Post by Thunder on Jan 25, 2016 18:00:28 GMT -5
My alarm goes off at exactly 5:00 a.m and I go and get up with it. Why am I getting up at 5 in the morning? Money. As in green stuff. Big bucks. That's why. You see, I hate kids but I love money more than my hatred. So, of course I'll go babysit. Their parents are filthy rich, which means more money for me, and I'll do A LOT for money.
I tug off my faded tank top and yoga pants and pull on a pair of short jean shorts. My music still plays softly from my iPod as I dig through my closet. Just because those kids are filthy rich and I'm not, doesn't mean I have to dress like a cave man. Finally, I come across my favorite purple Old Navy top with the low V-neck and due to my complete desire to be entirely different, I wear two black studded belts around the shirt.
Several impatient honks of a taxi horn drive me out of my room with no food. Eh, who cares? I'll have Douglas stop at McDonald's or something. I scoop my tan bag up and push myself outside. Douglas slams on the horn again and I shoot him a glare. "I'm coming! Lay off the horn already or you'll wake Shela!"
Shela is my mom. My parents divorced over a year ago when Shela found out my dad was having an affair. She'd never admit to it, but she was already seeing Douglas before the divorce was over. Shela and I are polar opposites, that's why I call her Shela instead on 'Mom'.
Despite the fact I wanted to live with my dad, I actually kind of like Douglas. He's like an older brother to me. He agrees that once he and Shela marry, It's gonna be weird, but I won't consider him any more than a brother. Sure he's older than me, but he could be an older brother, right?
He rolls down his window of the taxi and smirks. "Morning, Tay," he says.
I open the door and put my bag in my lap, pulling the door shut. "No nicknames, Douglas, you know that."
He glares at me as he shifts the taxi into reverse. "You know what time it is?"
I shrug. "Like, five-twenty?"
The taxi screeches out of our driveway and out on to the open road. "Yes, exactly. You were supposed to be out at five-fifteen. You're late," Douglas says.
Right, because he's always right on time himself. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and lose. What can I say? I'm not the greatest fighter. "So, can I ask why you, of all people, are babysitting?" Douglas asks.
"Need money. That's the only reason. Annie and Marcus are filthy rich and those brats get whatever they want," I shrug, "So if I do a good job, I get money. They have a stupid 6 year old named Ginger. They're both brats. I mean, Ginger could probably ask the Tooth Fairy for a pony and get one. The freaking Tooth Fairy for crying out loud!"
Douglas laughs. "Tooth Fairy, huh? Give them a break, you were that small once too, you know."
I rest my head on my hand and turn to the window. "Yeah, I know. It's not like I was that rich though. Not that much of a brat. I was quiet. And patient. And good."
"Yeah, and what happened to that?"
I shoot him a glare and sigh, turning my attention back out the window. We pull up to a traffic light in the city. Skyscrapers tower over us. Storefront mannequins sleep in the lights and the noise of a busy city. Graffiti litters alleys and smoke floats gracefully through the air. "Sometimes I forget I almost didn't make it."
Our conversation falls into oblivion as silence sinks in around us. Yes, you hear me right. When I was born, I was born dead. Doctors did everything they could to save me, and (unfortunately for my parents), they did.
Most people forget everything from when they were babies, but I can never seem to forget that day. The feeling of knowing where I was and how cold the world seemed. Seeing the bright lights and being surrounded by numbness. Wanting to cry but not being able to.
It was the most awful feeling in the world. Complete helplessness.
~~~~~~~~
Almost an hour later, we pull up to a street filled with large houses. Mansions, if you will. I shrink back in my seat, feeling more and more like a caveman with every passing house.
Douglas stops in front of a huge, grey-stoned house with white gigantic pillars holding the roof up over the porch. A bright red Corvette Stingray sits in the driveway next to an old version of Christine.
"Um, please tell me this isn't the house," I say, hugging my bag closer.
"Yep, this is it," Douglas says.
Right. Naturally.
Well, if this house doesn't make me look like a caveman, then I don't know what will. I may not live in a trailer or a one story home, but this makes my house look like I'm living under a rock.
"Yeah, thanks for the ride," I mutter, getting out of the taxi.
"Good luck, Tay!" Douglas says, and pulls off the curb.
I shoot the taxi a glare as if that solves all the problems in the world. So, too self-conscious to go in, I stand in the driveway, holding my bag in one hand and my phone in the other.
Right. Just a house. With two brats. And several floors. And expensive things. And....money.
Screw this, I'm going in. Before I can take a step toward the house, the door swings open. A woman with short, black hair steps out wearing an elegant black dress and a big smile. "That couldn't be Miss Taylor Martinez, could it?" She asks.
Typical question. "It is," I say, faking a smile.
Annie comes down the driveway and I meet her halfway. She hugs me. "You're so tall now! The last time I saw you you were-um-smaller."
Yeah. Famous reaction from an old family friend who realizes I haven't grown much. "Well, the girls are inside watching T.V. Tell them I said bye, but I'm already late. Good seeing you again, Taylor!"
Annie walks back to the Corvette and I frown. Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.
~~~~~~
As soon as I walk in, I'm greeted by freezing air conditioning and two pairs of wide eyes. The one girl, the oldest, stares at me as if I'm a robber and she's debating whether to stab me or shoot me. "Hi, I'm Taylor. Um, your babysitter?"
Had their mom told them about me? Or is this a complete surprise? "You're Isabella and Ginger, right?"
The girl with the brown hair nods. "Izzy. My friends call me Izzy."
I study her. She's tall for her age. About my height. Pretty green eyes and long brown hair.
Ginger, the little one, gets up off the floor and comes over. She has thick, wavy light strawberry blond hair and wide, blue eyes. She just has that face that would make anyone fall to the floor and give her anything she wants.
I want to slap her.
She comes over to me with a big, bright smile and gives the the softest little hug. I'm doing this for money. Lots and lots of money.
Ginger looks up at me and smiles again. "May we please go outside and play?"
May I go toss myself off a bridge? Screw the money, this isn't worth it. "Yeah, fine whatever."
She grins and hugs me tighter. "Thank you! Come on, Izzy!" Ginger grabs Isabella's hand and takes her to get her shoes on.
I'm left standing in the living room. Plain white walls and white carpeting. Black leather couch and, oh, look at that, a flat screen T.V. hanging from the wall. Why not?
"Come on, Taylor," Isabella says, trailing behind Ginger as the two walk through the doorway into the garage.
I follow them, pulling the door shut behind me.
Isabella makes a beeline over to the neighbors house and Ginger follows. "Thank you!" She calls over her shoulder.
I'm in this for the money. Lots and lots of money.... It's pathetic how many times I have to remind myself of this.
So, out of sight out of mind, I settle on the concrete steps of the porch, only to have Ginger come back over to me, smiling sheepishly. "Can you come with me, back inside? I forgot my ball."
Forgetfulness from an adorable 6-year-old might totally fly with someone else. That someone is not me. The cuter the dumber. "Whatever."
She grins and I follow her back into the house. Ginger disappears around the corner and I hear her thump up the stairs. Take your time.
I'd take this time to go to the bathroom, but I don't trust myself not to throw myself out a window. So, I have no choice but to stand and wait.
Seconds later, Ginger thumps back down the stairs hold a pink little ball with Minnie Mouse on it. We came back in for that? Of course, why not? She's so special. Oh, totally.
She takes the lead and I follow behind her. After closing the door I freeze. It's silent, and not the usual seven-a.m. silent either. It's...deathly silent.
Ginger's already halfway back to the neighbors. For all I know, they could be in that garage with guns and knives or something.
"Hey, Ginger! Wait up! Let me go first, okay?" I ask, running to catch up.
She doesn't argue, so I take the lead. "Wait outside, alright?"
The girl nods and I walk into the garage and freeze. Oh, God.... No..no no no.
This isn't real...it's not...real...
They're dead. All of them. All the kids are gone. Dead. Slaughtered. Some have bullet wounds and the rest have their throats slit. We were only gone for a minute. How could this have happened?
Blood is smeared across the concrete floors. Bodies lay twisted at unnatural angles. Mangled and broken with death, as if Death itself paid a little visit. The smell, oh God, the smell...what if I had been here? Would I have been one of them? Could I have stopped this? Saved them? Should I be-
"Can I come in now?" Ginger asks sweetly.
"Um, no. Just...just wait a minute," I reply, fighting to keep my voice from shaking.
Somethings not right...shouldn't their parent have heard the gunshots? The screams? "Stay there, Ginger. I'll be right back, okay?"
"Kay."
I take a deep breath and take slow, cautious steps toward the garage door, careful not to step on any bodies. Please be home, please be home.
The door hangs open slightly and I walk in.
Let's get something straight. There's quiet, which is natural, then there's silent, which is unnatural. Silence is, well, death and I'm sensing a lot of it. "Hello? Anyone home? Please, answer me if you are."
Silence. "Please somebody, anybody! I need help!"
The strong, unmistakable scent of blood fills my nose as I round the corner into the living room. Oh my God. This is so, so much worse.
Blood runs like a river from the mutilated bodies and onto the white couch. These two...they're not like the rest. Someone was having fun killing. From their necks down to their stomachs is a huge gash, in the way that you would gut a fish.
A scream rips through the silence, slicing it like a knife. Ginger.
~~~~~~~~
"Ginger? Ginger where are you?" I push through the house and make my way back to the garage.
As I reach the door, I hear sobbing. "Are you o...oh."
Ginger's found her sister. She's on her knees next to Isabella's broken body crying. "She's sleeping and won't wake up," she cries," wake her up. Please."
I walk over to her. She doesn't know what's happening. She doesn't even know that he own sister was murdered in cold blood. I envy that. I wish I didn't know that this is a mass murder. I don't even know what to- oh.
911. Duh.
I dig through my pockets until I find it. Quickly, I dial. The phone buzzes. No answer. Like...the line was cut....but how?
I try several different numbers. My dad's. Shela's. Annie's. All voicemail. Lastly, I call Douglas, the only one who answers. "Douglas! Oh, thank God!"
"Taylor, I can't talk now, traffic's really bad and-"
There's a series of loud screams and car horns. Screeching of tires and gunshots. "Taylor-"
"Douglas!?"
