There Will Be Killing by John Hart Read Free Book Online

guy away, shouting, “Try not to antagonize the animals,” as he plowed a path to the relative safety of a back exit door.
    Outside it was hot but thankfully quieter and Izzy wanted to apologize, though for what he didn’t know. “I wasn’t, wasn’t, I did not say. . .”
    J.D. silenced him with a glare that had the effect of a double slap.
    â€œListen up and listen up good because I need you and you are no good to me dead,” he said bluntly. “Wake up, quit whining and feeling sorry for yourself. Nobody here gives a shit where you come from, or where you are going. Nobody. What will get you killed faster than anything is pretending you are still what and who you were in the world. You are not in the world anymore. You are not anywhere near where there are rules you can still live by. So I am telling you: Wake the fuck up. Are you with me so far?”
    Izzy managed a creaky up and down movement of his head.
    â€œNow, the second most dangerous thing besides the danger you pose to yourself are the other fucking idiots who were sent over here. If you were not a shrink and an officer, if you were just some grunt in the field, your own guys might have shot you already because your head is so far up your ass it’s still in New York and that makes you too dangerous to be around. If you don’t wake up soon, one of ours is far more likely to kill you than Charlie. Just about every third guy here is ready to snap, lose it, go psycho. You got a real life introduction to it this afternoon. This is one giant insane asylum, the whole place. Take note, Dr. Moskowitz, because this is your first, last, and only reality orientation that just might keep you alive long enough to help me out and get you home.” J.D. gave him a little thumb to forefinger ping on the bridge of his black horn rims. The ones J.D. had fished out of the blood and brains and puke, then cleaned off with his shirt before perching back on Izzy’s nose. “Now tell me, Doc: What’s The Big Message?”
    â€œWake the fuck up.”
    â€œThat’s right. Now follow me.”
    J.D. took off down the alley, no backward glance. Izzy followed as instructed, muttering robotically, “Wake the fuck up, wake the fuck up. . .” while he tried to wake the fuck back up in New York City where everything and everyone he’d ever cared about existed on some alternate plane.
    But they still hadn’t materialized as the officer’s quarters came into view. Or even by the time he laid in bed listening to the fan turning overhead, the sounds of a Vietnamese family sitting on the porch of their house in back of the villa. He imagined their voices belonging to his mother and father, aunt and uncle, and grandparents; imagined them all sitting together on the porch at their summer cottage while he and Rachel snuck away to make out under the stars, and he imagined all that gloriousness until he fell asleep.
    Suddenly the sensation of some invisible hand yanking the sheet out from under him and throwing him to the floor jarred him awake. There were shadows of racing feet in the hallway, accompanied by shouts of “INCOMING! INCOMING!”
    Before Izzy could pick himself up another concussive blast sounded, followed by screams outside the villa, then another explosion even closer that coincided with a loud bang as his door flew open and Gregg raced inside.
    â€œCome on, get out!” Gregg was hauling him to his feet before the command could register, then together they scrambled down the stairs and out the front door, just in time to see another mortar blast hit. They both dropped to the ground, next to another young man Izzy didn’t recognize.
    â€œC’mon, c’mon!” he urged them, “Get up! We need to get to the bunker!”
    Gregg grabbed Izzy’s arm to go, but Izzy couldn’t move. He was paralyzed. Something warm and wet drizzled down his leg. His muscles were like water,