The Gathering of Brothers

chapter six

Over the counter, the thief glanced at the two bodies. Both men are very old, older than what you typically see these days. They nearly appeared to be indistinguishable, even in death. Their swelled and fat chests and backs had been blown open, as if something had departed from them. Their hearts had soared. A pair of small, plain handguns were close to their bodies. Matching scorn nosed, metal guns. After cursing at them for their transgressions, he returned his firearm to its holster. There was no danger here any longer. His accomplice had seen to that with his perishing breath and a solid point. Now, behind the counter, nothing but bodies remained. They were transformed by the bullets into fresh produce for the appropriate type of desperate monster, who would soon arrive. There were numerous of them now. One more variety of vulture, albeit still not the one that most men dreaded. The thief turned to his dead partner after leaving them lying there. He hunched down close to the dead kid, looking momentarily over the soil and blood covered floor. "I let you know the arrangement wouldn't work with two," he said in a soft tone. The reprimand made him feel bad right away. Another clumsy second. He bowed his head in agony. The adrenaline depleting endlessly and leaving a headache of sorts in its place. There were two holes in the boy. Random shots. One had been fortunate. He could not have possibly felt a lot. It was an empty comfort. I shouldn't have let you enter here on your own, This is my shortcoming." His long, grey mop of hair was let loose over his face as he removed the filthy old hat from his head. He sat it on a rack and shut his own eyes briefly. He mumbled something fitting, in the event that somewhat old, and opened his eyes once more. He made the token of the cross with his firearm hand prior to hauling the rifle out of the dead kid's hold. He hadn't realized how heavy the thing was. He groaned as he stood up from his supine position and rested it against a nearby shelf. He looked around the shop, which was almost empty. Three dead for this. It had some issues. Still... He reasoned, "No point wasting it," as he explained his thoughts to the dead. He'd need to watch that now he was separated from everyone else. He took the material sack off his accomplice's passive shoulder and flipped it open. Without checking to see what they were, he loaded it with as many cans as he could. The virus slice to his bones as he worked. There were apparitions previously fermenting here. He could feel them taking shape. He could feel them keeping a close eye on him. "A man needs to eat," he shared with nobody specifically. As he continued to stack the sack he saw a tin of fuel behind the counter. He considered, "I'll finish this up, then I'll burn this place to the ground." He continued to work. He continued to fill the bag. He could easily sell what he didn't need, and feeding one person would be easier and less expensive than feeding two. A silver lining, regardless of how slender it was. At the point when the sack was almost full he dropped a tin. It rolled away from him. The man came to a stop, gasping for air and overcome by l**t. He observed how slowly it moved beneath a stack of shelves. The movement of the food within it could be heard. He checked the entryway out. He was promised foods he hadn't eaten in years by the faded wall posters. Now, this location felt like a tomb. He was grave burglarizing. He felt his stomach churn as he looked at the bag from below. It told him to run. You needn't bother with that one tin. Let it go. He just couldn't. His companion had passed on to get him in here. It felt like blasphemy to leave behind this single tin. So he overlooked the apprehension and the chill admonitions hurrying through his head. Gradually, he laid the pack down and strolled over to the arrangement of racks it had moved under. He tried to forget how long he had been here. He tried to ignore the fact that this was taking so long. He squatted down and tried to make his arm narrow as much as possible by reaching under the bottom shelf. He felt long stretches of spider webs hesitantly give as he pushed further into the haziness. He ignored the back of his neck, which was pricked by a childhood fear of the unseen. He would consume this large number of shadows away soon enough. His fingertips tenderly kissed at the round edge of the tin and he smiled. “Gotcha!” He made a get for it yet wound up pushing it his very own little farther reach. "Bastard!" He yelled and punched the ground. The impact caused a sting in his hand. He was starting to burn on his shoulder. He tried to reach further but sank lower. A man had kicked the bucket for this tin. That gave the thief permission to take it and everything else he could carry before he burned this tomb to the ground, no matter how trivial it sounded. Allow those two fat twins to become apparitions. Allow them to meander the Earth, undesirable and neglected. Allow them to be abandoned. He would only speak to his partner in words. His companion. Perhaps his last companion. Once more, he stressed. He was threatening to separate his shoulder. His fingers were squeezing out to the point of growing pain. They made a brief second contact with the tin's edge. He hissed, "Come on." "Hold on!" He grabbed it once more. Once more, the tin essentially rolled away. Once more. He howled a revile. His anger was so intense that it made him shake. The haul was no longer on his mind. He didn't care how long he had been here or whether anyone else was coming to look into the shots. hardly a customer at all. No, he only desired this one pitiful tin. This one tin was his reward. Like everything else, it belonged to him. It was his property. He deserved it. He owed this tin to the world. Whatever it was, he wouldn't let it go. He would keep it. A commemoration to what had occurred here today. He spread his body absolutely over the floor. He pushed his exhausted arm further beneath the unit. His fingers and shoulder begged for leniency. The floor tiles pressing up against his face smelled like years of cheap bleach. "Come see papa." He went to sleep. He made an effort to drag his entire body closer to the tin. He heard the shop door open and close behind him at that point.