Angel Of The Lord Part Twenty-Seven (27) By Jose Roxas Leveriza, A Blogspot Novel Series
Bader Yusuf tagged mostly as Baddafi in gay circles which was his high profile cover, gasped fitfully for air, slackened his unforgiving speed, and stiffened his legs to shake off the cramps that crept up in tightening waves. The stifling pairing of the solar glare with the pall of grime cast a morbid blot on Bader’s appearance. Irritating beads of sweat streamed on his forehead, upper lip, and armpits which slopped with a clinging wetness. Twice his knees buckled and he almost tripped on the misstep. Precious seconds were squandered when he squatted over throbbing feet while breaking his fall and savored the instant relief from the passive inertia.
Jason Burke’s imminent approach lit like a lightning bolt to spur Bader back to the bruising breakaway. Bader stepped on it and lunged forward to resume his mad scramble to build the longest gap between them. Jason Burke grunted like a boxer who strained with the roadwork and kept charging with bullish intensity. The adrenalin boiled over inside Bader and whipped him into a frenzy. The build up hit the fan and erupted only to rumble downwards into the sheer drop of Niagara Falls as desperate straits settled tenaciously in the form of a firing squad of private security guards who deployed on the lip of the next station. They brandished their shotguns to be ready for the duck shoot, eager to avenge their fallen comrades at the hands of Bader.
Curious onlookers clustered around the uniformed formation whose itching fingers coiled around the hair triggers of their long weapons. Every habitable space on the fringes of the platform was littered with jittery faces who cringed in a mix of delight and alarm to gain a front row perch so close to the violence.
Bader felt trapped by the twin battlefronts fore and aft. Backwards of him Jason Burke kept coming like a fiery linebacker. Up ahead the gunnery crew loudly pumped the slugs into the chambers of their riot guns to pepper him into mincemeat as soon as he loomed within range.
Trained to counter like a tiger when cornered, Bader jammed to an abrupt stop and let the momentum carry him around in a grinding about face and whipped out his firearm, holding it rigidly forward with two extended arms joined together like a rifle stock for more stability, marksmanship, and additional barrel length. The acrobatic turnaround nosed him downward which he transformed into a crouching stance on one bended knee to prop his aim. Bader squeezed off the full magazine load at the bobbing diminutive form of Jason Burke at three hundred (300) meters. In automatic motion he ejected the spent cartridge and clipped a fresh round. The gallery behind him let loose with a loud salvo of their own and fired at will with their armaments in a jumpy response to Bader’s brazen offensive. At approximately the same distance of three hundred (300) meters, the buckshots suspended in the air like a deadly meteor shower, although misdirected and woefully out of reach. Bader knew it but hit the torched coarse ground instinctively.
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