No Greater Love

 No Greater Love

    Should I go back?

    No. I was being stupid.

    But I am going to die. And nobody will care.

    “Shut up,” I muttered to myself, shoving the thought out.

    Nobody cares. They may not say it directly to your face, but it is true. Nobody. Cares.

    The wind whipped through my thin sweatshirt, sending shivers up and down my spine. A single tear slipped out. I wiped it away, reminding myself that I had to focus on why I had come here in the middle of the night.

    But the thoughts came back.

    No one. Not a single person will notice you are gone. Why would they? You are nothing but an insignificant teenager. You will die a meaningless death.

    “SHUT UP!” I shouted, vanquishing the thoughts as long as I could.

    Then I reminded myself why I had come to this bridge.

    You came to save others. This is for the greater good. Millions of people will live if you give your life. Yes, people will mourn, but eventually, they will realize it had to be done.

    I shifted my footing. Waiting in the middle of the bridge was becoming annoying, and the dark of the night was scaring me. Zagan would be here soon, and he would be prepared to receive the money, which I did not have, for drugs, that I had no intention of purchasing.

    Soon enough, a pair of headlights shone into my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I made sure that my hood was up, concealing my face, and then shoved my hands into my pockets. The pistol attached to my belt was jabbing me in the back, but I was comforted by the pain. I knew that I would not be able to fight Zagan without a weapon. I also knew that I would die in the process.

    I was up against an experienced drug dealer whom no DEA or FBI agent had been able to successfully capture. Experienced meant dangerous. Dangerous meant little to no chance of survival.

    Especially for a 19-year-old girl, even if I had been second in my combat class. My best friend, India, was first. She also worked at the DEA and had no clue that I was here, at this small bridge. At least, as far as I knew.

    The headlights turned off and the driver’s door opened as a man stepped out. Like me, he was wearing a black hoodie which was concealing his face. As he swaggered toward me, I started having second thoughts.

    Did I want to risk dying simply to stop this man?

    Of course, I did. I straightened my shoulders and assumed an air of confidence.

    “Hey,” I said, “are you the Z?” I had done my research and learned that people who bought from him called him the Z.

    “If that’s what you wanna call me.” His raspy voice filled the night air. The only light was coming from the moon and the stars, which was not nearly enough. “Do you have the money?”

    “Yeah. Let me just find it.” I pretended to rummage through my pockets as he came to a stop about four feet away. I grasped my gun handle, mustering up the courage to confront him.

    Without warning, he whipped out a gun from behind his back and pointed it directly at my forehead.

    I froze, releasing my hold on the pistol.

    “I know you are a cop and are here to end me. But I like living, so I’m gonna stop you right there.” His menacing tone sent shivers down my spine. This time it was from fear, not the cold wind. “Except I also know that you are just a kid. So, if you leave without telling anyone anything, and drop this case, I will let you go. But mark my words, if I let you go, I will be watching you. If you tell anyone about this, I swear I will hurt everyone you love.”

    Terror flowed through my veins, moving faster than my racing heart. I could barely take in what he said. I was still processing the fact that he knew who I was and that I was there to stop him.

    “H-how?” I whispered, my mind moving a million miles per second. “How do you know who I am?”

    “I tapped into your line after you called me. After I knew your name, I looked you up. You were second in your combat class, and India Chamberlain was first. Yet you didn’t see this coming.” He grinned, which was a terrifying thing to see.

    “I-I . . .” I trailed off. Swiftly, I whipped the gun I was holding out from behind my back. “I am Agent Nova from the DEA, and I am here to arrest you.”

    Zagan merely chuckled. “I would love to see you try,” he hissed.

    Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and Zagan’s body jerked to the side. He turned slightly and I could see blood pouring from the left side of his chest, seeping through his clothing. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. I spun to see who had shot the gun and to my utter shock, India stood, gun raised, next to Zagan’s black car.

    “India?” I asked, speaking to no one in particular.

    She lowered her gun slightly and glanced at me, smirking. “Hey, Nova. It looks like you need help.”

    In my peripheral vision, I noticed a small movement. India noticed it as well and rushed toward me as I realized Zagan was still alive and had lifted his gun. India dove in front of me as another gunshot rang out. India screamed as she fell to the concrete ground.

    Zagan had mustered enough strength to raise his gun and shoot it.

    And the bullet had hit India.

    My heart dropped.

    “NO!” I shrieked, darting over to where Zagan was lying. Taking the gun from his hand, I slammed the end of it into his head, knocking him out. I bolted over to where India had collapsed, my heart sinking even lower.

    “Where did it hit you?” I cried, sliding my hands under her weak body.

    I held her in my lap as she responded, “My . . . by my left side . . . just missed the heart.”

    Her face contorted with pain as I adjusted my position.

    “I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!” I exclaimed, tears dripping down my cheeks.

    India clenched her teeth and sucked in a breath as a tear slipped out. “It’s—it’s fine.” She coughed, blood soaking through her white shirt. I tried to put pressure on her wound, but nothing was working. The blood was flowing too fast.

    “I don’t know what to do!” I cried. My tears were mixing with the blood on my hands.

    “Nova—” India choked— “it’s okay. There’s nothing . . . nothing you can do. Nothing. And that’s okay . . . that’s okay,” she repeated. “I chose to—to step in front of that—that gun . . . and that is not your fault. It was nobody’s choice but—but my own.” She coughed again, her eyes fluttering shut. Then she snapped her eyes open again, forcing me to focus on her. “I love you. I want you to—to know—know that.” Then she stopped coughing, and her face grew deathly still.

    As I watched her face turn gray, my body shut down and went into panic mode.

    I was powerless. Helpless. Unable to do anything helpful.

    All I could do was watch my best friend die. Because of my mistake. If only I had watched Zagan closer and knocked him out before he had the chance to raise the gun.

    “No! India!” I screamed, staring at her motionless face. “Come back! Come back to me! I loved you! You were my best friend! Come back—!” I choked on my words and broke down. Uncontrollable sobs shook my body. Pain shredded my heart in a way I had never felt before.

    Was this how love burned?

    Was this how true friendship hurt?

    Was this how the end of all importance in life felt?

    Why did it hurt so much?

    The grief was overpowering. Overwhelming.

    I had never before felt this amount of pain. It sliced, scalded, and scorched my heart.

    Soon, my tears trickled to a stop. I stared, broken, at India’s beautiful face one last time. Then I stood, gently carried her body, and laid her inside the car.

    Closing the car door, I wiped away the last of my tears and pulled out my phone. I pressed the speed dial button that was connected to the DEA’s direct number. Nobody answered, so I left a short message telling them the location of Zagan’s body.

    I slid into the car's front seat and sat there, blankly staring.

    I was in too much pain to know much, but I knew one thing. I knew without a doubt that our friendship had been the truest form of love.

    It was often said that no greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. And that was true. But I wanted to add something to it. Something like this:

    No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother.

    Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame.

    But for one person in the dark where no one will ever know or see.

Written by Miriam M.

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