stained blood red all around him. His other hand was pressed against his abdomen. Flanaghan had thought at least two of his shots had hit their target. That was now confirmed. The dying man did not notice Flanaghan standing at the edge of the building. He was looking in the other direction. Flanaghan noticed the man’s head seemed to be watching something beyond Flanaghan’s line of sight. He thought he heard the crunch of snow coming from between this building and the next one, like someone was walking up to the dying man. The gunshot victim put up one of his bloody hands as if to show surrender or a last-ditch effort to shield himself from something or someone. Then a shadow extended from beyond the far corner of the building. Flanaghan could see a long shadowy line extend from the body of the shadow. A rifle muzzle. The wounded man said something but the wind drowned out his words. Flanaghan could hear the wounded man whimpering and begging the shadow to put his gun down. A blast penetrated the howling wind, almost as if causing the wind to silence for a brief moment. The gunshot echoed off the ridge behind Flanaghan. The wounded man was definitely dead now. A scattered pattern of blood stained the pure white snow behind the man’s head for about six or eight feet. Brutal. The man was clearly going to bleed to death in a moment or two. It was a bullet that could have been saved for another time.