The call cuts out. I stare down at my phone as if I'm witnessing my entire family die right in front of me. Tears fall down my face. That's it. They're gone. My family. Ginger's family. Everyone's dead. I don't know how, or why, but they are. We're the only one's left.
"It's okay. When Izzy wakes up, she'll know what to do," Ginger says, patting my hand.
It's no longer safe here. We can't afford to stay in one place for too long. The killers might know they missed us and come back. "Let's go Ginger. We can't stay here."
She leans down and kisses Isabella's forehead. "You'll find us when you wake up. I promise, Izzy."
No, she won't. She's dead. All of them. I don't have the heart to tell Ginger. "She will. Isabella will come find us when she wakes up," I tell her.
Everything's going to change. We're no longer safe. We'll never have normal lives. Because we're the only ones left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note
Hey guys, I'd really like to hear what you guys think of the chapter and what I can do to make this book more enjoyable for you.
Also, anyone who wants to make and cover for the book can feel free, just message me and let me know! And if you have any better casting ideas let me know! I'd be more than happy to hear from you!
Chapter 2:
I tug off my faded tank top and yoga pants and pull on a pair of short jean shorts. My music still plays softly from my iPod as I dig through my closet. Just because those kids are filthy rich and I'm not, doesn't mean I have to dress like a cave man. Finally, I come across my favorite purple Old Navy top with the low V-neck and due to my complete desire to be entirely different, I wear two black studded belts around the shirt.
Several impatient honks of a taxi horn drive me out of my room with no food. Eh, who cares? I'll have Douglas stop at McDonald's or something. I scoop my tan bag up and push myself outside. Douglas slams on the horn again and I shoot him a glare. "I'm coming! Lay off the horn already or you'll wake Shela!"
Shela is my mom. My parents divorced over a year ago when Shela found out my dad was having an affair. She'd never admit to it, but she was already seeing Douglas before the divorce was over. Shela and I are polar opposites, that's why I call her Shela instead on 'Mom'.
Despite the fact I wanted to live with my dad, I actually kind of like Douglas. He's like an older brother to me. He agrees that once he and Shela marry, It's gonna be weird, but I won't consider him any more than a brother. Sure he's older than me, but he could be an older brother, right?
He rolls down his window of the taxi and smirks. "Morning, Tay," he says.
I open the door and put my bag in my lap, pulling the door shut. "No nicknames, Douglas, you know that."
He glares at me as he shifts the taxi into reverse. "You know what time it is?"
I shrug. "Like, five-twenty?"
The taxi screeches out of our driveway and out on to the open road. "Yes, exactly. You were supposed to be out at five-fifteen. You're late," Douglas says.
Right, because he's always right on time himself. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and lose. What can I say? I'm not the greatest fighter. "So, can I ask why you, of all people, are babysitting?" Douglas asks.
"Need money. That's the only reason. Annie and Marcus are filthy rich and those brats get whatever they want," I shrug, "So if I do a good job, I get money. They have a stupid 6 year old named Ginger. They're both brats. I mean, Ginger could probably ask the Tooth Fairy for a pony and get one. The freaking Tooth Fairy for crying out loud!"
Douglas laughs. "Tooth Fairy, huh? Give them a break, you were that small once too, you know."
I rest my head on my hand and turn to the window. "Yeah, I know. It's not like I was that rich though. Not that much of a brat. I was quiet. And patient. And good."
"Yeah, and what happened to that?"
I shoot him a glare and sigh, turning my attention back out the window. We pull up to a traffic light in the city. Skyscrapers tower over us. Storefront mannequins sleep in the lights and the noise of a busy city. Graffiti litters alleys and smoke floats gracefully through the air. "Sometimes I forget I almost didn't make it."
Our conversation falls into oblivion as silence sinks in around us. Yes, you hear me right. When I was born, I was born dead. Doctors did everything they could to save me, and (unfortunately for my parents), they did.
Most people forget everything from when they were babies, but I can never seem to forget that day. The feeling of knowing where I was and how cold the world seemed. Seeing the bright lights and being surrounded by numbness. Wanting to cry but not being able to.
It was the most awful feeling in the world. Complete helplessness.
~~~~~~~~
Almost an hour later, we pull up to a street filled with large houses. Mansions, if you will. I shrink back in my seat, feeling more and more like a caveman with every passing house.
Douglas stops in front of a huge, grey-stoned house with white gigantic pillars holding the roof up over the porch. A bright red Corvette Stingray sits in the driveway next to an old version of Christine.
"Um, please tell me this isn't the house," I say, hugging my bag closer.
"Yep, this is it," Douglas says.
Right. Naturally.
Well, if this house doesn't make me look like a caveman, then I don't know what will. I may not live in a trailer or a one story home, but this makes my house look like I'm living under a rock.
"Yeah, thanks for the ride," I mutter, getting out of the taxi.
"Good luck, Tay!" Douglas says, and pulls off the curb.
I shoot the taxi a glare as if that solves all the problems in the world. So, too self-conscious to go in, I stand in the driveway, holding my bag in one hand and my phone in the other.
Right. Just a house. With two brats. And several floors. And expensive things. And....money.
Screw this, I'm going in. Before I can take a step toward the house, the door swings open. A woman with short, black hair steps out wearing an elegant black dress and a big smile. "That couldn't be Miss Taylor Martinez, could it?" She asks.
Typical question. "It is," I say, faking a smile.
Annie comes down the driveway and I meet her halfway. She hugs me. "You're so tall now! The last time I saw you you were-um-smaller."
Yeah. Famous reaction from an old family friend who realizes I haven't grown much. "Well, the girls are inside watching T.V. Tell them I said bye, but I'm already late. Good seeing you again, Taylor!"
Annie walks back to the Corvette and I frown. Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.
~~~~~~
As soon as I walk in, I'm greeted by freezing air conditioning and two pairs of wide eyes. The one girl, the oldest, stares at me as if I'm a robber and she's debating whether to stab me or shoot me. "Hi, I'm Taylor. Um, your babysitter?"
Had their mom told them about me? Or is this a complete surprise? "You're Isabella and Ginger, right?"
The girl with the brown hair nods. "Izzy. My friends call me Izzy."
I study her. She's tall for her age. About my height. Pretty green eyes and long brown hair.
Ginger, the little one, gets up off the floor and comes over. She has thick, wavy light strawberry blond hair and wide, blue eyes. She just has that face that would make anyone fall to the floor and give her anything she wants.
I want to slap her.
She comes over to me with a big, bright smile and gives the the softest little hug. I'm doing this for money. Lots and lots of money.
Ginger looks up at me and smiles again. "May we please go outside and play?"
May I go toss myself off a bridge? Screw the money, this isn't worth it. "Yeah, fine whatever."
She grins and hugs me tighter. "Thank you! Come on, Izzy!" Ginger grabs Isabella's hand and takes her to get her shoes on.
I'm left standing in the living room. Plain white walls and white carpeting. Black leather couch and, oh, look at that, a flat screen T.V. hanging from the wall. Why not?
"Come on, Taylor," Isabella says, trailing behind Ginger as the two walk through the doorway into the garage.
I follow them, pulling the door shut behind me.
Isabella makes a beeline over to the neighbors house and Ginger follows. "Thank you!" She calls over her shoulder.
I'm in this for the money. Lots and lots of money.... It's pathetic how many times I have to remind myself of this.
So, out of sight out of mind, I settle on the concrete steps of the porch, only to have Ginger come back over to me, smiling sheepishly. "Can you come with me, back inside? I forgot my ball."
Forgetfulness from an adorable 6-year-old might totally fly with someone else. That someone is not me. The cuter the dumber. "Whatever."
She grins and I follow her back into the house. Ginger disappears around the corner and I hear her thump up the stairs. Take your time.
I'd take this time to go to the bathroom, but I don't trust myself not to throw myself out a window. So, I have no choice but to stand and wait.
Seconds later, Ginger thumps back down the stairs hold a pink little ball with Minnie Mouse on it. We came back in for that? Of course, why not? She's so special. Oh, totally.
She takes the lead and I follow behind her. After closing the door I freeze. It's silent, and not the usual seven-a.m. silent either. It's...deathly silent.
Ginger's already halfway back to the neighbors. For all I know, they could be in that garage with guns and knives or something.
"Hey, Ginger! Wait up! Let me go first, okay?" I ask, running to catch up.
She doesn't argue, so I take the lead. "Wait outside, alright?"
The girl nods and I walk into the garage and freeze. Oh, God.... No..no no no.
This isn't real...it's not...real...
They're dead. All of them. All the kids are gone. Dead. Slaughtered. Some have bullet wounds and the rest have their throats slit. We were only gone for a minute. How could this have happened?
Blood is smeared across the concrete floors. Bodies lay twisted at unnatural angles. Mangled and broken with death, as if Death itself paid a little visit. The smell, oh God, the smell...what if I had been here? Would I have been one of them? Could I have stopped this? Saved them? Should I be-
"Can I come in now?" Ginger asks sweetly.
"Um, no. Just...just wait a minute," I reply, fighting to keep my voice from shaking.
Somethings not right...shouldn't their parent have heard the gunshots? The screams? "Stay there, Ginger. I'll be right back, okay?"
"Kay."
I take a deep breath and take slow, cautious steps toward the garage door, careful not to step on any bodies. Please be home, please be home.
The door hangs open slightly and I walk in.
Let's get something straight. There's quiet, which is natural, then there's silent, which is unnatural. Silence is, well, death and I'm sensing a lot of it. "Hello? Anyone home? Please, answer me if you are."
Silence. "Please somebody, anybody! I need help!"
The strong, unmistakable scent of blood fills my nose as I round the corner into the living room. Oh my God. This is so, so much worse.
Blood runs like a river from the mutilated bodies and onto the white couch. These two...they're not like the rest. Someone was having fun killing. From their necks down to their stomachs is a huge gash, in the way that you would gut a fish.
A scream rips through the silence, slicing it like a knife. Ginger.
~~~~~~~~
"Ginger? Ginger where are you?" I push through the house and make my way back to the garage.
As I reach the door, I hear sobbing. "Are you o...oh."
Ginger's found her sister. She's on her knees next to Isabella's broken body crying. "She's sleeping and won't wake up," she cries," wake her up. Please."
