‘Yeah, Paul, let’s hear what you think,’ Onk! laughed.
‘You know I believe that I have no right to tell you what is right and what is wrong, Albert. You have to make your own decision.’
‘Surely you have a preference,’ Albert commented.
‘I value your life just as much as my own. If you want a suggestion, I would suggest you figure out which situation is easier to live with for yourself. Honestly, I can’t say.’
Onk! piped up, ‘Oh, sure try to make him feel guilty! Pathetic!’
‘No, I asked him which decision he could live with. Obviously if he’s dead, he’s not living with any decision. I want to make sure he thinks of all the angles.’
The gunshot tore into the night, echoing off into the woodlands.
Paul looked down at his chest, where blood flowed freely down his white button-up shirt.
‘I must say, I do regret this decision, Albert. But it was yours to make and I’m glad you made it.’
‘Shoot him in the brain or he’ll take an hour to bleed out,’ Onk! said.
Albert was frozen in place, the smoking rifle still in position at his shoulder. He couldn’t fire once more if he wanted to.
Onk! snatched the gun away from Albert and blasted Paul in the temple.
‘It’s a small-game rifle, Al. One shot in the chest means a very, very slow death. I’m just not that kind of guy.’
Albert turned away from the bloody scene and started walking away. Onk! called after him, ‘Albert! Where are you going?’
‘I’m going back to civilization. At least there I’ve got rights. I’ve got a family, friends. A new job. I’ll take my chance with the police. They won’t press any charges. They’ll know you forced me to kill him.’
Another shot rang out and Albert fell to the ground dead. Onk! was walking over to the body when the lights from the sky flooded the camp, sending everyone scattering. The police had finally arrived.
Three helicopters set down and officers poured out of them, setting up a perimeter, making arrests. The police threw tear gas canisters in the large groups to pacify them. In minutes the majority of the anarchists were on their stomachs, hands bound behind their backs.
The group of police gathered around Onk!, who shot at least three of them in their body armor before giving up and started swinging the rifle like a club. He got a couple good whacks in before they were able to disarm him and throw the gun onto the grass. Four policemen grabbed Onk! in firm holds and one of them said, ‘Let’s go, Chief. We’ve got to get you back so you can have a nice fair trial.’
It was this comment that gave Onk! the ability to take his finger and slash it across the policeman’s throat, severing the head from the neck. The body fell to the ground silently as Onk! pushed and kicked the other officers away. The perimeter of police back up a few yards, and Onk! picked up the policeman’s head and stuck it on his thumb.
They opened fire as he held up the head, the blue flashes illuminating Onk!’s wild dance of jubilation as green and yellow blood flowed from the bullet wounds. He grew a foot taller with each step he took as he shouted:
‘THAIR R NO ROOLS IN MY HOWS! THERE AR NO REWLS IN MIGH HOUS!’
the end.
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