Mouth Of A Wolf, Eyes Of A Lamb

then many more ring out, closer now. inside the station. you freeze, thinking. thinking. you flick the light off. don't draw attention. you've been in the states long enough (either your whole life or just a few days. its infamous for shootings.) to know what to do.

you hope.

you press against the darkest corner of the bathroom stall in the corner. surely they wont see you even, if they come back here

the gunshots last no more than 30 seconds, quiet by the time you press yourself into the piss soaked corner. you'll deal with later.

hopefully.

at first, its dead silent, no screams no shots, but you do hear footsteps, several, stepping on debris if you had to guess.

until they stop at the door. you hear one door slam open, the other bathroom probably, but no shots.

empty. okay maybe—

a scream, cut off by a quick burst of shots. you press both hands to your mouth.

well, you're fucked.

it takes you biting into your hands, to keep from screaming as the door to yours is kicked open. you cant see the shooters, hidden by the dividers, but you can see one enter into the bathroom, not bothering with the lights, boots heavily walking to the first stall, its door slammed open.

then the second.

third

fourth

yours is next.

you didn't even get a chance to scream with how quickly the door to yours open.

you still yourself as much as possible for you swear the masked mans eyes like were glowing in the dark, but that wouldn't make sense, right? its barely a half second before a shrill whistle catches his attention, turning away.

holy shit, he didn't see, you think. the door swings shut as hes distracted and…

a beat

a second,

his boots move, moving quickly like…

hes leaving.

holy shit, hes leaving.

you wait.

and wait.

wait.

until you think its been long enough for them to do what they need and leave.

you brave leaving the restroom, and

holy shit, the fucking carnage

you don't glance at the bodies, not wanting to see if there were faces you know, face down in the blood.

you make your way outside, and sure enough, its just as bad.

you do your best to ignore the fact some were running away and were shot in the back.

you run to your friends car, praying. praying.

holy shit, the keys were right there on the seat. too good to be true. you go for the door and…

its locked.

oh yeah, didn't he cuss about dropping his keys as he got out.

before putting them in his pocket.

you stiffen, and the sound of gravel crunching under a foot is just behind you as you do.

Fuck.

you feel a large hand on your shoulder for a split second before you're flipped, back against the car door.

the masked man is fucking HUGE, as you swallow. his balaclava covering most of his face excepting his eyes.

holy shit, they are glowing. "w-what the fuck?" you let out quietly, not trying to brave. the man doesn't respond, only stepping a bit closer.

hey, you had a good run.

except… its still going. despite him, welding a fucking rifle, and slaughtering a gas station full of people,

he's… not make a move right now. just staring intensely down into your eyes. breathing heavy, but not winded.

who was he?

another whistle sounds off, and you spot two others, similarly dressed and with weapons of their own, standing a few feet away from a semi. they seems to be watching, waiting for this ones moves.

he straightens slowly, eyes not leaving yours. his hand moves up your shoulder, to the back of your neck, scruffing you like a street cat. he pushes you to walk, towards the others and the semi. you stumble to keep up with the pace he sets. one of the others pulls something that clinks out of his pocket, still not saying a damn word, quickly handing to the one holding you hostage now.

its embarrassing, despite your efforts, how quickly he manages to cuff you, and pushes you into the sleeper cab of them semi, placing you on the floor of the cab.

the one who had the cuffs climbed into the drivers, the other in shotgun.

as the truck pulled out from the scene, into the dark of the highway, the man who had grabbed you, sat quietly fiddling with his gun, his eyes never leaving yours.