I walk over to her. She doesn't know what's happening. She doesn't even know that he own sister was murdered in cold blood. I envy that. I wish I didn't know that this is a mass murder. I don't even know what to- oh.
911. Duh.
I dig through my pockets until I find it. Quickly, I dial. The phone buzzes. No answer. Like...the line was cut....but how?
I try several different numbers. My dad's. Shela's. Annie's. All voicemail. Lastly, I call Douglas, the only one who answers. "Douglas! Oh, thank God!"
"Taylor, I can't talk now, traffic's really bad and-"
There's a series of loud screams and car horns. Screeching of tires and gunshots. "Taylor-"
"Douglas!?"
The call cuts out. I stare down at my phone as if I'm witnessing my entire family die right in front of me. Tears fall down my face. That's it. They're gone. My family. Ginger's family. Everyone's dead. I don't know how, or why, but they are. We're the only one's left.
"It's okay. When Izzy wakes up, she'll know what to do," Ginger says, patting my hand.
It's no longer safe here. We can't afford to stay in one place for too long. The killers might know they missed us and come back. "Let's go Ginger. We can't stay here."
She leans down and kisses Isabella's forehead. "You'll find us when you wake up. I promise, Izzy."
No, she won't. She's dead. All of them. I don't have the heart to tell Ginger. "She will. Isabella will come find us when she wakes up," I tell her.
Everything's going to change. We're no longer safe. We'll never have normal lives. Because we're the only ones left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note
Hey guys, I'd really like to hear what you guys think of the chapter and what I can do to make this book more enjoyable for you.
Also, anyone who wants to make and cover for the book can feel free, just message me and let me know! And if you have any better casting ideas let me know! I'd be more than happy to hear from you!
Chapter 2:
{Spoiler}
Ginger trails behind me as I work my way out of the neighborhood. The last thing I need is to get the two of us caught and killed.
Ginger is mercifully silent, but that's not exactly a good thing. It leaves me alone with my thoughts. My realizations. If Ginger's family is dead, and her neighbors families, then that means mine is dead to. Shela. My dad. Douglas.
No, Douglas is alive. He has to be. If he's dead, then so am I.
"Taylor? Do you think Sissy's awake now?" Ginger asks softly.
I glance at her, then look back up.
Over the horizon, I can see the sun rising, making the skyscrapers of New York City look tall and black against the bright sunlight. "I don't know. I hope so," I tell her.
We haven't run into many bodies since the garage, so that's a good thing, right?
But the world is eerily silent. It's scary, even if you don't know what's happening. Ginger's lucky. Even for a six-year-old, she's clueless. She doesn't have to worry about keeping her and I safe, unlike me. She doesn't have to worry about never seeing her parents again, because she doesn't know.
I have to protect her. She's so young. I can't let anyone touch her. They'll be sorry if they do.
I grab Ginger's hand. "Let's get going, okay?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We pass several empty yards. No life anywhere. Not in the ground. Not in the trees. No where. Like, they even killed the animals. But....why?
As we near the end of the neighborhood, I spot a body lying face down in the grass. A girl about my age.
Oh, God. I stand on the other side of Ginger so that she can't see the dead girl. She glances up at me. "That girl can help us," says Ginger.
I glance down at her. "No, she's sleeping, too."
Ginger points over at the yard. "No she's not."
I follow her gaze and stop walking. The girl is attempting to sit up in the grass. She lets out a soft squeak of pain and drops back to the ground. Oblivious to the fact that the girl obviously need our help, Ginger shrugs and keeps walking. "She needs help!" I say and take off toward the girl's yard.
I jump over the curb and stumble over to her. She's lucky I didn't trip and fall on her.
She has short, brown hair. As I try to roll her over, I notice that the grass under her is stained with blood. It's smeared over her face and her clothes. Her green eyes go wide when she's sees me. Well, at least as wide as they can go, with her being in so much pain. "They're dead....t-they're all dead. All o-of t-them," she says and draws a sharp breath, wincing in pain.
I pull her into my lap and Ginger comes over. "Were you sleeping?" She asks.
If only. Hell, she's lucky to be alive.
There's a hole in her shirt on her stomach. Someone did try to kill her. Whoever it was, they stabbed her. And it's deep. "He...he tried to kill me. They...they all..they think I'm dead..."
She starts gasping, tears falling on her cheeks. "Are...are we the only ones?"
I can't find the words to answer her and find myself close to tears. I roll my lips in and nod. "Yeah. We are."
Her eyes grow distant. I stare down at her wound and press my hand to it to keep it from bleeding. Like that helps. This is really, really bad. "Ginger, go inside the house and see if you can find any band-aids. Anywhere. And a towel," I say, looking up at Ginger.
She stares at me and takes a half step back. "Now, Ginger."
Once she turns and takes off running up to the house, I turn my attention back down to the girl in my lap. My hand is wet and sticky with her blood. "It's bad, isn't it?" She asks.
Her breaths become shallow and ragged. Well, actually yes, it's pretty bad. But I'm going to save her. I'm not going to let those people get what they want. I'm not going to let her die. I can't. I won't.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" She wheezes.
I shake my head and she starts to cry again. "Hey. Hey, you're alright, okay? I'm not going to let you die. If that's what those people want, they're not getting it. No way am I letting them have the satisfaction of killing another innocent person," I tell her.
Ginger comes back with a wet towel and a box of band-aids. "Well," I sigh, "It'll have to work. For now."
I unbutton her plaid shirt just so that I can see the wound. The old blood around it is already drying, but it's still bleeding. The girl lifts her head to look at it, but I block her view. She doesn't need to see it. Her skin is pale and she already looks like death. "My name's Taylor. What's yours?"
"Mack," the girl replies.
"Listen, Mack. You're going to be fine, but I need to close the wound. Do you know if there's a needle and thread anywhere in your house?" I ask her urgently.
She nods. "Upstairs. In the bathroom. Under-" she draws a sharp breath and winces, "under the counter."
"Ginger, do me another favor, will you?" I say.
Ginger nods. "Go into the upstairs bathroom, look under the counter. Find a needle and thread. Bring it back, okay? Hurry."
She runs back toward the house. "You're gonna be okay, Mack. Just hang in there," I tell her.
Only, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to sew a wound. I mean...it can't be too hard, can It? "Taylor, do you know what your doing?" Mack asks through her pain.
Her forehead is beaded with sweat. I nod. This is the perfect time to learn.
Carefully, so I don't hurt her any worse, I press the towel the the stab wound. "Ow, ow, ow," she says and tangles her finger in the grass. I watch a lot of T.V. and read a lot, so I know enough to keep pressure on the wound. That's what they say on T.V. at least.
"You're okay," I tell her. "I know it hurts. I know, believe me."
Ginger returns with a small white box with a red cross on it. A first aid kit. "My mom has the same box," she says.
I take it from her and open it. Yes! A needle and thread.
I know how to thread a needle and sew fabric, so how much harder could this be? So I thread it tightly. "This will probably hurt," I warn Mack, who only nods.
Carefully, I lower the needle to her skin. My hands and forehead start to sweat and I start to shake. I can do this, I tell myself. I have to.
With my free hand, I pinch the skin together, making it easier to poke the needle through. Mack cries out in pain as I stick it through and pull the needle through on the other side. Ginger kneels down and pats Mack's pale hand.
I use the medical scissors to cut the black thread, then tie it. I repeat this a couple more times before I pause, stealing a glance at her.
Her eyes are closed. Oh, God...is she dead? Ginger looks up at me. "A...are you done?" Mack asks, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
"Almost," I reply, sighing with relief.
Ginger watches as I re-thread the needle for the last stitch. Once again, I lower the needle to he skin and poke it through. She winces and groans in pain, trying not to cry out. Mack's doing better than I would have if I had been in her position. "How does it feel?" I ask, worn out myself.
She takes several gasping breaths as if trying to find the words to answer. "Hurts...bad," she sighs.
I nod. "I bet. Look, we can't stay here, okay? We have to keep moving. I think I passed a sports complex on my way here. That's where we're heading. Mack?"
She nods tiredly. "Why...why a sports complex?"
"They have bats, balls, other potentially dangerous stuff. Stuff we can use to protect us," I say.
Mack nods again. "Smart."
"Here's what we'll do. Go inside the house, take whatever objects we can use as weapons, food, and leave. Okay? Don't waste space on any butter knife, either," I tell the two.
Ginger looks up at the house. "We have...bags," says Mack. "You can put the weapons in those."
I take some gauze out of the kit and use medical tape to hold it on the skin, over the stitches. Then, and I don't care if doctors would do it this way, but I wrap a long Ace Bandage around her stomach to cover the wound. I'm no doctor, so this is the best I can do.
"Okay. Mack, do you think you can stand?" I ask, getting to my feet. Ginger stands next to me.
"No. But I will," she says.
I bend over to help her to her feet. "Let's get inside, okay? I don't want to be out here anymore."
~~~~~~~~~~~
I dig around in the kitchen. Sifting through drawers, cupboards, taking any sharp knife I can find. I don't mean butter knives, either. I mean like, sharp knives. Knives that can kill and save us if we have to use them, like steak knives and butcher knives.
I put my knives in the Adidas bag that Mack gave me. I have food stuffed inside. Food like crackers, chips, stuff that won't go bad and give us food poisoning in a week.
A loud, concussive sound shatters the silence and shakes the house. The sound of a nearby explosion.
The house shakes hard enough to knock me over. The chandelier that hangs over the island in the kitchen sways wildly. Please don't fall, please don't fall.
I cover my head and press myself as close to the island as I can for protection. Another explosion shakes the house and I hear glass shatter upstairs where Ginger and Mack are. I press my arms against my ears to block out the noise.
The black chain that holds the chandelier up breaks and it drops onto the island. The glass shatters and skids across the counter and floor. Shards of glass fall on me. Few cut me, but it still hurts.
The house remains still. No more explosions. Slowly, I sit up. Large shards of glass fall off me like snow. I pull big and small pieces out of my hair and off my clothes. Against my better judgement, I spare a glance in the window above the sink so I can see my reflection. My cheek just below my eye is cut from the glass. My wrist is sliced but other than that, I'm fine.
