Then I realized the biggest mistake I had made, apart from engaging in this possibly unnecessary fight in the middle of a Walmart parking lot during business hours. After all, the training in the firm was not just about fighting. There were quite a few sessions in which we roleplayed how to de-escalate dangerous situations, but I simply didn’t think talking would do me any good with these guys.
I had assumed the third guy would be occupied by (or with) Logan. That assumption was quickly proven wrong, when the guy who had held Logan slammed his fist hard into my ribcage, right where I was hit with the baton before. I could actually feel my rib break and then move!
Getting beaten on a daily basis by football players almost twice my size provided me with a different perspective on pain. The training in the firm wasn’t exactly all cream puff either. But the pain I felt now was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I turned towards him, but he was suddenly close to me, so I panicked and put as much strength as I could into hitting him right in his orbit with my fist. He tumbled but had already managed to hit me again, in the outer area of my lower left stomach this time. I saw a glimpse of Logan’s back as the gutless fucker ran away. Then I looked down on myself, trying to figure out why my rib hurt so much, but instead noticed the handle of the knife that was sticking out of my stomach.
The sight stunned me for a moment. Long enough for the guy to recover and hit me in the face, causing me to fall backwards right next to my Jeep. When my eyes focused again, I saw the gun lying within reach underneath it. I grabbed it as fast as I could, pointed it upwards at the guy, and he froze.
“BACK!” I screamed and he complied, lifting his hands in the air.
“FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND!” I screamed again, and he complied again.
I propped myself up against the front tire of my Jeep and just lay there, keeping the gun pointed at him. It was really all I could do, since it was impossible to use my left arm anymore without the pain in my chest exploding. The warm blood I had felt run down my face, now ran into my right eye. There must have been a cut in my eyebrow.
It was then I saw running feet through the gap underneath the cars next to me, accompanied by scared, female sounding screams. I remember asking myself if Logan had come back, but the sounds came from Claire and Ava! They, with Aaron running BEHIND them for some reason, had come back to see what was going on. I quickly shouted at them to stay back, but Claire had to be held by Aaron to not run over to us while she kept screaming unintelligible things under the still present tinnitus I heard. I seriously didn’t understand her struggling to run towards us. What was she planning on doing? Kick the guy when he was already face down on the ground? Berate the other two who were obviously not conscious? I honestly couldn’t tell.
Maybe two minutes passed like this, with Claire fighting against Aaron, and me worrying about all the blood flowing from my forehead. I knew head wounds bleed a lot stronger than wounds at other places, but the amount of blood that now covered my face was concerning. Though, with my left arm out of commission, and my right arm pointing the gun at the guy, I couldn’t apply any pressure to the wound either.
Finally, I saw the flashing of emergency lights come closer. I mentally thanked whoever called them, probably the moment the shot went off, because I could barely keep the gun straight anymore. Two patrol cars drove onto the parking lot and four officers jumped out, guns drawn, screaming at me to drop the gun myself. I didn’t need to be told twice and felt relieved when I could finally let my arm drop.
Over the time I was on the ground, my adrenalin level had steadily gone back down and the pain from the various hits I took started to make its way to the forefront of my consciousness. My chest, where the baton had hit me, hurt like hell when I tried to take a breath. Strangely, though, I never felt anything special when he stabbed me. Just like a weak punch. But, by now, the area was emanating a hot searing pain throughout my stomach, making breathing even harder. It also didn’t help that more and more of the formerly white shirt I was wearing turned dark red. I could feel my right eye starting to swell up. The dull ache in my left cheek, where the very last punch had hit me, was my least pressing concern. Drawing air into my lungs became harder by the second, and since the police had finally arrived, the tension left my body. I became dizzy.
I heard Claire and Aaron rapidly explain to the officers that it was these three guys who started threatening them. I wanted to add that the gun I just dropped, as well as the knife in my stomach and the baton on the ground, were also theirs. I just couldn’t muster enough air to speak, simply because it hurt to take deep enough breaths, which scared the living crap out of me.
