I Always Knew I Could Do It

[Fenrir]

Zachary Cruise wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wincing as the action pulled at his freshly cut lip, and pulled back a hand that was smeared with blood. He stared at it for a couple seconds, the vivid red on his pale skin seemed unreal somehow, until he noticed he was trembling a little. He clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side, forcing himself to remain steady; he didn’t want this psychopath knowing he was afraid. “Are you crazy? Have you finally fucking lost it?”

He’d known something bad would happen when Michael fucking Baird had walked in; Mr “I’m proud to be an American douchebag” had never been the type of person Zach would get along with. Hell, they’d practically hated each other before all of this, due to Michael being a “true patriot”, a good old army brat on a path to follow in his daddy’s footsteps to be another mindless grunt, while Zach was what some people liked to call a “disruptive element”. Some asshole was always trying to pick a fight just because Zach wore dark clothing, dyed his hair black and refused to get it cut, only ever being as rebellious as he could get away with without his father deciding to do something about it. Michael was just the worst of the bunch.

Yep, gotta protect our nation from the subversive influences of rock ‘n’ roll and teenaged angst.

Zach leaned forward and spat a glob of spit onto the floor; it was stained red. The metallic taste slowly filling his mouth just served to make him angrier, which he was glad for; anger helped push the fear to the back of his mind, helped him stand his ground against the madman in front of him. “I said have you fucking lost it! Are you in there?”

Even so he hadn’t expected Michael to punch him in the face as soon as he saw him, though he’d yet to do anything else. Zach was a little concerned that Michael wasn’t saying anything, but he was at least grateful that he wasn’t throwing any more punches either; the idiot was just standing there with a wide eyed look on his face, body tense and with his hand clutched around the set of brass knuckles he’d used to split Zach’s lips open.

Maybe he really had gone crazy. Maybe he’d buckled under the pressure of the Program. There was typically a handful each year, people who couldn’t take the pressure and just shut down. Usually they just sat in a corner, rocking back and forth until someone found them, though you sometimes got the ones who just lashed out at anyone who got close to them.

Funny though, Zach had never thought Michael would be the type to snap; if ever there was anyone who would take to the Program with gusto it was Michael fucking Baird.

Well, if he wasn’t going to do anything then Zach would just leave him here to rot. It was unfortunate because Zach thought he had found a decent place to stay for a while there; a nice one-storey house in a suburban-style neighbourhood with a low wall outside and rows of hedges separating it from the houses on either side. He was evidently the first person to find this place as the front door was locked and he’d had to break a window in the backdoor and open the latch to get in, something he’d hoped would keep most people away. The place still had furniture and Zach had made himself at home on the couch, taking the opportunity to get his bearings and think things through while he could, maybe think of a plan.

He just wanted to stay clear of all this bullshit for as long as he could. If he could coward it out in this house until things died down a bit or until someone found him, then maybe he could find some of his friends and group up. He knew there was no chance of all of them making it out alive, he’d seen this circus enough times to know that was impossible, but he at least wanted them to get together and help each other make it as far as they could. Michael showing up changed things but while he was getting kicked out sooner than he thought that didn’t change the rest of his plan one bit. If Michael wanted to go crazy he could have the whole place to himself, while Zach would go find his friends or another place to hide.

Looking past Michael into the small dining room past him, where he had left his bag on the table, Zach considered whether or not it was worth going for it; he’d have to walk right past Michael to get to it, but with where he was standing the same was true of the door anyway. He’d have to risk it, he couldn’t avoid to leave behind all of his food and water not to mention his weapon; he had to admit he had gotten a good draw in that regard, even if he hated to think about it.

“Fuck it.” Michael still hadn’t moved or said anything, nothing in the past minute or so. If he really had frozen up then Zach was going to take advantage and just walk right out the door. He took a couple steps forward.