"Ginger, Mack? You guys okay?" I ask. Silence.
"Ginger? Mack? Report!" Still silence. Panic billows in my stomach. Oh, God. They can't be dead. "Report!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Okay, guys. Second chapter done! Woo! Sorry it wasn't as long as the first, but it was kind of eventful, right? Sort of? No? And, I'm no more of a doctor than Taylor Martinez, so the whole 'stitching Mack up' part probably is less realistic.
When I was 8 I got stitches in my foot when I cut it on a suitcase, so I kind know how it works, but I didn't really watch them do it.
Anyway, I think that part's pretty O.K to me. I haven't done anything like that before so. I mean I have, but not in detail like that.
Anyway, let me know if there's anything you want me to do to make his more exciting.
Until next time,
Runaway.
"We're all grieving, lost, and bleeding"
The Only One - Evanescence
Chapter 3:
Ginger trails behind me as I work my way out of the neighborhood. The last thing I need is to get the two of us caught and killed.
Ginger is mercifully silent, but that's not exactly a good thing. It leaves me alone with my thoughts. My realizations. If Ginger's family is dead, and her neighbors families, then that means mine is dead to. Shela. My dad. Douglas.
No, Douglas is alive. He has to be. If he's dead, then so am I.
"Taylor? Do you think Sissy's awake now?" Ginger asks softly.
I glance at her, then look back up.
Over the horizon, I can see the sun rising, making the skyscrapers of New York City look tall and black against the bright sunlight. "I don't know. I hope so," I tell her.
We haven't run into many bodies since the garage, so that's a good thing, right?
But the world is eerily silent. It's scary, even if you don't know what's happening. Ginger's lucky. Even for a six-year-old, she's clueless. She doesn't have to worry about keeping her and I safe, unlike me. She doesn't have to worry about never seeing her parents again, because she doesn't know.
I have to protect her. She's so young. I can't let anyone touch her. They'll be sorry if they do.
I grab Ginger's hand. "Let's get going, okay?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We pass several empty yards. No life anywhere. Not in the ground. Not in the trees. No where. Like, they even killed the animals. But....why?
As we near the end of the neighborhood, I spot a body lying face down in the grass. A girl about my age.
Oh, God. I stand on the other side of Ginger so that she can't see the dead girl. She glances up at me. "That girl can help us," says Ginger.
I glance down at her. "No, she's sleeping, too."
Ginger points over at the yard. "No she's not."
I follow her gaze and stop walking. The girl is attempting to sit up in the grass. She lets out a soft squeak of pain and drops back to the ground. Oblivious to the fact that the girl obviously need our help, Ginger shrugs and keeps walking. "She needs help!" I say and take off toward the girl's yard.
I jump over the curb and stumble over to her. She's lucky I didn't trip and fall on her.
She has short, brown hair. As I try to roll her over, I notice that the grass under her is stained with blood. It's smeared over her face and her clothes. Her green eyes go wide when she's sees me. Well, at least as wide as they can go, with her being in so much pain. "They're dead....t-they're all dead. All o-of t-them," she says and draws a sharp breath, wincing in pain.
I pull her into my lap and Ginger comes over. "Were you sleeping?" She asks.
If only. Hell, she's lucky to be alive.
There's a hole in her shirt on her stomach. Someone did try to kill her. Whoever it was, they stabbed her. And it's deep. "He...he tried to kill me. They...they all..they think I'm dead..."
She starts gasping, tears falling on her cheeks. "Are...are we the only ones?"
I can't find the words to answer her and find myself close to tears. I roll my lips in and nod. "Yeah. We are."
Her eyes grow distant. I stare down at her wound and press my hand to it to keep it from bleeding. Like that helps. This is really, really bad. "Ginger, go inside the house and see if you can find any band-aids. Anywhere. And a towel," I say, looking up at Ginger.
She stares at me and takes a half step back. "Now, Ginger."
Once she turns and takes off running up to the house, I turn my attention back down to the girl in my lap. My hand is wet and sticky with her blood. "It's bad, isn't it?" She asks.
Her breaths become shallow and ragged. Well, actually yes, it's pretty bad. But I'm going to save her. I'm not going to let those people get what they want. I'm not going to let her die. I can't. I won't.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" She wheezes.
I shake my head and she starts to cry again. "Hey. Hey, you're alright, okay? I'm not going to let you die. If that's what those people want, they're not getting it. No way am I letting them have the satisfaction of killing another innocent person," I tell her.
Ginger comes back with a wet towel and a box of band-aids. "Well," I sigh, "It'll have to work. For now."
I unbutton her plaid shirt just so that I can see the wound. The old blood around it is already drying, but it's still bleeding. The girl lifts her head to look at it, but I block her view. She doesn't need to see it. Her skin is pale and she already looks like death. "My name's Taylor. What's yours?"
"Mack," the girl replies.
"Listen, Mack. You're going to be fine, but I need to close the wound. Do you know if there's a needle and thread anywhere in your house?" I ask her urgently.
She nods. "Upstairs. In the bathroom. Under-" she draws a sharp breath and winces, "under the counter."
"Ginger, do me another favor, will you?" I say.
Ginger nods. "Go into the upstairs bathroom, look under the counter. Find a needle and thread. Bring it back, okay? Hurry."
She runs back toward the house. "You're gonna be okay, Mack. Just hang in there," I tell her.
Only, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to sew a wound. I mean...it can't be too hard, can It? "Taylor, do you know what your doing?" Mack asks through her pain.
Her forehead is beaded with sweat. I nod. This is the perfect time to learn.
Carefully, so I don't hurt her any worse, I press the towel the the stab wound. "Ow, ow, ow," she says and tangles her finger in the grass. I watch a lot of T.V. and read a lot, so I know enough to keep pressure on the wound. That's what they say on T.V. at least.
"You're okay," I tell her. "I know it hurts. I know, believe me."
Ginger returns with a small white box with a red cross on it. A first aid kit. "My mom has the same box," she says.
I take it from her and open it. Yes! A needle and thread.
I know how to thread a needle and sew fabric, so how much harder could this be? So I thread it tightly. "This will probably hurt," I warn Mack, who only nods.
Carefully, I lower the needle to her skin. My hands and forehead start to sweat and I start to shake. I can do this, I tell myself. I have to.
With my free hand, I pinch the skin together, making it easier to poke the needle through. Mack cries out in pain as I stick it through and pull the needle through on the other side. Ginger kneels down and pats Mack's pale hand.
I use the medical scissors to cut the black thread, then tie it. I repeat this a couple more times before I pause, stealing a glance at her.
Her eyes are closed. Oh, God...is she dead? Ginger looks up at me. "A...are you done?" Mack asks, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
"Almost," I reply, sighing with relief.
Ginger watches as I re-thread the needle for the last stitch. Once again, I lower the needle to he skin and poke it through. She winces and groans in pain, trying not to cry out. Mack's doing better than I would have if I had been in her position. "How does it feel?" I ask, worn out myself.
She takes several gasping breaths as if trying to find the words to answer. "Hurts...bad," she sighs.
I nod. "I bet. Look, we can't stay here, okay? We have to keep moving. I think I passed a sports complex on my way here. That's where we're heading. Mack?"
She nods tiredly. "Why...why a sports complex?"
"They have bats, balls, other potentially dangerous stuff. Stuff we can use to protect us," I say.
Mack nods again. "Smart."
"Here's what we'll do. Go inside the house, take whatever objects we can use as weapons, food, and leave. Okay? Don't waste space on any butter knife, either," I tell the two.
Ginger looks up at the house. "We have...bags," says Mack. "You can put the weapons in those."
I take some gauze out of the kit and use medical tape to hold it on the skin, over the stitches. Then, and I don't care if doctors would do it this way, but I wrap a long Ace Bandage around her stomach to cover the wound. I'm no doctor, so this is the best I can do.
"Okay. Mack, do you think you can stand?" I ask, getting to my feet. Ginger stands next to me.
"No. But I will," she says.
I bend over to help her to her feet. "Let's get inside, okay? I don't want to be out here anymore."
~~~~~~~~~~~
I dig around in the kitchen. Sifting through drawers, cupboards, taking any sharp knife I can find. I don't mean butter knives, either. I mean like, sharp knives. Knives that can kill and save us if we have to use them, like steak knives and butcher knives.
I put my knives in the Adidas bag that Mack gave me. I have food stuffed inside. Food like crackers, chips, stuff that won't go bad and give us food poisoning in a week.
A loud, concussive sound shatters the silence and shakes the house. The sound of a nearby explosion.
The house shakes hard enough to knock me over. The chandelier that hangs over the island in the kitchen sways wildly. Please don't fall, please don't fall.
I cover my head and press myself as close to the island as I can for protection. Another explosion shakes the house and I hear glass shatter upstairs where Ginger and Mack are. I press my arms against my ears to block out the noise.
The black chain that holds the chandelier up breaks and it drops onto the island. The glass shatters and skids across the counter and floor. Shards of glass fall on me. Few cut me, but it still hurts.
The house remains still. No more explosions. Slowly, I sit up. Large shards of glass fall off me like snow. I pull big and small pieces out of my hair and off my clothes. Against my better judgement, I spare a glance in the window above the sink so I can see my reflection. My cheek just below my eye is cut from the glass. My wrist is sliced but other than that, I'm fine.
"Ginger, Mack? You guys okay?" I ask. Silence.
"Ginger? Mack? Report!" Still silence. Panic billows in my stomach. Oh, God. They can't be dead. "Report!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Okay, guys. Second chapter done! Woo! Sorry it wasn't as long as the first, but it was kind of eventful, right? Sort of? No? And, I'm no more of a doctor than Taylor Martinez, so the whole 'stitching Mack up' part probably is less realistic.
When I was 8 I got stitches in my foot when I cut it on a suitcase, so I kind know how it works, but I didn't really watch them do it.
Anyway, I think that part's pretty O.K to me. I haven't done anything like that before so. I mean I have, but not in detail like that.
Anyway, let me know if there's anything you want me to do to make his more exciting.
Until next time,
Runaway.
"We're all grieving, lost, and bleeding"
The Only One - Evanescence
Chapter 3:
{Spoiler}
Oh God, no. They have to answer me. They...they have to!
