Three Shot - 2066
The Israeli-Palestine peace treaty had been in place for three and a half years. With Israel and the Palestinian countries of Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula under Europe’s control, a peace was realized that hadn’t existed since Israel’s establishment as a state in 1948. Europe established its embassy in Jerusalem which was regularly visited by world dignitaries and leaders.
It was a rainy day on March 1, 2066, not the best weather for the dedication that was to follow later in the day. A motorcade of four black cars stopped in front of the embassy. From the third car, three of Europe’s highest-ranking officials emerged and began walking up the stairs to the embassy. The sideways rain blew to their backs, the security detail pointing their open umbrellas into the wind to keep them from blowing inside-out. Then came the muffled thump thump thump of bullets hitting flesh, the three collapsed on the stairs, those near them splattered with blood. No gunshot sounds contributed to the confusion of the stunned onlookers as they watched the men drop. Paramedics reached the men in moments. Two of the three lay face down on the steps, bleeding from the head, the third sitting on the steps, bleeding from the arm.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, face down on the stairs, his body already soaked from the rain. What was left of his jaw was in a bloody mass a meter away from his body on the wet steps--bone fragments, teeth, and flesh left in a trail from the man to his mandible. He turned the man onto his back.
“Can you hear me sir?” the paramedic asked.
The paramedic saw his chest heave, then heard a gurgling sound, the air from his lungs flowing across the little bit of his tongue that he had left. Another paramedic came to him to prepare the man for transport while a third gathered what he could of the man’s jaw.
Another paramedic approached the man in the middle, face down on the steps and unconscious. Blood flowed from a single bullet hole above his right ear. The paramedic pressed on his carotid, feeling for a pulse.
“He’s still alive!” he yelled.
Two more paramedics carrying a stretcher ran to the man. They’d seen injuries like these before and fully expected the man would be dead within an hour, but they proceeded undeterred despite the odds.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, sitting on the stairs, bleeding from his right forearm. He was alert but bewildered at the commotion and the sight of the other two men on the ground.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The paramedic asked.
The man just stared at him.
“Sir?” The paramedic asked again.
“My arm,” he said as he looked at the wound on his arm. He then looked at the other two men. “Are they alright?” he asked.
“We’re gonna take care of them,” the paramedic said.
“Take care of them first.”
“We are.”
The man watched as the other two were put on stretchers and transported to waiting ambulances. He looked at the wet bloody steps, where the men’s bodies lay just seconds ago. Those who came to see him and his two colleagues had cleared the area, and Israeli Defense Force and embassy security swarmed the area looking for any clues as to who the shooter was. He watched the two ambulances leave the area, sirens blaring, racing to Jerusalem Health.
The paramedic put a triangle bandage on the man’s forearm.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” the paramedic said.
The man got up and walked on his own to the waiting ambulance, got in, then saw a man in a suit follow him onto the ambulance before he heard the loud slam of the ambulance doors close.
“Sir, are you OK?” The man in the suit asked.
“Yes.”
“Any idea who did this?”
“I’ve got a good idea,” the man said, blood beginning to soak through his bandage.
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It was a rainy day on March 1, 2066, not the best weather for the dedication that was to follow later in the day. A motorcade of four black cars stopped in front of the embassy. From the third car, three of Europe’s highest-ranking officials emerged and began walking up the stairs to the embassy. The sideways rain blew to their backs, the security detail pointing their open umbrellas into the wind to keep them from blowing inside-out. Then came the muffled thump thump thump of bullets hitting flesh, the three collapsed on the stairs, those near them splattered with blood. No gunshot sounds contributed to the confusion of the stunned onlookers as they watched the men drop. Paramedics reached the men in moments. Two of the three lay face down on the steps, bleeding from the head, the third sitting on the steps, bleeding from the arm.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, face down on the stairs, his body already soaked from the rain. What was left of his jaw was in a bloody mass a meter away from his body on the wet steps--bone fragments, teeth, and flesh left in a trail from the man to his mandible. He turned the man onto his back.
“Can you hear me sir?” the paramedic asked.
The paramedic saw his chest heave, then heard a gurgling sound, the air from his lungs flowing across the little bit of his tongue that he had left. Another paramedic came to him to prepare the man for transport while a third gathered what he could of the man’s jaw.
Another paramedic approached the man in the middle, face down on the steps and unconscious. Blood flowed from a single bullet hole above his right ear. The paramedic pressed on his carotid, feeling for a pulse.
“He’s still alive!” he yelled.
Two more paramedics carrying a stretcher ran to the man. They’d seen injuries like these before and fully expected the man would be dead within an hour, but they proceeded undeterred despite the odds.
A paramedic approached the man on the left, sitting on the stairs, bleeding from his right forearm. He was alert but bewildered at the commotion and the sight of the other two men on the ground.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The paramedic asked.
The man just stared at him.
“Sir?” The paramedic asked again.
“My arm,” he said as he looked at the wound on his arm. He then looked at the other two men. “Are they alright?” he asked.
“We’re gonna take care of them,” the paramedic said.
“Take care of them first.”
“We are.”
The man watched as the other two were put on stretchers and transported to waiting ambulances. He looked at the wet bloody steps, where the men’s bodies lay just seconds ago. Those who came to see him and his two colleagues had cleared the area, and Israeli Defense Force and embassy security swarmed the area looking for any clues as to who the shooter was. He watched the two ambulances leave the area, sirens blaring, racing to Jerusalem Health.
The paramedic put a triangle bandage on the man’s forearm.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” the paramedic said.
The man got up and walked on his own to the waiting ambulance, got in, then saw a man in a suit follow him onto the ambulance before he heard the loud slam of the ambulance doors close.
“Sir, are you OK?” The man in the suit asked.
“Yes.”
“Any idea who did this?”
“I’ve got a good idea,” the man said, blood beginning to soak through his bandage.
Get The Lawless One and the End of Time on Amazon