What I write when I have nothing to say
Thursday, June 19, 2008, 8:18 PM
A prompt-inspired entry. I totally flew by the crotch of my panties. It's not great, but I think it could be fun.
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Shaine’s knees were shaking so badly that she collapsed as soon as she ran head first into tree. It was dark enough that she couldn’t see six inches in front of her nose. Six months ago, she would have yelped loud enough to alert most of the forest’s inhabitants of her presence. Six months ago, she’d gone laser tagging with friends, in a maze of a building that blared Spybreak by the Propeller Heads from hidden speakers. Two girls, six guys, and she’d tagged them all while somehow eluding being tagged herself.
Now here she was seeing yellow moons, blue stars and green clovers in her head, fighting for her life and shooting a gun with real bullets. Although she had yet to squeeze the trigger, but damned if she’d waste any bullets on a tree or a squirrel. Besides, shooting would reveal her hiding place.
Oh, her frigging head.
It was eerily quiet suddenly as everyone paused where they were to listen. Five bad guys, two good guys. Shaine prayed Priest’s goons would shoot each other. She held her mouth wide, trying to still the sound of her breathing. A branch cracked loudly in the distance and she swiveled, arms stiff and gun poised. Another branch cracked and fell and the silence became so loud, it reminded her of the movie The Blair Witch Project.
Obviously stress was causing her some kind of meltdown.
No matter how much she fought it, her breath kept coming in hard gulps. The urge to laugh was strong. How could she come from boring and sheltered to being hunted by the dangerous in the span of a few months? And why didn’t Daren tell her being shot at would cause this kind of reaction?
Someone grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and her right arm. Shaine squeezed her gun’s trigger and shot red lightning and thunder into the sky. Three bullets. One for oh hell, no. One for I’m dead. And one for eff you.
Daren’s voice stilled her panic. “Don’t make me tranq you.”
He pulled her back against his body, his warm, solid, hard body. And then they were rolling arse-over-elbow down what seemed like Mt. Everest.
“Damn it!” she wheezed when they slammed to a stop. “Next time, you strip for the bad guy.”
Daren didn’t have a sense of humor, though. She doubted he knew anything about The Blair Witch Project, that he’d ever eaten a bowl of Lucky Charms, that he’d even told a dumb blond joke. Those beautiful green eyes of his were like an animal’s—not cruel, not human, but uncaring. Ruthless. He was unafraid to die. It was written across his face.
“Next time, take out the target as profiled,” he said, his words crisp.
Frustrated and feeling teary-eyed again, she raised herself off of him by jamming her elbow into his stomach. Before she levered herself away, he caught her and dragged her back against his chest again.
“More than one hundred children are lost tonight because we failed,” he whispered against her ear. “Next time, you’ll kill him with a kiss.”
Shaine stilled. Nodded once. Screamed deep down in her soul. They’d never get as good a chance at Priest as they’d gotten tonight. Shame choked her hard in the throat. How crazy was it that she felt badly about not killing someone?
A burst of air breezed past her temple and embedded itself with a thunk into the ground beside them. In the same moment, Daren rolled violently away and jerked her up after him. She ran with one arm across her face, the other arm caught in his vise-like grip, until her lungs burned and her legs felt like dead weight. Her gun was God knew where. He had to drag her the last few yards to the jeep concealed at the edge of the woods.
And she wondered why he bothered.