"Ginger, Mack! Report! Where are you?" I yell. My strained voice carries throughout the house. Please, please answer.
"Come on, guys!"
I hear thuds coming from the spiral staircase and Mack's muffled voice saying, "We're good!"
I meet them at the bottom of the stairs. It's true. Ginger's the only one slightly injured with only a small bump forming on her forehead. "Ouch," Ginger mumbles, rubbing the bump.
I nod. Yeah, it looks like it hurts.
"She bumped her head on the wall. She'll be fine. Let's just leave," Mack suggests, readjusting the strap on her red Nike bag. I can't help but agree with her.
The three of us head back toward the front door. Mack leans on me for support, wincing occasionally. Ginger follows close behind, chewing on her thumb nail. She has to hold her bag with two hands, it weighs almost as much as she does, I swear.
"You find anything good?"' I ask Mack, quietly.
She shrugs.
"Found my old titanium softball bat from, well back when I still played. It's big, but can still hurt if you hit them hard enough."
"Right. How about Ginger?" I glance back and Ginger, who's blissfully unaware of the fact that we could very well be the only survivors.
"I don't know. There's an abandoned hunting shop up the road. It's got bows, guns, knives, lots of stuff," Mack says, helpfully.
"That's a good place to hide. If any of The Others finds us, we'll be surrounded by weapons. Good idea, Mack," I tell her.
Finally, a safe place to stay. "First, we go to that sports complex, then we hit the hunting shop, okay?"
Mack rolls her eyes. Yeah, it sounds stupid, but I want as many dangerous, um, items as I can get. Ginger comes up next to me and smiles. "Are we going to play?"
What in the world would lead her to believe that this is playtime? Then again, she is only six and clueless. God, I wish I were like that. Instead, I have to keep both her and Mack safe, along with myself.
"Um, not now, sweetie. Not while...not while everyone's sleeping," I tell her.
She nods and Mack gives me a look that I can't quite decipher. "Off to the sports complex, then!" I say.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The trees have already fallen under Fall's spell, turning yellow and orange. The crisp autumn air sends shivers up my spine, but I'm forced to ignore it. All I have time to focus on is getting the three of us to that complex and finding that shop.
Douglas. And finding Douglas. Oh, but he's in a taxi. In the city. In downtown New York City. That narrows it down.
Out in the distance, not terribly far, I see the outline of soccer goals, bleachers, baseball diamonds, and whatever else sports related.
"We're here," I sigh, pausing next to a tree.
Mack lets go of me and puts her weight against the tree, panting.
"You go ahead. I..I can't walk any farther," she says and
I glance out at the baseball field.
Apparently, they had a game. I wonder how the referee felt about gunmen coming out onto the field and interfering with the home run hit. "Yeah, okay. Mack, make sure Ginger stays by you, alright? This is something she doesn't need to see."
She nods slowly and grabs Gingers hand. "Hey, want to play a game?"
Ginger nods eagerly as I walk away, smiling to myself.
If anyone's going to make it out of this alive, it's gonna be her. I don't care if I have to die to save her, I'll do it.
I round the fence of the baseball diamond and stop next to the few bodies that had been shot. The sandy dirt is clumped with blood. The home plate has a big, red smear of blood on it and the catcher lays sprawled out across it.
No survivors. It's still just us three.
I duck into the dugout, in search of maybe a pocket knife a coach left behind or a gun one of The Others dropped. Nothing.
I shield my eyes from the bright sun as I climb out. The back of my head suddenly hurts and I reach back to touch to spot. My fingers are smeared with blood.
"Who's there?" I ask, whirling around.
A shadow is ducking behind the bleachers. Another rock comes sailing toward me as I make my way over to the stands.
My fingers curl around the metal as I peek under. Empty.
"Come out, I'm not one of them, I promise. Are you?"
The shadow comes back into view, edging closer to me. I frown. "Drop the bat, you're fine. I won't hurt you."
"There's more of us? I mean...more that they missed?" The kid asks.
A boy. He comes out so I can see him. A blond boy with icy blue eyes and hair that falls in his face.
I nod. "My name's Taylor Martinez and it's okay. Who are you?"
"My name's Ralson," he says.
"Cool name."
"Look, are we the only ones who...you know...survived?" Ralson asks, leaning over the bars.
"As far as I know. How did they miss you?" I ask him.
"I play football and I wanted to check out the new locker rooms. I was down there when those people attacked. When I came back up, everyone was dead. Brutal, nasty deaths," he tells me.
"I went inside for two minutes. When Ginger and I came back out, her entire neighborhood was dead, including her sister," I tell him. "I can't help but wonder...what if I had been there? Could I have done something?"
Ralson shakes his head. "They killed my sister. She was here but didn't come down with me. I should have forced her. I should have-"
I shake my head. "No. It's not your fault, okay? Come with us. We're going to a hunting shop around here. It's the safest place."
He looks over his shoulder at Mack and Ginger, just shadows against a tree. "Chances are, The Others know we're alive and are probably looking for us. If we're surrounded by weapons, we have a better chance at surviving."
He's remains silent. "Look, I need all the help I can get. I can promise you that you will not survive this alone. They're everywhere. If they find you, they will kill you. You need us as much as we need you."
Ralson nods. "Okay, I'll go with you."
~~~~~~~~~
The four of us walk in silence, Mack still putting most of her weight on me. I can't say I blame her. Finally, we all spot a small shack with an old, rusted sign reading, 'Bernie's Hunts'.
"Um, Mack? How long has it been closed?" I hear Ralson ask.
"Closed about a year ago when Bernie died. My dad and I used to come here when I was little. But that was before he died," she says.
"You mean 'fell asleep'," I say, glancing pointedly at Ginger, who looks at Mack worriedly.
She groans in frustration and pulls away from me, stumbling. "Why do people always want to pretend that death is just sleep?"
Mack doesn't wait for anyone before she pushes into the shop, the glass door slamming shut behind her. Great.
"She'll cool off," Ralson says as he follows Ginger and I inside.
Yeah, I hope so.
The inside almost looks smaller than the outside. Glass counters wrap around the entire inside walls, stopping at the door and bulging out on the other side where the cash register sits. A door sits behind the glass counter, which I'm assuming is the bathroom.
Bows of all sizes hang on the walls behind the counters. Inside the glass are guns. Ranging anywhere from revolvers to machine guns, they sit behind the glass.
"I suggest we all grab some sort of weapon. Just in case. If at any point we get separated, meet back at the complex. Do not, under any circumstances, come back here. We don't want The Others to find out where we're really hiding," I tell them. "Later, we'll scout out and try to find a closer fall back location, alright? We'll travel at night and sleep during the day so it'll be harder to spot us. Anyone who has a problem can kiss it."
~~~~~~~~
I sit on the glass counter, staring at my dagger I found in one of the cases. The rest of the lay behind the counter, out of sight. I'm only awake because someone has to keep an eye out.
There are three rows of shelves, two across holding stuff like fishing hooks, targets, and daggers, like the one I took. Back in the corner by the door, is a barrel full of arrows for the bows. If you ask me, this is a down sized version of a Hunter's Heaven.
A body climbs up on the glass next to me and I jump. Ralson. "Don't do that!" I yell in a whisper.
"Do what?" He whispers back.
"Scare me," I hiss at him. "Jeez, are you trying to kill me?"
He chuckles. "Anyway, what are you doing up?" I demand.
"You need rest. I'll watch. I'll wake you once the sun sets, okay?" Ralson asks and I nod, too tired to argue.
So, I strap my dagger back to my arm and slide down behind the counter. Using my duffel bag as a pillow and my black leather jacket as a blanket, I curl up against the counter with my eyes closed.
I hear shuffling next to me and open my eyes. Mack rolls over. "I'm sorry I was rude before," she whispers.
Ugh, more talking.
"This can wait, can't it?" I ask, tiredly.
Mack shrugs. "It's just, it was my fault my dad died. We...we were in a car and I was distracting him. I saw him die in that accident and couldn't save him."
Guess it can't wait. "He...he was trying to watch the road, but I wouldn't shut up. He looked over at me and a semi pulled out in front of us. I woke up and he...he didn't," she whispers, her voice shaking.
I look over at her, sadly. "At his funeral, everyone kept telling me that he was just sleeping. To just pretend that he was sleeping. Death isn't sleep. It's not and I don't know why people say it is. It isn't."
"No," I reply. "It's not and they shouldn't pretend that it is. But I am. For Gingers sake."
"You're really close to her, aren't you?" Mack sighs.
I nod. "I will give anything to make sure she lives. Her sister was killed and Ginger didn't understand. She still doesn't. I hope, for her sake, she never does. This is too much for a six-year old. I can't tell her that her sister is never waking up." I look up at the ceiling. "Can you?"
Mack shakes her head. "In that case, I hope none of us gets killed. Then you'll have to tell her, won't you?"
Would I? If I somehow failed one of them, could I tell Ginger that they won't be waking up? That everyone's dead? "You will, right?" Mack says, prompts.
"That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let any of you die, I promise," I tell her.
I won't either. I'm not going to fail at keeping anyone else safe. No one else is going to die because of me. That's a promise I plan on protecting with my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note
Okay, so not a real exciting chapter. I'll get a really good one up here soon. If not Chapter 4 it'll be Chapter 5. Again, I'd love to hear what you think of it!
~Runaway
Oh God, no. They have to answer me. They...they have to!
"Ginger, Mack! Report! Where are you?" I yell. My strained voice carries throughout the house. Please, please answer.
"Come on, guys!"
I hear thuds coming from the spiral staircase and Mack's muffled voice saying, "We're good!"
I meet them at the bottom of the stairs. It's true. Ginger's the only one slightly injured with only a small bump forming on her forehead. "Ouch," Ginger mumbles, rubbing the bump.
I nod. Yeah, it looks like it hurts.
"She bumped her head on the wall. She'll be fine. Let's just leave," Mack suggests, readjusting the strap on her red Nike bag. I can't help but agree with her.
The three of us head back toward the front door. Mack leans on me for support, wincing occasionally. Ginger follows close behind, chewing on her thumb nail. She has to hold her bag with two hands, it weighs almost as much as she does, I swear.
