Shooting for Redemption

“He’s coming up on South Street.”

“Copy that. Weapon loaded and ready. Over”

Wilson’s breathing was heavy, breaking the silence of the empty office room where he lay. Occasionally his radio would burst out static, causing him to flinch. He wasn’t nervous, but the pressure was real. He’d been waiting for this moment for months now, waiting for the chance, his shot at redemption. Literally.

Shooting a man wasn’t hard for him, he’d shot more men than he could ever remember, but this was different. This was a bigger deal than any other life he’d ever taken. If he messed this up, well, he just prayed he wouldn’t mess it up.

The radio crackled again. Wilson readjusted his rifle, inching closer to the window.

Why am I doing this? What do I really have to gain?

He was only sure about one thing. If he succeeded, his family would be safe and protected from... everything. All the violence and threats that now lay in the world would finally be past them and they could stop to rest at last...

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to succeed.

Succeed. It sounded like such a simple task. Heck, it even sounded easy nowadays with each President dropping dead after a few weeks, sometimes even days. So many men had succeeded in their ‘task’ and in doing so, made their way to salvation. But what about the men that didn’t succeed? The ones you never even heard about from your neighbors or the news? What is the price of failing?

The small radio next to Wilson’s ear beeped, indicating a direct message.

“The target is within range, approaching in a black limousine.”

Static made the message difficult to understand.

“Fire when ready. Don’t miss. If you do, you know what to do.”

Wilson gulped, sweat began collecting on his brow. Readjusting the rifle against his shoulder, he peered through the scope and found the limousine. Inside, he could see two men dressed in black suits with sunglasses. One was driving while the other was keeping watch. In the back seat sat a man in a gray pinstriped suit with brown, combed hair.

That’s him. Just one shot, that’s all you have.

Wilson rested his finger on the trigger, holding it halfway down. He clenched his other hand even tighter against the neck of the gun, trying to stop his quivering.

The limousine was directly in front of Wilson’s building now, steadily making its way for the mountain tunnel just a quarter of a mile away from South Street.

Now or never.

He clicked the trigger. A deafening bang echoed off the buildings, interrupting the silence of the abandoned street. Wilson watched as the figure in the back of the limousine slumped forward and lay on the blood-stained seat, motionless.

I did it!

Wilson almost cried out with joy, but quickly remembered that his task was not yet over.

No witnesses.

He reached for the holster on his waist, grabbing a sleek, silver handgun and held it to his head. Paradise was so close he could almost taste it!

Pressing it against his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, Wilson let out a sigh of relief. Finally, after all this time, he could rest, and his family could be safe.

Right as Wilson pulled the trigger, his arm yanked upwards and he heard the shot go off, followed by shattered glass. A foot blocked both of his feet as he attempted to run for the door, causing him to fall flat on his face, right into glassy shards as his perpetrator forced Wilson into an arm bar.

No. So close, so close...

The last thing Wilson saw was a black stick closing in on his face as he cried out in panic.