Thursday night, Max saw his opportunity. He was off that night due to a water leak at the warehouse where he worked. The place was crowded with people; employees, managers, plumbers, and everyone else under the sun, so they sent him home. The bus dropped him a few blocks from his house. As he walked towards it, he saw a car idling on the street. It was fairly common around this area to do that, especially when the nights were a little chilly.
He spent maybe thirty seconds deciding on whether to go ahead and take it. He did. Once he was behind the wheel, he could feel the surge of adrenaline already starting to work its way through his body. He had started carrying his gun for opportunities just like this one. It sat in his book bag in the seat next to him.
At the first red light, he drew it out, then he aimed his car towards the bar district near the college. Despite the warning given by the SCTU just two days ago, the place was packed. There were dozens of people milling about the streets. He had expected nothing less since they only had a week until finals. For some reason, his fellow students would drink heavy all this week and then crack the books on Sunday and pray they passed on Monday morning. Add to it that they didn’t have class on Friday due to finals and everyone was out living it up for a few extra nights.
It was all about timing and understanding how the human brain worked. If all their brains processed like his, they wouldn’t be such easy targets. Instead of being out drinking, they would be getting a few extra days of studying in due to the madman that roamed the streets.
If he had been the prey and not the predator, he’d be home right now, watching TV with his roommates or getting a few extra hours of sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than about four hours. Maybe a Saturday night over a year ago, but he wasn’t even sure about that. He no longer needed sleep like the others; he was becoming something more than himself. He was becoming something more than human. He could feel it. He stopped at a red light, drew the gun, and fired the first shot into a crowd of people.
He smiled as the herd broke up. People began screaming and running. Chaos and panic broke out among them. He aimed near a girl that was fleeing and fired.
His arm felt like someone had poured molten lead into it. His hand spasmed and he dropped the gun. He started to drive away, but rear ended the car in front of him. He felt light headed, not in a good way. There was something very wrong.
“Out of the car!” People were shouting at him. Didn’t they know he had a gun? Didn’t they understand that he would kill them? He looked down. Surprised to see the gun was gone and even more surprised to see steam coming from his engine. What the hell had happened in the last three seconds?
“Out of the car! Get out slowly, hands where we can see them, lay face down on the ground!” The shouting was getting closer, he turned to face whoever was shouting at him.
Brock Lowman didn’t look like he could take on a small dog in a fight, let alone a serial killer. Yet it was him shouting at Max. Max sneered at him, unsure how this lowly US Marshal had been here, at this moment. Max was bleeding profusely from just below his elbow. His hand wouldn’t work the door handle. He tried to back the stolen car up, but it refused to start.
The door was wrenched open, jerked out from under his bleeding arm. He stared straight ahead, unwilling to let the US Marshal have the satisfaction of seeing him wince with the motion. Lowman jerked him out by his shirt. Or so he thought, when he did finally make eye contact, the man that had hold of him was not Lowman, it was another US Marshal. He didn’t remember the guy’s name. Max smiled at him and quickly punched the man twice in the side. He rolled away from Max.
“Knife!” Multiple people shouted. Another bullet burned through Max’s body. It tore through his shoulder. He cried out and was instantly pissed off at himself for showing weakness. A boot slammed against his hand. He felt the bones break as the boot ground the fist holding the knife into the asphalt road. He could hear the snapping of his fingers as the handle and asphalt destroyed his fingers. He would probably never be able to use that hand again.
“Don’t do it,” someone said very quietly to him. It was strange to hear amongst all the shouting. He looked up. David Ashby stood over him. He was the one destroying his hand.
“How did you know?” Max asked.
“We discovered why you hunted,” David answered him. “After that, it all fell into place.”
Max wanted to ask more, but the look on Ashby’s face stopped him. There was something off about the man. He could see it now that he was up close. All the emotion was missing.
For the first time, Max realized there were more predators out there than just him. Predators that were meaner than him, predators that were scarier than him, predators that could kill him and never think twice about it. He stopped resisting.