"You find anything good?"' I ask Mack, quietly.
She shrugs.
"Found my old titanium softball bat from, well back when I still played. It's big, but can still hurt if you hit them hard enough."
"Right. How about Ginger?" I glance back and Ginger, who's blissfully unaware of the fact that we could very well be the only survivors.
"I don't know. There's an abandoned hunting shop up the road. It's got bows, guns, knives, lots of stuff," Mack says, helpfully.
"That's a good place to hide. If any of The Others finds us, we'll be surrounded by weapons. Good idea, Mack," I tell her.
Finally, a safe place to stay. "First, we go to that sports complex, then we hit the hunting shop, okay?"
Mack rolls her eyes. Yeah, it sounds stupid, but I want as many dangerous, um, items as I can get. Ginger comes up next to me and smiles. "Are we going to play?"
What in the world would lead her to believe that this is playtime? Then again, she is only six and clueless. God, I wish I were like that. Instead, I have to keep both her and Mack safe, along with myself.
"Um, not now, sweetie. Not while...not while everyone's sleeping," I tell her.
She nods and Mack gives me a look that I can't quite decipher. "Off to the sports complex, then!" I say.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The trees have already fallen under Fall's spell, turning yellow and orange. The crisp autumn air sends shivers up my spine, but I'm forced to ignore it. All I have time to focus on is getting the three of us to that complex and finding that shop.
Douglas. And finding Douglas. Oh, but he's in a taxi. In the city. In downtown New York City. That narrows it down.
Out in the distance, not terribly far, I see the outline of soccer goals, bleachers, baseball diamonds, and whatever else sports related.
"We're here," I sigh, pausing next to a tree.
Mack lets go of me and puts her weight against the tree, panting.
"You go ahead. I..I can't walk any farther," she says and
I glance out at the baseball field.
Apparently, they had a game. I wonder how the referee felt about gunmen coming out onto the field and interfering with the home run hit. "Yeah, okay. Mack, make sure Ginger stays by you, alright? This is something she doesn't need to see."
She nods slowly and grabs Gingers hand. "Hey, want to play a game?"
Ginger nods eagerly as I walk away, smiling to myself.
If anyone's going to make it out of this alive, it's gonna be her. I don't care if I have to die to save her, I'll do it.
I round the fence of the baseball diamond and stop next to the few bodies that had been shot. The sandy dirt is clumped with blood. The home plate has a big, red smear of blood on it and the catcher lays sprawled out across it.
No survivors. It's still just us three.
I duck into the dugout, in search of maybe a pocket knife a coach left behind or a gun one of The Others dropped. Nothing.
I shield my eyes from the bright sun as I climb out. The back of my head suddenly hurts and I reach back to touch to spot. My fingers are smeared with blood.
"Who's there?" I ask, whirling around.
A shadow is ducking behind the bleachers. Another rock comes sailing toward me as I make my way over to the stands.
My fingers curl around the metal as I peek under. Empty.
"Come out, I'm not one of them, I promise. Are you?"
The shadow comes back into view, edging closer to me. I frown. "Drop the bat, you're fine. I won't hurt you."
"There's more of us? I mean...more that they missed?" The kid asks.
A boy. He comes out so I can see him. A blond boy with icy blue eyes and hair that falls in his face.
I nod. "My name's Taylor Martinez and it's okay. Who are you?"
"My name's Ralson," he says.
"Cool name."
"Look, are we the only ones who...you know...survived?" Ralson asks, leaning over the bars.
"As far as I know. How did they miss you?" I ask him.
"I play football and I wanted to check out the new locker rooms. I was down there when those people attacked. When I came back up, everyone was dead. Brutal, nasty deaths," he tells me.
"I went inside for two minutes. When Ginger and I came back out, her entire neighborhood was dead, including her sister," I tell him. "I can't help but wonder...what if I had been there? Could I have done something?"
Ralson shakes his head. "They killed my sister. She was here but didn't come down with me. I should have forced her. I should have-"
I shake my head. "No. It's not your fault, okay? Come with us. We're going to a hunting shop around here. It's the safest place."
He looks over his shoulder at Mack and Ginger, just shadows against a tree. "Chances are, The Others know we're alive and are probably looking for us. If we're surrounded by weapons, we have a better chance at surviving."
He's remains silent. "Look, I need all the help I can get. I can promise you that you will not survive this alone. They're everywhere. If they find you, they will kill you. You need us as much as we need you."
Ralson nods. "Okay, I'll go with you."
~~~~~~~~~
The four of us walk in silence, Mack still putting most of her weight on me. I can't say I blame her. Finally, we all spot a small shack with an old, rusted sign reading, 'Bernie's Hunts'.
"Um, Mack? How long has it been closed?" I hear Ralson ask.
"Closed about a year ago when Bernie died. My dad and I used to come here when I was little. But that was before he died," she says.
"You mean 'fell asleep'," I say, glancing pointedly at Ginger, who looks at Mack worriedly.
She groans in frustration and pulls away from me, stumbling. "Why do people always want to pretend that death is just sleep?"
Mack doesn't wait for anyone before she pushes into the shop, the glass door slamming shut behind her. Great.
"She'll cool off," Ralson says as he follows Ginger and I inside.
Yeah, I hope so.
The inside almost looks smaller than the outside. Glass counters wrap around the entire inside walls, stopping at the door and bulging out on the other side where the cash register sits. A door sits behind the glass counter, which I'm assuming is the bathroom.
Bows of all sizes hang on the walls behind the counters. Inside the glass are guns. Ranging anywhere from revolvers to machine guns, they sit behind the glass.
"I suggest we all grab some sort of weapon. Just in case. If at any point we get separated, meet back at the complex. Do not, under any circumstances, come back here. We don't want The Others to find out where we're really hiding," I tell them. "Later, we'll scout out and try to find a closer fall back location, alright? We'll travel at night and sleep during the day so it'll be harder to spot us. Anyone who has a problem can kiss it."
~~~~~~~~
I sit on the glass counter, staring at my dagger I found in one of the cases. The rest of the lay behind the counter, out of sight. I'm only awake because someone has to keep an eye out.
There are three rows of shelves, two across holding stuff like fishing hooks, targets, and daggers, like the one I took. Back in the corner by the door, is a barrel full of arrows for the bows. If you ask me, this is a down sized version of a Hunter's Heaven.
A body climbs up on the glass next to me and I jump. Ralson. "Don't do that!" I yell in a whisper.
"Do what?" He whispers back.
"Scare me," I hiss at him. "Jeez, are you trying to kill me?"
He chuckles. "Anyway, what are you doing up?" I demand.
"You need rest. I'll watch. I'll wake you once the sun sets, okay?" Ralson asks and I nod, too tired to argue.
So, I strap my dagger back to my arm and slide down behind the counter. Using my duffel bag as a pillow and my black leather jacket as a blanket, I curl up against the counter with my eyes closed.
I hear shuffling next to me and open my eyes. Mack rolls over. "I'm sorry I was rude before," she whispers.
Ugh, more talking.
"This can wait, can't it?" I ask, tiredly.
Mack shrugs. "It's just, it was my fault my dad died. We...we were in a car and I was distracting him. I saw him die in that accident and couldn't save him."
Guess it can't wait. "He...he was trying to watch the road, but I wouldn't shut up. He looked over at me and a semi pulled out in front of us. I woke up and he...he didn't," she whispers, her voice shaking.
I look over at her, sadly. "At his funeral, everyone kept telling me that he was just sleeping. To just pretend that he was sleeping. Death isn't sleep. It's not and I don't know why people say it is. It isn't."
"No," I reply. "It's not and they shouldn't pretend that it is. But I am. For Gingers sake."
"You're really close to her, aren't you?" Mack sighs.
I nod. "I will give anything to make sure she lives. Her sister was killed and Ginger didn't understand. She still doesn't. I hope, for her sake, she never does. This is too much for a six-year old. I can't tell her that her sister is never waking up." I look up at the ceiling. "Can you?"
Mack shakes her head. "In that case, I hope none of us gets killed. Then you'll have to tell her, won't you?"
Would I? If I somehow failed one of them, could I tell Ginger that they won't be waking up? That everyone's dead? "You will, right?" Mack says, prompts.
"That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let any of you die, I promise," I tell her.
I won't either. I'm not going to fail at keeping anyone else safe. No one else is going to die because of me. That's a promise I plan on protecting with my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note
Okay, so not a real exciting chapter. I'll get a really good one up here soon. If not Chapter 4 it'll be Chapter 5. Again, I'd love to hear what you think of it!
~Runaway
{Chapter 4}
The sound of hushed whispers wake me from my restless sleep. How long was I asleep? Why didn't anyone wake me up?
Still groggy from sleeping, I sit up and rub my eyes. Two shadows sit on the glass counter, talking. Mack and Ralson. "We have absolutely no shot at surviving!" Mack hisses angrily.
Ralson shushes her. "We do, too. I swear. Taylor knows what she's doing."
I sigh and close my eyes as I lower myself back to the floor. No, I really don't know that I'm doing. "If she makes one wrong move, we'll all get caught. You know that, right?" Mack asks, her voice a whisper, again.
No pressure, am I right?
"She'll know what to do, Mack. You heard her. She's not going to let anything happen to us," Ralson says. "In case you've forgotten, she saved your rear end back there. You know, before you bled to death?"
I hear Mack sigh and I open one eye to peek up at her. She stares down at me, or more like glares down at me. "Yeah, I remember," Mack says as she touches her side, tenderly.
Through the darkness, I can see her red American Eagle jacket, covering her bloody shirt. A silver chain hangs from her neck and disappears under the collar. Her brown hair is matted and tangled with blood from when she got stabbed.
"Plus, she the oldest out all of us," says Ralson, quietly.
Always coming to my defense.
Mack looks back at him, wide-eyed. "So? That doesn't mean anything. Like, do you actually know how old she is? Or even how old I am?"
He chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "We're the only living people in New York, possibly the entire world, and yet we're arguing about who should be leader. Can't we just work together?"
Mack stands on the counter with the bow and arrow she took and clutches her side, shooting him a nasty glare. "Whatever. If I were leading, we'd blast them all to hell. We can't just sit here and-"
The entire building seems to lurch at another explosion.
