CCC #37

Man after man went down under blasts from my shotgun.  I reloaded my last shell and hoped there were not many more.  I was falling down the slippery slope into madness.  I had killed so many people tonight.  I had killed them and not felt that it was wrong.  Now I was here hiding in a doorway, flirting with death, while Raymond Cabrese sent his army in to get me.
Just one thing kept me going.  I had to avenge Jack, and get back to his family.  I was going to tell them about the end of their father’s life.  Me.  Not some random cop from the force.  Me.  I had the responsibility.
I dove across the hallway to flatten myself against the opposite wall.  There was no one alive anymore.  8 dead, 10? I didn’t count.  I had to get out of here, but the entrance seemed so far away.  I edged to the corner of the hallway.  I peeked around.  There were at least 20 men, under the reception sign, all carrying weapons.
My only fear was that I would run out of ammo.  This wasn’t like the movies, there were no 25 shout revolvers or endless machine guns.  There was not off screen click and reload like the video games I used to play planning on being a cop when I grew up.
The men had not started towards my position yet so I went back and began searching the bodies in the hallway for weapons, all the while keeping one eye on the entrance to the hall.  Each man had a weapon in his dead fist.  I took them all.  I searched through bloody pockets for ammunition.  I found some and loaded each pistol to full capacity.
There would be no more reloading, only drop 1 gun and grab another.  I pushed all of the pistols around my belt ignoring the smears of blood that my hands left on my shirt.  I must have looked a sight, bedraggled, bloody and nearly insane with grief and rage.
This was it.  I was going to walk out of the front door or be lying on the floor leaking blood onto the linoleum.  I braced the shotgun and stepped around the corner into the main reception area.
The carnage began.  My shotgun barked 4 times, taking 4 goons full in the chest.  It was now empty.  I tossed it aside and grabbed one of the dead men’s pistols in each hand.  I aimed and pulled the triggers as I ran.  At least 5 went down before they began to return fire.  I ducked behind a column and wasted the last couple of shots in the pistols, blindly firing in their direction.
I discarded the pistols with much less artistry than in a John Woo film and grabbed another pair.  Some were shooting at me, some trying to sneak around to get a better position.  I stood again rained death until the pistols were empty.  Another pair, more bodies.
The air was spiced with cordite and death.  I drew the last of the dead men’s pistols from my belt.  There were no more living goons in the reception area.  I rooted through their pockets and took their weapons.   I could see the door now.  I was beginning to think that I would actually survive this night.
And then the door opened and hope leaked out like air from an untied balloon.  Raymond Cabrese had arrived.  With at least 100 of his closest friends.  One deep breath, and my pistols began to deal death on a scale I had never seen before.

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