Spoilers: "Exodus, Part 2"
Word count: 346 (Yes, really! Very short for me)
Feedback: Always welcome!
Note: Thanks to ficangel. She'll know why when she reads this.
Sawyer doesn’t even get a chance to fire.
He knows they can see him going for his gun, which he’d stupidly showed off with all that fool dancing around when he thought they’d been rescued.
Once he realizes his mistake, it’s too late. But he can’t let them just take the boy. His fingers close on the handle and even as he jerks the gun out, he’s hit.
When he hears the shot, the shot he’s expecting, it sounds more like a rifle blast. It tears into his shoulder and he falls.
He’s under the water, still thinking there’s something he can do. Except now it’s not the boy he has to save.
He’s lost the gun and he has to get it back or die trying.
If he’d gotten the chance, he could have gotten at least one of them. He’s been a good shot since he stole his first gun when he was 11. He practiced for hours, shooting at cans, bottles, rabbits, anything.
He was never without a gun after that. He’d sleep with it under his pillow, a hard little rock to anchor his dreams on.
There were nights he’d wake up, heart racing, surprised to find himself on top of the bed instead of under it.
In other dreams, he’d have the gun with him, running out of his room with it ready in his hand. He gets older in the dreams, but his mother doesn’t. But he never gets to her in time. He never gets the chance.
He’s under the water, flailing out for the gun, but it sank faster than the rudder.
His arm isn’t working suddenly and he’s being pulled down like something’s got ahold of him.
Light is dancing above him on the surface and he realizes the raft is in flames. But the light is so far above him now.
Water is rushing in his ears but he can’t hear anything. Not anyone screaming. Not the roar of the flames. Not the engine of the motorboat.
He waits for the sound of a second shot.