The blast shakes the entire shop, including Mack, who loses her balance on the glass counter.
I'm up in a split second to catch her, but only end up on the floor myself, due to another blast. Ginger wails loudly as Mack lands on me. "It's okay, Ginger," I tell her, sitting up.
Ralson hops off the counter and grabs Mack off my lap.
"As long as we stay out of sight-"
Another explosion sounds somewhere in the city, but still close enough to shake the building. "We'll be fine. Hopefully."
The four of us crouch behind the counter, pressing against the cool glass. I wrap my arms protectively around Ginger, covering her head in case the store collapses. I mean, if it did cave in, we'd still die. She whimpers and buries her face into my shoulder. I stroke her wavy hair. "You're okay. I won't let anything bad happen," I tell her.
Another blast knocks items off shelves and plaster falls from the ceiling, caking our hair and clothes in white. I pull Ginger closer and bury my face in her thick hair. Ralson, Mack, Ginger and I are practically sitting on each others' laps.
I look over at Ralson's face. His blue eyes are clouded with fear. What's going on? You can save us, can't you? His eyes ask me.
Instead of answering, I turn my head forward, again, staring at the door on the back wall. The thing is, I can't save all of us. I'm not asking for a sacrifice or asking to give anyone up, but there's just no way I can do it. Either way, we're all going to die. Doesn't matter if we get caught, die of starvation, cold, illness, wounds, we are going to die.
And I can't stop it from happening.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Plaster coats the floor like a blanket of fresh snow. Shelves lay on their sides and the four of us stay huddled together. Ginger must have fallen asleep in my arms at some point after I dozed off. After glancing around, I see Mack and Ralson have also fallen asleep.
A big yawn escapes my lips and I resist the urge to stretch. I reach over to wake Ralson.
The shop door swings open and slams against the wall. I feel my body go stiff and my breath gets caught in my throat. The bang of the door was enough to wake Mack up, at least.
She shoots me a worried look. My hand rests in midair, hovering over Ralson's shoulder. Glass crunches under the weight of every footstep.
This is it. This is really it. We're going to die.
I can't take it. With all the stupidity and curiosity I have, I unstrap the dagger from my arm and stand. Ginger wakes up before she hits the ground and gasps.
My hand trembles as I hold the dagger out in front of me. A girl stands inches away from the tip of the blade. Mack stands, too and grabs her loaded rifle off the counter.
Ginger shakes Ralson awake. The girl narrows her eyes at us. Her hair is a bright red. Like, red as in a fire engine. The tips of it are black. She wears a skin-tight black shirt and a black skirt that could pass as a bikini bottom. Her blood-red lips pull down into a tight frown.
Ralson stands and Ginger hugs me tightly, hiding behind me. "Ralson?" The girl asks, eyes widening in shock.
I take a step back to look at Ralson. "Arson? Oh my God, you're alive!" He says, leaning over the counter to hug her.
"Me? So are you!" She says, happily.
I look between the two of them.
"What on Earth is going on?" I demand.
Ralson turns and leans against the counter as he stares at me, a big grin on his face. "Taylor, this is my sister, Arson Fire."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "It's a nickname," Arson says in a 'duh' tone. She snorts. "Jeez, where did you find this one?"
"Actually, I-"
"It's night, guys," I say, interrupting the two. "We need to start looking for that fall back location I talked about."
"What about Arson?" Mack asks.
"She can come. I won't turn anyone away. No matter how rude they are," I tell her, glaring pointedly at Arson.
She shoots a deadly glare in my direction. " We split into two groups. Mack, Ralson and Arson go together. Ginger, you're with me."
Arson's glare disappears. "What kind of fall back location?"
"In case we can't come back here, we'll need another place to stay," I tell her.
"Oh, there's a Walmart just down the road a ways," she chirps, helpfully.
"Thanks. You guys go there. Ginger and I will head toward the city and see what's left."
The other three exchange nervous looks.
"You sure you should go alone? They bombed most of New York City. I doubt there's much left," Arson says, slowly.
I fight off tears and turn away so no one sees. Shela. Douglas. My dad. They're all dead. They were in the city. I shouldn't be alive. I should've been home, then maybe I could've saved them. "I'll go with you," Ralson says, stepping toward me.
I shake my head and wipe the tears away. "No, Ginger and I will go alone."
"Taylor, there's no way I'm letting you-"
I grab Ginger's hand and head toward the door, holding a walkie-talkie over my shoulder. "There's another one on the shelf. But, we're going alone."
The glass door slams shut behind me and I stop, closing my eyes. My whole body shakes. I want to collapse on the ground and cry. My entire family is dead.
I'll never see Shela taking her clothes out of the dryer again. I'll never hear my dad try and and make a lame joke that's funny because it's so stupid. I won't ever get to complain to him about his smoking habit, again. Douglas can't ever flip me off again or complain about me being late, again.
Because they're all dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Well, I'm not sure how amazing this chapter was. And sorry for any mistakes, okay? My brain works faster than my fingers can type, so I occasionally leave words out or misspell the easiest words. Don't hate me.
Anyway, again, love to hear from you all.
~Runaway
The sound of hushed whispers wake me from my restless sleep. How long was I asleep? Why didn't anyone wake me up?
Still groggy from sleeping, I sit up and rub my eyes. Two shadows sit on the glass counter, talking. Mack and Ralson. "We have absolutely no shot at surviving!" Mack hisses angrily.
Ralson shushes her. "We do, too. I swear. Taylor knows what she's doing."
I sigh and close my eyes as I lower myself back to the floor. No, I really don't know that I'm doing. "If she makes one wrong move, we'll all get caught. You know that, right?" Mack asks, her voice a whisper, again.
No pressure, am I right?
"She'll know what to do, Mack. You heard her. She's not going to let anything happen to us," Ralson says. "In case you've forgotten, she saved your rear end back there. You know, before you bled to death?"
I hear Mack sigh and I open one eye to peek up at her. She stares down at me, or more like glares down at me. "Yeah, I remember," Mack says as she touches her side, tenderly.
Through the darkness, I can see her red American Eagle jacket, covering her bloody shirt. A silver chain hangs from her neck and disappears under the collar. Her brown hair is matted and tangled with blood from when she got stabbed.
"Plus, she the oldest out all of us," says Ralson, quietly.
Always coming to my defense.
Mack looks back at him, wide-eyed. "So? That doesn't mean anything. Like, do you actually know how old she is? Or even how old I am?"
He chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "We're the only living people in New York, possibly the entire world, and yet we're arguing about who should be leader. Can't we just work together?"
Mack stands on the counter with the bow and arrow she took and clutches her side, shooting him a nasty glare. "Whatever. If I were leading, we'd blast them all to hell. We can't just sit here and-"
The entire building seems to lurch at another explosion.
The blast shakes the entire shop, including Mack, who loses her balance on the glass counter.
I'm up in a split second to catch her, but only end up on the floor myself, due to another blast. Ginger wails loudly as Mack lands on me. "It's okay, Ginger," I tell her, sitting up.
Ralson hops off the counter and grabs Mack off my lap.
"As long as we stay out of sight-"
Another explosion sounds somewhere in the city, but still close enough to shake the building. "We'll be fine. Hopefully."
The four of us crouch behind the counter, pressing against the cool glass. I wrap my arms protectively around Ginger, covering her head in case the store collapses. I mean, if it did cave in, we'd still die. She whimpers and buries her face into my shoulder. I stroke her wavy hair. "You're okay. I won't let anything bad happen," I tell her.
Another blast knocks items off shelves and plaster falls from the ceiling, caking our hair and clothes in white. I pull Ginger closer and bury my face in her thick hair. Ralson, Mack, Ginger and I are practically sitting on each others' laps.
I look over at Ralson's face. His blue eyes are clouded with fear. What's going on? You can save us, can't you? His eyes ask me.
Instead of answering, I turn my head forward, again, staring at the door on the back wall. The thing is, I can't save all of us. I'm not asking for a sacrifice or asking to give anyone up, but there's just no way I can do it. Either way, we're all going to die. Doesn't matter if we get caught, die of starvation, cold, illness, wounds, we are going to die.
And I can't stop it from happening.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Plaster coats the floor like a blanket of fresh snow. Shelves lay on their sides and the four of us stay huddled together. Ginger must have fallen asleep in my arms at some point after I dozed off. After glancing around, I see Mack and Ralson have also fallen asleep.
A big yawn escapes my lips and I resist the urge to stretch. I reach over to wake Ralson.
The shop door swings open and slams against the wall. I feel my body go stiff and my breath gets caught in my throat. The bang of the door was enough to wake Mack up, at least.
She shoots me a worried look. My hand rests in midair, hovering over Ralson's shoulder. Glass crunches under the weight of every footstep.
This is it. This is really it. We're going to die.
I can't take it. With all the stupidity and curiosity I have, I unstrap the dagger from my arm and stand. Ginger wakes up before she hits the ground and gasps.
My hand trembles as I hold the dagger out in front of me. A girl stands inches away from the tip of the blade. Mack stands, too and grabs her loaded rifle off the counter.
Ginger shakes Ralson awake. The girl narrows her eyes at us. Her hair is a bright red. Like, red as in a fire engine. The tips of it are black. She wears a skin-tight black shirt and a black skirt that could pass as a bikini bottom. Her blood-red lips pull down into a tight frown.
Ralson stands and Ginger hugs me tightly, hiding behind me. "Ralson?" The girl asks, eyes widening in shock.
I take a step back to look at Ralson. "Arson? Oh my God, you're alive!" He says, leaning over the counter to hug her.
"Me? So are you!" She says, happily.
I look between the two of them.
"What on Earth is going on?" I demand.
Ralson turns and leans against the counter as he stares at me, a big grin on his face. "Taylor, this is my sister, Arson Fire."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "It's a nickname," Arson says in a 'duh' tone. She snorts. "Jeez, where did you find this one?"
"Actually, I-"
"It's night, guys," I say, interrupting the two. "We need to start looking for that fall back location I talked about."
"What about Arson?" Mack asks.
"She can come. I won't turn anyone away. No matter how rude they are," I tell her, glaring pointedly at Arson.
