The Run
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
790
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
790
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
The Run
In the middle of the woods, unprotected and unsuspecting, they fall on him like wolves on a deer.
The thin branches of the saplings catch against his body, ripping, tearing, pulling his skin as he runs. His steps are quick and lithe, even as his feet move backwards over the fallen summer brush. Snow cracks and breaks under his weight. Between the crunch of the snow and the pounding of his heart, he can almost ignore the reports of his pistols.
Behind him, she calls out his name. What a stupid thing to do, at a time like this. Bullets whiz past his head as he pushes the sound from his mind. Ignore her, keep shooting. Ignore her, keep running. His foot loses purchase on the slippery ground. He feels – no, hears, he's too numb from cold and adrenaline to feel – something lodge in his flesh. His body falls hard into a trunk and the air leaves his lungs in a misty puff.
Blood pumps through his veins and out his thigh. “Fuck,” he hisses. Light reflects off the snow covered forest floor like a beacon, and he knows he's close to the edge. To clear ground. To her.
“Peter!”
The trees grow sparser. He has to work harder to find cover from the moving sheet of ammunition looking for a home in his chest. He ducks behind an old, barren tree and lets out a deep, labored breath. The open meadow is so close he can see tiny blades of brown grass peaking through the snow.
He reloads both pistols. Just ten rounds to take down fifteen men. He takes another breath before moving from his cover.
His aim is perfect. Seven bullets, seven kills, all with a precision he thought he'd lost. He fires one more shot before one hits him in the chest.
It's a glancing blow; he knows he'll live. The refrozen snow of the meadow is under his foot. The sun is shining on his back.
He turns to her, for just an instant, just long enough to yell, “Run!”
She is frozen in fear. He holds out his left arm, fires one more round. It finds its mark with ease One left. One last bullet, and I'll put it in his fucking head...
His body shakes again and again. Pop, pop, pop, one round after another delving deep into his flesh. She screams as he falls.
He wants to tell her to run, but his lips won't move. He hopes she knows how much it hurts him to fail, how it hurts worse than all the bullets pulverizing his organs. He fears that once he's down, she'll stay anchored in her spot.
Time is slow enough for him to feel the lead bore into his heart. His body twitches reflexively, as if he's shooing away a bug. He sees only her. She stands so close, huddling behind a dead tree, her silvery hair blowing in the gentle breeze, her stark blue eyes wide with terror. The sounds around him muffle, as if he's underwater, but he can't miss the chilling report of his pistol.
Her body collapses. Her warm blood drips down her forehead to stain the white snow. Before he breathes his last, he realizes that she's dead.
It's probably for the best.
The thin branches of the saplings catch against his body, ripping, tearing, pulling his skin as he runs. His steps are quick and lithe, even as his feet move backwards over the fallen summer brush. Snow cracks and breaks under his weight. Between the crunch of the snow and the pounding of his heart, he can almost ignore the reports of his pistols.
Behind him, she calls out his name. What a stupid thing to do, at a time like this. Bullets whiz past his head as he pushes the sound from his mind. Ignore her, keep shooting. Ignore her, keep running. His foot loses purchase on the slippery ground. He feels – no, hears, he's too numb from cold and adrenaline to feel – something lodge in his flesh. His body falls hard into a trunk and the air leaves his lungs in a misty puff.
Blood pumps through his veins and out his thigh. “Fuck,” he hisses. Light reflects off the snow covered forest floor like a beacon, and he knows he's close to the edge. To clear ground. To her.
“Peter!”
The trees grow sparser. He has to work harder to find cover from the moving sheet of ammunition looking for a home in his chest. He ducks behind an old, barren tree and lets out a deep, labored breath. The open meadow is so close he can see tiny blades of brown grass peaking through the snow.
He reloads both pistols. Just ten rounds to take down fifteen men. He takes another breath before moving from his cover.
His aim is perfect. Seven bullets, seven kills, all with a precision he thought he'd lost. He fires one more shot before one hits him in the chest.
It's a glancing blow; he knows he'll live. The refrozen snow of the meadow is under his foot. The sun is shining on his back.
He turns to her, for just an instant, just long enough to yell, “Run!”
She is frozen in fear. He holds out his left arm, fires one more round. It finds its mark with ease One left. One last bullet, and I'll put it in his fucking head...
His body shakes again and again. Pop, pop, pop, one round after another delving deep into his flesh. She screams as he falls.
He wants to tell her to run, but his lips won't move. He hopes she knows how much it hurts him to fail, how it hurts worse than all the bullets pulverizing his organs. He fears that once he's down, she'll stay anchored in her spot.
Time is slow enough for him to feel the lead bore into his heart. His body twitches reflexively, as if he's shooing away a bug. He sees only her. She stands so close, huddling behind a dead tree, her silvery hair blowing in the gentle breeze, her stark blue eyes wide with terror. The sounds around him muffle, as if he's underwater, but he can't miss the chilling report of his pistol.
Her body collapses. Her warm blood drips down her forehead to stain the white snow. Before he breathes his last, he realizes that she's dead.
It's probably for the best.