Mello raced past Matt, who was carrying a plate of dry crackers for Near. “Where?” He tried to ask but, the older man continued toward the out doors not paying him any attention. “The toilets working again if that’s what you need!” He yelled. Hearing the door slam he shrugged and continued toward Near’s room, whistling a merry tune.
Mello continued running until he stopped under a tree twenty yards from the house. Had he imagined the gun shot? That was impossible. He was surprised Matt hadn’t heard it, with his radar ears.
BANG!
Mello knew he wasn’t dreaming now. He scanned the property trying to locate where the shot came from.
BANG!
The side of the tree he stood behind shattered, causing him to pull his hand gun from his tight leather pants. Mello rolled away firing the whole time. He grunted, his left side burning from the large splinters that had been embedded into his skin. The shots from the other side of the yard continued when he came to a halt in a small trench. Grabbing some overgrown thick weeds that grew there he did his best to tie his silky hair out of his vision range.
The ground before him shattered. “What kind of gun does this idiot have?” Mello hissed trying to keep calm. He reached for his chest knowing his gem wasn’t there. He gave it to Near with the slightest hope it would keep the ill boy safe. Although he wasn’t the greatest practicer of his faith he still held some of the teachings his mother had taut him close, especially for times like this.
He continued booming until he heard the crack of a more familiar gun being fired from the direction of the house. He silently prayed that it was Matt as he slowly pulled himself out of his hiding place.
Sure enough there stood Matt with one of his home made cannon like guns blasting with all his might into a clump of cypress trees. Mello had just allowed himself a small smile when a searing pain ripped threw his upper thigh. Looking down he saw a long knife caught in the strings of his leather breeches. A man was laughing heinously behind him.
Mello slowly turned to stare face to face with a mad man.
The man jumped back from Mello. He took out another knife from a belt which hung around his scantly covered middle. The man’s eyes glowed as he licked the knife cutting his own tongue in the process. He was mad. Even a trained professional would not do something so showy.
Mello could feel the blood flowing freely down soaking his pants, dying them a rich red. He raised his weapon at the man. Who looked at it puzzlingly before taking a step closer. “You act like you’ve never seen a gun before.” Mello sighed to the man, who continued his advances. Mello allowed the man to get close enough for him to touch the tip of his gun, then retreated when the man began to grab for the firearm.
The man’s face contorted with an uncontrolled rage, the blood dripping from his mouth only intensifying the horrific look. In a seconds time the distance between them closed and Mello felt the tip of the knife gently cut the soft flesh of the exposed section of his midriff. Mello cursed his love for tight exposing cloths. But, he was the leader after all so he thought it was natural. All leaders, with him as no acseption, wore sexy clothes.
The wound wasn’t deep just annoying to move with. But, he bore it as he finally took a disparate shot at the maniac. With great agility the man grabbed a branch as though he were a monkey.
“Damn!” Mello spat as he continued blasting the tree top. Where was Matt? He couldn’t have been killed. That was impossible!
These thoughts had barely escaped his mind when the entire top of the tree burst into flames. Mello blinked at the intense light, stumbling into the arms of whoever was behind him.
He was soon forced to run; the pain in his middle was becoming excruciating. Rough hands grabbed the back of his vest ripping the zipper as he was flung onto a motor cycle of some kind. The engine roared to life as it took off toward the house.
Something or someone opened the basement doors allowing the vehicle to enter. Everything around Mello was going dark. Growling in defeat he eventually allowed himself to fall into his own mentality.
Two people pulled Mello’s unconscious form toward an unoccupied bed and plopped him face down onto the pillow, their hands cutting the fabric away to gain access to his wounds. Bright lights were turned on and once all clothing had been removed, the men went to work removing all unwanted articles from the tender flesh.