He barely ducked the punch that was thrown at his temple, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye the only warning he got before Michael’s brass knuckles audibly cut through the air where his head was a second ago. Jumping back to get away from him, Zach found himself looking at a very much awake and aware Michael; he was standing with his fists up, right hand clutching the brass knuckles in a white knuckled grip, and his eyes were laser focused on his own.

“Shit.”

Michael stepped forward and threw a hay-maker with his right hand. Zach managed to bring his arm up to absorb a punch that was aimed at his jaw but when he felt that brass knuckles dig into his flesh he’d wished he’d dodged instead. A second punch hit the same spot and he could practically hear his bones creaking under the force of each hit.

Tensing up while waiting for another hit Zach was caught off guard when Michael instead punched him in the stomach with his left, the hollow feeling in his gut causing him to drop both arms to cover his stomach and double over. Looking up he saw Michael pulling back for another big right swing and dove forward, tackling Michael around the waist and pushing him back until Michael’s back crashed into the dining room table Zach had been trying to reach earlier.

Glancing to the side from his position under Michael’s arms Zach could see his bag sitting on the table a few feet away, just out of reach; if he could get away from Michael for a few seconds he could grab it and try to make a break for it. He could even see the handle of his weapon sticking out of the bag from when he had been looking at it earlier, loading it, and a darker thought flashed through his head.

A sudden impact drove the breath from his lungs, a solid thump as Michael slammed his fist down on his back with the side of the brass knuckles. A second hit caused Zach to release his grip around Michael’s waist and he quickly backed away and straightened upright before he could be hit again. He had enough time to see Michael brace himself against the table before he caught a boot hard in the stomach pushing him back to stumble a few steps before falling. He landed hard on his back and at the same time heard the dining table scrape across the floor as Michael was also pushed back.

Clutching his middle and trying to regain his breath, Zach had only a couple of seconds to recover before Michael was on him again. Michael pushed himself away from the table and dove towards him, probably trying to get into position on top of Zach so that he couldn’t get away or defend himself, but Zach was able to raise a leg up between them; he caught Michael in the stomach and ended up supporting Michael’s full weight on his leg, using the momentum of his charge to pivot him over his head to land on the ground behind him.

Hearing Michael gasp out as the hard landing knocked his breath out of him Zach sprang up from his back, still clutching an arm around his aching stomach, and rushed towards the table and his bag. He grabbed the matte black handle of his weapon sticking out of his bag and tried to pull it free only for it to snag on something, a strap or some other item inside, and in his haste it took him a few seconds to untangle it. With a final curse he was able to extract his weapon, a short-barrelled combat shotgun, from the bag, which he flung to the side, and spun to face Michael.

“Fuck.”

And found himself face to face with him.

Michael knocked the shotgun aside with his left hand and Zach instinctively tightened his grip to try and keep it pointed forward, the gun kicking wildly in his hands and a deafening boom assaulting both of their ears as Zach accidentally squeezed the trigger. He fired a shot haphazardly into the wall behind Michael that set his ears ringing and his heart beating a mile a minute. Still in a state of mild shock Zach barely noticed Michael bring his fist up and around, brass knuckles connecting with his temple as his world suddenly went black.

When he came to he was lying on the ground. Or at least he thought he was; his head felt like it had been split in half and his whole body felt kind of fuzzy and weightless, like it wasn’t connected to his brain anymore and he was only half aware of it. Michael was standing over him and part of Zach realised that was a very bad thing; his hand twitched and Zach found that was empty and began looking around for what he had lost. He saw a long black object, his shotgun, lying on the floor a few feet away but before he could even think of reaching for it Michael began to crouch down. Zach watched as Michael lent over him, getting down on one knee and grabbing a fistful of Zach’s hoodie in his left hand to brace himself. Michael reached back with his right hand, fist clenched around the brass knuckles tightly and even Zach’s addled brain got the message.

