For a moment, he closed his eyes, wondering what he should do. Or if he should do anything. Maybe the kid would just leave if he got the money.
Leaning forward slightly, Rex tried to see what he could see, but he wasn’t in a good position. He glanced up at the round security mirror in the corner of the ceiling that housed one of Ahmed’s cameras. There they were. Two men, young, judging by their clothes. The one confronting Ahmed was pale skinned, and he held an AR 15 in his arms. The second robber was light-skinned black and held a handgun, though his hands shook around the grip. Both wore face masks and hoodies. And they both struck him as very young.
Rex looked at Ahmed. The old man had his hands up, but Rex could see his anger building. He knew the old guy had a gun under the counter, and if he moved a couple of feet to the right, he would be within reach of it.
Rex took a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenalin coursing through his body. And the fear. He was man enough to admit that this was the closest he’d been to combat in ten years, and the same urge for fight or flight fought within him. Echoes of pain rolled through his body.
Another shot rang through the gas station, into the ceiling tiles. Dust filtered down over Ahmed as he ducked.
“I’m not going to warn you again,” the young robber said. “I know what you’re trying to do, old man. You need to give me the cash from both registers. And I know you can get in the safe.”
Rex drew back, checking his scrubs pocket for his phone. It was in the car. He didn’t think he’d need it running in to get a drink and snacks before work, just like he did every other night. This gas station was a half mile from the hospital, and the closest and easiest to pull into.
He wondered if Ahmed had been able to set off an alarm or anything.
Rex glanced around, looking for a way out or a weapon, or something. He hated just sitting here, waiting. His leg twinged from being in the weird position, and he thought it was ironic. He was in a gunfight situation and his thigh was hurting from an old gunshot wound.
Ahmed murmured something softly to the forward kid, but he shook his head, anger radiating from him. “Man, you ain’t got no idea. Give me the fucking money!”
“The safe is empty. It’s late. The deposit has already gone.”
Some instinct told Rex that the boy would not accept that answer. Gunfire rang out, and Ahmed gave a cry.
That obviously hadn’t been part of the plan, because the second assailant gasped, his gun hand falling. “What did you do?”
Ahmed had fallen behind the counter. The lead man jumped the counter, setting his weapon down, and started punching buttons on the register. Obviously, he wasn’t hitting the right buttons, because the register stayed closed and the boy’s anger mounted. Rex eased back behind the counter, wishing he had some kind of weapon in his hand. It had been years since he’d gone through basic, but he could figure it out. The AR the kid carried had been similar to what he’d been issued in the Army. He looked around, searching for any kind of weapon. There was a mop in the corner across from him.
He wondered if Ahmed was dead or just injured. Where had he been shot?
“How do I open this, fucker?” the shooter yelled at the floor. From Rex’s position, he couldn’t see Ahmed, but he must have been alive if the kid was screaming at him.
“We have to get out of here, Chu,” the second kid said, moving toward the doors. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”
Then he disappeared through the front door, leaving his buddy behind. Rex would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Ahmed was probably seriously wounded.
Finally, the shooter seemed to find the button to open the register. The drawer clanged open and he started grabbing money, stuffing it in his sweatshirt front pocket. Rex watched every move he made. The gun was still within his reach. Hopefully, the kid would grab the money and go, letting Rex get to the station owner.
Then the kid glanced up, directly into the mirror in the corner. Rex drew back behind the counter, but he thought he’d been spotted. His heart galloped, and he looked around for any escape. Anything. There was a door to his back, but he did not know if it was unlocked or where it led. Theoretically, it went out the back. Or maybe to the restrooms. He tensed, preparing to bolt. Or preparing to grab the mop. Did he seriously think he could take on an AR15 with a mop?
Rex heard a thump on the other side of the room, and he had a feeling the kid had just jumped the counter again. Now, was he taking off with his loot? Or look for witnesses to get rid of?
Rex knew if he stuck his head out, the kid would see him, but he had to know. He wasn’t going to sit here like a fucking duck. He peered out from the corner of the counter.
The shooter was less than ten feet away. Gunfire screamed out again and Rex lunged across the small space, grabbing the mop. He surged to his feet and swung. The mop head was heavy with moisture, and it gave a satisfying thump as it hit the kid in the face, knocking him down. The kid scrambled back, blue eyes wide and dazed behind the off-kilter mask. Rex didn’t give him time to snatch up the AR. He kicked it out of the kid’s reach and it skittered behind him, toward the drink coolers.
For a long moment, the kid just stared at him, then he leaped to his feet and ran out the door.
Pain blazed across Rex’s middle, and he looked down. Apparently, the kid had nicked him. Then his eyes flooded with blood, and he realized he’d been grazed by a bullet to the head. What… the… fuck…
Everything went silent.
Blood continued to pour down his face, but he gave himself a microsecond to breathe through what had happened. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t remember being that scared for a long time. The last time had been ten years ago, almost to the day, during the Rebellion when Nightshade had been attacked.
He blinked his vision clear. Head wounds always bled a ridiculous amount, but he needed to get it staunched. Using his fingers, he tried to find the graze. There. Just on the edge of his temple. A quarter inch deeper and he would have been down.
Ripping his T-shirt over his head, he tore it in strips. He wrapped one around his head and tied it off. With one ear, he listened for movement outside, but he didn’t hear anything. It had been almost a minute now. Surely the shooter had taken off?
There was a flash of brake lights outside moving away.
Rex blinked, his head swimming. His gut was beginning to hurt as well, now that he was moving.
Rushing to the front of the store, he went behind the counter. Ahmed was lying in a pool of blood, his hands over his middle. Despite the pain beginning to build in his own body, Rex kneeled down beside the man to evaluate him.
It was bad. Really bad. Blood was flowing freely onto the floor. Rex scanned the area behind the counter and grabbed a sweatshirt from the back counter. He pressed it to the wound, but he knew the ambulance needed called. He looked around for a phone. There was a cordless on the back counter. It had been under the sweatshirt. Rex snatched up the receiver and pressed buttons. His fingers were slippery with blood, but he managed to get the right ones in.
“911, what is your emergency?”
As quickly as he could, Rex related what had happened and the condition of the patient. Ahmed had slipped into unconsciousness from blood loss, and he knew it would not be a good outcome if he didn’t get help soon.
“We have emergency service en-route. Someone already called it in. Help will be there in just a few minutes.”