Sarah Scott Journalist

122 days before the meet

Staying in Andrea’s house has been interesting. His wife says very little to me which is why I thought she didn’t speak English but she seems to understand everything I say.

When I spoke to my brother, I didn’t tell him Andrea’s address because I know he will try to find me. I will wait a day or so more, then organise to meet with him, giving me enough time to recover. My brother is still in shock, my mother distraught, and my dad… still dead. Andrea has been helpful though, telling me stories about the afterlife which has been soothing despite the fact I don’t believe a word of it.

My wound is healing well. Andrea’s wife has these amazing organic remedies that make me feel really good, as if nothing ever happened. As if what I did never happened.

‘Keeping a low profile is key’ is what Andrea tells me. Gangs like this don’t take been shown up lightly. I’m lucky apparently that it was only one guy I had to deal with and that I had a head start before they found him. It’s too risky to retrace my steps to see if I left tracks that could be followed. It is likely that I did leave tracks from our car because I was wounded and not thinking straight but it’s too late to start going back now.

Andrea told me as much as he could about the gang which goes by the name of ‘The Damnation’ or ‘La Condenación.’

The gun I took was one of their handguns and is just one weapon in their deadly collection, although they prefer to use blades and swords. They’re old fashioned as Andrea likes to put it. He thought it would be useful for me to learn how to use it properly. Just in case I have to use one again, we spend the rest of the day going over basics till he thinks I am ready to practise.

“Sounds simple enough huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say with my lack of confidence showing through. I have had little practice with guns back home, but my aim isn’t appalling. I like them strangely enough. When I hold one I feel powerful. I like the feel of the cold metal in my hands and the buzz of adrenaline I get when I fire it off. The ranges back at home aren’t great for gun choice but they do have many semi-automatic guns which are my dad’s favourite. Were.

I feel a tear escape my right eye, but I dismiss it because I do not have time to cry. I need to listen and learn from Andrea. I hold my arm up and point towards the target set up in Andrea’s small garden. It all seems too familiar except this time my target will feel no pain, and this time I’m aiming for the heart or head, not the legs.

I click the trigger and fire three.

One in the shoulder.

One in the neck.

One in the fence behind.

I look over to Andrea who looks hopeful. He tells me that with a bit of luck, I should be able to defend myself and hopefully survive for the three months he thinks I will need to spend off-grid for them to forget about me. We continue throughout the afternoon.

He pats me on the back and walks off to take one of those pills old people take, leaving me alone in his garden with bullet holes peeping out the fence into the outside world.

My aim got better during the course of a few hours and I managed to get a few head and chest shots which I’m pleased with. I won’t need to use these skills because Andrea is just fussing over nothing. A man murdered my dad and tried to take me so he paid with his life. Justice is done, although after what has happened, I don’t care. Nothing I do will bring my dad back. No matter how much pain the man I shot felt before he died, it can’t make up for the hell he is causing the rest of my family and me.

Andrea brings me a glass of his wife’s latest juice and says goodnight. It is only nine-thirty but I’m tired. There’s nothing else to do but sleep and hope the images of the past few days aren’t replayed for me in my dreams.

I call my brother and tell him to pick me up at a corner shop near Andrea’s address because Andrea is paranoid they will have tapped into my Dad’s phone and are listening in.

I didn’t sleep well last night as predicted. I don’t know if I will ever sleep again. I put all the ammo I have left for my gun in my pockets and say thank you to Andrea and his wife, who I still don’t know the name of. They saved my life and the only thing I can offer them is words. They are good people and I wish them the best of luck for the future and express my unconditional gratitude.

When I leave to walk to the shop, gun tucked underneath my shorts, I feel a sense of vulnerability and exposure so I go into the shop and buy a chocolate bar to occupy my time. I have a habit of eating when I’m bored or nervous.

I see my brother’s rent-a-car pull up next to the shop so I walk over to it smiling. I am safe now.

I bend down to look in the window and I’m shocked to feel the hot, thick, Mexican air fill my lungs as a gasp. I’m throwing myself onto the ground before anything even registers.

That is not my brother! The man at the end of the gun that was pointed towards my head has the same deranged look as the man I shot. He is here to kill me. I hear the car door slam so I reach down and grab my gun. I scramble under the car for cover because it’s too late to run away.

Another car pulls up behind it. I can’t fight off more than one guy! I see the feet of my killer walk round the car to the side I was standing. When he is met with empty space he grunts loudly. I hold my breath and try to stay as still as possible. It’s clear I haven’t run away so it’s only a matter of seconds…

I raise my gun, preparing myself. A millisecond will make all the difference. I see his knees bend, ready to fire when he sees me. The good thing is he thinks I’m unarmed. 

I hear the other car door slam making me fire earlier than anticipated. It hits his knee cap, point blank. His blood splatters across my face but I remain silent – too scared to think what I’ve just done, what the people in the other car will do to me and what they did to my brother for them to get his car.

The man is crying out in pain, clutching his exploded knee. Someone rushes over to him, comforting him but he pushes them away. He reaches for his gun he dropped and because he is on the floor like me, he can see me.

“BITCH!” he screams as he fires a shot my way. It misses, hitting something above my head. I aim my gun to fire back, but a boot kicks the gun from the man’s grasp then kicks him in the face till he is unconscious.

I freeze. The last man I shot was killed because he was no longer a use to their gang. Have I just sealed the same fate for this man? Or is kicking him in the face a good enough punishment? Why aren’t I dead yet? They know I’m under here.

“Belle?” a voice whispers over and over again, desperately. Ben.

I leap out from underneath the car and throw my arms round him. He is alive. “I thought you were dead!” I cry tears of relief and grief his shoulder. I just shot someone again.

“Are you hurt? You’re bleeding,” he panics.

“I’m fine,” I say then take a deep, meaningful breath. “It’s not my blood. What happened?”

He wipes some of the tears streaming down my face. “I saw him break into my car and start the engine so I jumped into a taxi and followed the prick. It was only after a few minutes that I realised he was heading here.”

I look up and see the taxi driver looking at me in utter disgust. He was the one who ran over to the man and tried to help before being pushed away. It was Ben’s boot that saved me. The woman from the shop is also out here after seeing what has happened.

“We need to go. I know somewhere we will be safe,” I say to Ben.

“What about him?” he asks. “You just shot him!”

The shop lady steps forward. “I will sort everything out here,” she says flicking ger gaze from the man to the taxi driver. “Go!”

“I don’t understand,” Ben questions.

“I know his kind. The tattoo,” she says pointing towards his upper arm. “The Damnation. That means you need to leave!”

“Thank you,” I say, pulling Ben away before he can ask any more questions. I lead him through all the houses till we reach Andrea’s house.

I’m back here again, covered in blood – only this time not my own.

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Read Chp.6 – Jack here.