He threw his arms over his head just as the first blow struck, metal digging into his flesh and bruising him down to the bone. Punch after punch, blow after blow, rained down on Zach as he sought protection beneath his arms and waited for the onslaught to stop. But it didn’t stop and soon Zach found the strength in his arms waning, his arms going numb until the only thing he could feel in them was a persistent, bone-deep aching.

Michael punched again and Zach felt the last bit of strength leave him as his arms were knocked aside, no longer able to hold the up above his head. He had a brief moment to see the determine look on Michael’s face before the brass knuckles met his face and his vision turned red. He could feel his nose break with a sickening crunch, his head bouncing off the floor and making his thoughts dance and swirl even more violently. He lay dazed on the floor, vaguely aware of a weight lifting off of him and Michael got off of him, dimly aware of heavy footsteps as the rooms only other occupant took three steps and stopped. There was a slight scraping sound as something was either moved or picked up and then he heard more footsteps and saw something enter his vision.

Forcing his eyes to focus long enough to see what was going on Zach saw Michael standing over him, something long held in his hands that he was pointing down at Zach. Michael racked the slide of the shotgun, the sound incredibly distinct in Zach’s ears.

“No, wait!”

Michael pulled the trigger and a round of buckshot tore through Zach’s chest and into the floorboards below, blood blossoming up through his tattered shirt and out pouring out of his perforated back to form a puddle around him.

ZACHARY CRUISE- DECEASED

****

Breathing hard Michael placed the shotgun on the table next to Zach’s bag with shaking hands. He leaned against the side of the table and let it support his weight as he closed his eyes and tried to dispel the image of what he had just done from his memory; the look on Zach’s face in his last moment, just before Michael pulled the trigger, was stuck in his head. Up until that point Zach had looked either determined or worried depending on how the fight was going, but when he heard the shotgun his expression had turned to pure fear as he realised what was about to happen; the desperation is in Zach’s eyes, the pleading in his last words, Michael hadn’t expected either and at the last moment he had almost hesitated.

He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult. It wasn’t that he was looking forward to killing his classmates, even ones like Zach who he didn’t get along with, or thought that becoming a killer would be easy. But he had always thought that if it came down to it, if he had to take part in the Program, he would have what it takes.

The first kill was supposed to be the hardest, the first time to had to break down those parts of your brain that told you what you were doing was wrong, so Michael wanted to get it over with quickly. He had decided right away that the first person he saw he would have to kill, no matter who they were. No excuses, no exceptions, because as soon as he found one reason not to kill someone he knew it would be too easy to keep finding more and putting it off. And if he wanted to do his country and his family proud he had to be willing to play this game.

Michael was disappointed when he saw his weapon and realised he wouldn’t be able to just shoot someone; he had slipped the brass knuckles on reluctantly, already imagining what it would look like to beat someone to death with them and almost called it quits then and there. It took him a while to get together the mental fortitude to move from his starting location, but by the time he did he had psyched himself up enough to do what he needed to. Or so he had thought.

When he had found Zach he had attacked him immediately with that in mind, but as soon as he saw the blood pouring from Zach’s split lip he froze. For a while he was stuck in indecision, torn between fighting Zach and turning tail and running away; it wasn’t until Zach tried to leave that he could make a decision.

He was glad Zach had a shotgun, even though it made things far more dangerous than they should have been. It meant he could end it quickly, without having to bash someone’s brains out with his bare hands. Though in the end it didn’t matter how it happened, just that he had been able to kill someone in this game like he always knew he could.

Once the shaking in his hands had stopped and he had managed to calm his breathing, Michael turned and picked up the shotgun and Zach’s bag. Careful not to look at the body on the floor he walked out of the room and left the house by the back door, the same way he had entered. Once in the backyard he stopped to collect his own bag, which he had left outside upon seeing that the window had already been smashed by someone, taking the time to transfer all of the food and shotgun shells from Zach’s bag to his own.

Taking just his own bag and leaving Zach’s by the door, Michael threw the strap over his shoulder and left.

((Michael Baird continued in Machismo))