Read Should Have Killed The Kid for Free Online

sight of Brendan sprawled on the ground, twitching feebly as the soldier stood over him. His two comrades putting up a pretence of looking the other way as the soldier hit him again.
    And again.
    The head crumpling beneath the blows as the soldier put everything into them. His neck and arm muscles corded. His face twisted into a snarl as the first red flecks started to dot his face and Brendon’s body jerked in response to the impact.
    Over and over and over. Until Dave could see the moment stretching out forever in front of him. See the butt falling over and over in its metronome beat.
    But it wasn’t to be.
    ‘I think he’s learnt his lesson, mate,’ one of the other soldiers finally interceded. His voice didn’t show any real concern though. It was casually sardonic as he’d calmly studied the remnants of what had once been Brendan’s skull, now mashed into the carpet. ‘Guess that’ll be the last time he loses his head, huh?’
    The blood speckled soldier stared at the other one for a moment, his eyes still blazing as he panted heavily. For a second Dave thought he was going to take it even further and attack his comrade. A very long second it was as he imagined the bloodshed that a shooting spree between the two would cause with so many people cooped up together.
    Then the soldier had flinched and a smile slowly split his spattered face as though he’d just got the other one’s joke. ‘Yeah, you’re right there.’ The grin turned to a chuckle as he slapped his comrade on the arm. ‘Come on let’s get this fucker out of here before corporal diligence starts giving us shit.’
    It had been a long, long breath he’d held for the few seconds it took the soldiers to drag Brendan past him. The pulped mess of his head had left a narrow streak of gore along the carpet behind them that Dave couldn't keep his eyes off – as if he could read it like tea leaves and yield some sort of explanation from the grisly mess.
    Although after a few more seconds had yielded nothing but nausea, Dave had admitted defeat. He'd headed to his mat in the cubicle to find that, at the very least, Brendan’s death had distracted the others long enough for him to claim the half-filled bottle that had been tossed on top of his blankets.
    He’d eventually got the gist of it from Sandra, the mousy blonde who was tucked into the corner of the cubicle opposite.
    ‘He wanted more,’ she said as Dave gulped down his meagre dose of water and tried to ignore the tics and spasms shock sent rippling through her face. ‘That was all. His bottle was short and he just asked for more and it was like the soldiers snapped. Just clubbed him and dragged him off. Then… they…’ Sandra had dissolved into sobs that had still continued as Dave had crept out of the cubicle after finishing his water. Although a small part of him had been thinking that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, most of him was just sick to the stomach.
    The sick feeling that had followed him to his current perch, nestled in amongst the jungle of office furniture that filled the stairwell – he hadn’t the energy for another trip up to the roof – and was still there, twisted into a knot in the pit of his stomach as he tapped his pen on the pad he’d found in a desk drawer and tried to think of what to do.
    The soldier’s treatment of Brendan was another thing to factor into his already confusing calculations. With the rapid rate at which things were degenerating around him, Dave could feel even the lacklustre safety of the skyscraper slowly fading.
    He barely even noticed that he’d started scrawling a circle around the Ciamantti’s logo until his pen started to tear through the pad.
    A jumble of words and images somersaulted through his head. The gun butt crashing down. Over and over. Overlaid by Monty’s lisping voice: you need to do it now. They’re coming. Then the soldier’s smile on the roof. I already know you’ve chosen a possible child. Why do you