The
music in the car was loud but they were silent. Mark liked the noise
and he liked the silence. He was pumped but focused. He was ready to
rage. Mark
pulled over and looked at his best friend.
“You
ready?” Kevin said.
“Let’s
kill those fuckers dead.”
They
fist bumped.
Mark
wasn’t nervous, just excited. If he was alone he might be nervous.
If he was alone he might not be doing this at all. But he wasn’t
alone and he wasn’t nervous doing it with Kevin.
“Live
together, die together,” Mark said.
“Live
together, die together,” Kevin repeated.
It
was their motto. Mark even had it inked on his shoulder. Kevin, only
seventeen, had to wait for the ink. Not that it would happen now.
They were doing something that would bind them together far more
closely than any arm calligraphy.
“Kill
together too,” Mark said.
“Fucking
A,” Kevin said. “You know it. You damn well know it.”
They were parked in
the driveway where no one lived since the Great Recession spit a lot
of people out of their homes. Mark and Kevin stepped out of the car
and then to the trunk. Mark opened it. So weird to be driving his
mother’s car to do this. He tried not to think about his mother. It
was difficult when he thought about her. Mark and Kevin withdrew
their trench coats and put them on. Mark’s was a little tight. He’d
bought it at Goodwill. Only one they had left. $18 and stained on the
lapel, but it did the trick. As Kevin said at the time: they weren’t
making a fashion statement.
Inside
the house was music. Nice, polite music. Rich people music. Prince.
Madonna. Old shit that pretended to be bad ass. Or maybe it was once,
but now it was so lame. 1985 lame.
“You
hear that shit?” Kevin said.
“I
hear it,” Mark said. “We’ll give them some real noise.”
He
picked up his rifle, looked down the sights.
“You
still want first shot?”
Mark
smiled. “I’ll put one right in her head.”
Mark
meant Kelly Swindel, richest and prettiest girl at Jefferson.
Cheerleader, band, tennis star, Valedictorian. She’d be prom queen
too. Except she wasn’t going to live. Neither would her stuck-up
friends or family. Mark and Kevin would take them out, then split for
the mall and shoot everyone in sight, all those losers who thought
they were so high and mighty. That was the plan and it was good.
None of that Columbine crap, with only 13 dead and a few wounded.
Mark and Kevin were ready to do hundreds. They’d stockpiled
weapons and ammo, Mark working double-time all summer to purchase the
swag. They’d plotted the schedule and escape routes. It was all
written down by Mark. It was all explained in the manifesto that
Kevin typed and Mark signed.
Eventually,
sure, the police would corner them, and then they’d go down
shooting. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. If you wanted to
go old school, you needed to go something like that. Bad ass.
“How
many times have I got to tell you?” Kevin said. “Don’t shoot
Kelly first.”
“Why
not?”
“We
want her to see her family slaughtered.”
“Yeah,”
Mark said, thinking it over. He was a little annoyed. Mark was
older, but Kevin ran everything. It got to him sometimes. Still, he
figured Kevin was right. “Let her see her family bleed.”
“That’s
what I’m saying. Remember: you don’t shoot Kelly at all. Don’t
even point the rifle her way. Leave her to me. That’s my prize.
Understand?”
“Yeah,
I guess.”
“You ready?”
“I
just feel bad for my mom.”
Kevin’s
shoulders slumped. “You want to chicken out? You want to go full
limp dick?”
“I
ain’t chickening nothing,” Mark said. “I’m just saying. Too
bad about Mom. I mean, fuck Dad, you know. But my mom is cool.”
“Maybe
I should take the first shot. If you’re not up to it.”
Mark
felt hurt. “I got it.”
“You
sure? We can’t go in there half-assed. I need to know if you’re
sure.”
“Yeah.
I said I got it, and I got it. I’m good. I’ve always been good,
right? Well, right?
“Yeah,
I guess,” Kevin said.
“Live
together, die together,” Mark said, hoping it would lighten the
mood. They’d be dead in a few hours. No point in going out grumpy.
“By the way, what’s with the pea shooter?”
Kevin
looked down at his holstered pistol. He shrugged. No pistol was ever
mentioned in the plans. “In case we need an early exit.”
Mark
thought it over. “Makes sense. Live together, die together.
Right?”
“Let’s
keep quiet until we get inside.”
They
walked across the lawn as cool as can be. Mark felt like this was
what he was made for. To be here with his best and only friend. Gone
the fact he was left back twice. Gone the fact he was a
twenty-year-old senior with no future except maybe a fast food job.
He was about to show the world that you couldn’t screw with Mark
Mallory. Tonight their names would be on the news. They were going
to set records, and set the record straight. Mark and Kevin. Live
together, die together.
It
was early but not too early. The door was open and people were still
arriving. The party raged on inside the house and in the backyard.
Mark moved into the room. He was responsible for the outside, Kevin
would handle the inside. A few stared, but nobody said anything.
They were people who never had anything bad happen to them, and Mark
was looking forward to ruining their evening.
No,
their lives.
He
walked right by Kelly Swindel, talking to friends. Bitches. They
never gave him a second
look at Jefferson, but they were going to
look twice now. Once when he pointed, once when he shot. At least
they’d look until he splattered their brains. He really wanted to
do Kelly first, but Kevin was right. Better she stick around to see
the carnage.
He
knew the drill. They’d rehearsed it forever. They’d drawn up
diagrams on his computer. When he found his designated spot, he took
a deep breath. Then he turned and said the words he’d been
practicing weeks.
“Time
to die!”
Mark
flipped open his trench coat and let them see his steel. A few
screams, but mostly people were confused. Someone took a step toward
him, but when he saw the rifle he stepped back. Another guy bolted
for the door. Mark aimed right for Belinda Harmon, one of Kelly’s
friends, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing
happened.
The
gun had jammed or something.
He
tried pulling the trigger again. Nothing.
Something
was terribly wrong. It wasn’t jammed, just not firing. Like the
rifle had been sabotaged.
Silence
overtook the screams. People who’d been diving for cover a moment
ago were now staring at him.
He
scanned the crowd.
Why
wasn’t Kevin blowing people away?
He
looked for him through the bodies and finally got an angle. He was
there. But instead of his rifle he was holding the pistol. It was
pointed in Mark‘s direction. There was a strange look on Kevin’s
face.
Almost
apologetic.
What?
And
then it made sense. It came to him in a flash of understanding, as if
somewhere—who knew where?—he had known all along, known and
didn’t want to believe.
Mark
saw it so clearly. He’d been set up. Kevin, his best friend. He’d
coaxed him into this. He said they’d take out the scumbags. He
had Mark score all the weapons, write down those maps, those designs,
the plot to kill scores of people. There were the diagrams on his
computers, the note to his mother on his cell. Kevin had him sign—a
manifesto from the both of them— that note that was typed, not
handwritten. Had Mark read it? No. Why would he bother? They were
best friends.
Then
Kevin sabotaged his rifle.
He’d
tell the police he’d tried to stop Mark. Begged him. He was
hoping his friend would change his mind, and then—only at the last
moment—when all hope was lost, when Kevin pulled his rifle on those
innocent people, he knew he had to act. He had to kill Mark to stop
him.
It
was so clear now. How could he be so blind? How many years had Kevin
been in love with Kelly? Since third grade, at least-- well before
Mark moved into the neighborhood. And yet he never stood a chance
with her. He’d always been a zero, a nonentity. Now he would be a
hero. Her hero.
Now
he knew why Kevin hadn’t wanted him to shoot at Kelly. If for
whatever reason something went wrong. If Mark insisted on carrying
another gun. If Mark loaded the rifle himself. If who knows what.
Yes,
it was all clear. But how could this happen? Kevin was his best
friend. And what about their motto?
As
the bullet sped toward him, he thought, “Live together, die—”