She shoots a deadly glare in my direction. " We split into two groups. Mack, Ralson and Arson go together. Ginger, you're with me."
Arson's glare disappears. "What kind of fall back location?"
"In case we can't come back here, we'll need another place to stay," I tell her.
"Oh, there's a Walmart just down the road a ways," she chirps, helpfully.
"Thanks. You guys go there. Ginger and I will head toward the city and see what's left."
The other three exchange nervous looks.
"You sure you should go alone? They bombed most of New York City. I doubt there's much left," Arson says, slowly.
I fight off tears and turn away so no one sees. Shela. Douglas. My dad. They're all dead. They were in the city. I shouldn't be alive. I should've been home, then maybe I could've saved them. "I'll go with you," Ralson says, stepping toward me.
I shake my head and wipe the tears away. "No, Ginger and I will go alone."
"Taylor, there's no way I'm letting you-"
I grab Ginger's hand and head toward the door, holding a walkie-talkie over my shoulder. "There's another one on the shelf. But, we're going alone."
The glass door slams shut behind me and I stop, closing my eyes. My whole body shakes. I want to collapse on the ground and cry. My entire family is dead.
I'll never see Shela taking her clothes out of the dryer again. I'll never hear my dad try and and make a lame joke that's funny because it's so stupid. I won't ever get to complain to him about his smoking habit, again. Douglas can't ever flip me off again or complain about me being late, again.
Because they're all dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Well, I'm not sure how amazing this chapter was. And sorry for any mistakes, okay? My brain works faster than my fingers can type, so I occasionally leave words out or misspell the easiest words. Don't hate me.
Anyway, again, love to hear from you all.
~Runaway
{Chapter 5}
Ginger follows me, silently. Despite the fact she had convinced me to play 'I Spy' with her, there hasn't been a whole lot of spying going on.
"Do you think Izzy's looking for us?" Ginger asks quietly.
I glance down at her, sadly. Her pretty blue eyes glimmer with hope. My lips part with no answer prepared. I can't keep saying 'maybe' and 'I don't know' to everything she asks, but I can't tell Ginger, a six year old, that her only sister was killed.
At least Isabella had gone quickly, by what I saw. She had been shot in the head. It wasn't peaceful, but no death is, because death is death. There's nothing good about it. Believe me, I've had a very close encounter with death. It wasn't just my whole failed-birth thing I mentioned earlier, either. Something else had happened which really opened my eyes.
Death is not good. Sometimes, believe me, it seems like the only answer but it's not. It's quite possibly the worst idea that has ever came into the world.
Death is a curse.
A last goodbye.
A final divorce.
No one can cheat death.
No one can dodge a bullet.
If you do, you're lucky. But, one day, death will send another bullet. The bullet you can't dodge.
I dodged both bullets, both times. But at this point in time, my luck is running out. There's no way I can do this all alone. There's no way I can keep Ralson, Arson, Mack and Ginger all safe.
We're not all going to make it. I know that. They know that. They know I can try and that I will do absolutely anything I can to keep them safe. If anyone's going to die, it's going to be me.
"Taylor?" Ginger asks, pulling me away from my thoughts.
"I hope so, Ginger," I settle on saying.
Nothing but trees sit on either side of us. Tall and mysterious, like always, making me wonder why there's just a patch of wood outside New York City. The road is scorched with strange burn marks as we near a plaza.
I remember when my parents were first getting divorced and Shela brought me to this plaza to meet Douglas. We stopped at the pizza place and ate there. I totally stole the spotlight off of Shela. That was the best memory I have. It's not to most amazing, but it's the only time I was really ever truly happy.
I mean, I had to fall asleep listening to Shela and my dad fight all night. I was waiting for one of them to announce a divorce, just so I wouldn't have to listen to them anymore.
Beside me, Ginger yawns and my walkie talkie crackles in my hand. I pull it up to my mouth and hold down the small red button on the top. "Report. Anything?" I ask.
It crackles again as I wait for an answer.
Ginger follows as I change my direction over to the plaza, quite possibly out next fall-back location. "No," Ralson replies through the crap-tastic walkie-talkie.
"Taylor," he says in a low, dark voice.
I hold the button down again, this time, shivers move up my spine. "Hm?"
"Run."
How would he know that I should run? I trust him but-
Heat suddenly slams into me like a brick wall and a concussive explosion rings out. The blast from the plaza sends the two of us flying backwards.
My shoulder blade makes contact with the corner of a truck bed. A shock of pain makes my whole body go rigid.
My body doesn't have time to register the shards of glass and debris that hit me before I'm on my knees, crawling under the overturned truck. Under the bed is by far the safest place, possible.
Another building goes sky-high with another blast. I lean down to peek out. Ginger lays, bloody and motionless on the asphalt. "Ginger!" I scream.
Despite the raining shards of glass, I rush over to her. Ginger's face is smeared with her own blood and her eyes are closed.
"Ginger. Ginger, get up. We have to go," I tell her, shaking her shoulder.
She doesn't move.
I so don't have time for this. Ginger doesn't react as I lift her into my arms with a groan. I move as fast and my legs can carry the two of us.
I manage to duck under the track bed just as one of the other buildings go up in flame. Ginger lay in my arms, eyes closed. "You're okay," I whimper in her ear, stroking her wavy hair.
She's okay. She has to be.
Slowly, I manage to catch my breath. My whole body trembles in my own fear and my ears ring from the blasts. My head hurts and my left ear is bleeding from where I must've hit my head.
A gut-wrenching splat makes me jump. I see an arm land outside the safety of the truck bed and have to cover my mouth to refrain from throwing up.
When I say arm, I don't mean the arm is attached to a body. It was probably lost somewhere in the explosion.
In my arms, Ginger stirs. "What...what happened?" She mumbles.
"Nothing. It's okay, though. You're okay." I nearly cry with my relief to see her alive.
She's alive. And more surprisingly, so am I. For now, at least. Whoever is killing everyone, is succeeding. Quite nicely, I might add. The thought makes me sick. Another thought that makes me sick: Why are they blowing places up? Haven't they made us suffer enough?
If they're bombing all the way out here, then what did they do to New York? What did they do to my city? Worst of all, what's left of it?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's note:
Wow. This chapter was....really short. Well, I didn't have a lot of time to do it, so.
So.
Ginger follows me, silently. Despite the fact she had convinced me to play 'I Spy' with her, there hasn't been a whole lot of spying going on.
"Do you think Izzy's looking for us?" Ginger asks quietly.
I glance down at her, sadly. Her pretty blue eyes glimmer with hope. My lips part with no answer prepared. I can't keep saying 'maybe' and 'I don't know' to everything she asks, but I can't tell Ginger, a six year old, that her only sister was killed.
At least Isabella had gone quickly, by what I saw. She had been shot in the head. It wasn't peaceful, but no death is, because death is death. There's nothing good about it. Believe me, I've had a very close encounter with death. It wasn't just my whole failed-birth thing I mentioned earlier, either. Something else had happened which really opened my eyes.
Death is not good. Sometimes, believe me, it seems like the only answer but it's not. It's quite possibly the worst idea that has ever came into the world.
Death is a curse.
A last goodbye.
A final divorce.
No one can cheat death.
No one can dodge a bullet.
If you do, you're lucky. But, one day, death will send another bullet. The bullet you can't dodge.
I dodged both bullets, both times. But at this point in time, my luck is running out. There's no way I can do this all alone. There's no way I can keep Ralson, Arson, Mack and Ginger all safe.
We're not all going to make it. I know that. They know that. They know I can try and that I will do absolutely anything I can to keep them safe. If anyone's going to die, it's going to be me.
"Taylor?" Ginger asks, pulling me away from my thoughts.
"I hope so, Ginger," I settle on saying.
Nothing but trees sit on either side of us. Tall and mysterious, like always, making me wonder why there's just a patch of wood outside New York City. The road is scorched with strange burn marks as we near a plaza.
I remember when my parents were first getting divorced and Shela brought me to this plaza to meet Douglas. We stopped at the pizza place and ate there. I totally stole the spotlight off of Shela. That was the best memory I have. It's not to most amazing, but it's the only time I was really ever truly happy.
I mean, I had to fall asleep listening to Shela and my dad fight all night. I was waiting for one of them to announce a divorce, just so I wouldn't have to listen to them anymore.
Beside me, Ginger yawns and my walkie talkie crackles in my hand. I pull it up to my mouth and hold down the small red button on the top. "Report. Anything?" I ask.
It crackles again as I wait for an answer.
Ginger follows as I change my direction over to the plaza, quite possibly out next fall-back location. "No," Ralson replies through the crap-tastic walkie-talkie.
"Taylor," he says in a low, dark voice.
I hold the button down again, this time, shivers move up my spine. "Hm?"
"Run."
How would he know that I should run? I trust him but-
Heat suddenly slams into me like a brick wall and a concussive explosion rings out. The blast from the plaza sends the two of us flying backwards.
My shoulder blade makes contact with the corner of a truck bed. A shock of pain makes my whole body go rigid.
My body doesn't have time to register the shards of glass and debris that hit me before I'm on my knees, crawling under the overturned truck. Under the bed is by far the safest place, possible.
Another building goes sky-high with another blast. I lean down to peek out. Ginger lays, bloody and motionless on the asphalt. "Ginger!" I scream.
Despite the raining shards of glass, I rush over to her. Ginger's face is smeared with her own blood and her eyes are closed.
"Ginger. Ginger, get up. We have to go," I tell her, shaking her shoulder.
She doesn't move.
I so don't have time for this. Ginger doesn't react as I lift her into my arms with a groan. I move as fast and my legs can carry the two of us.
I manage to duck under the track bed just as one of the other buildings go up in flame. Ginger lay in my arms, eyes closed. "You're okay," I whimper in her ear, stroking her wavy hair.
She's okay. She has to be.
Slowly, I manage to catch my breath. My whole body trembles in my own fear and my ears ring from the blasts. My head hurts and my left ear is bleeding from where I must've hit my head.
A gut-wrenching splat makes me jump. I see an arm land outside the safety of the truck bed and have to cover my mouth to refrain from throwing up.
When I say arm, I don't mean the arm is attached to a body. It was probably lost somewhere in the explosion.
In my arms, Ginger stirs. "What...what happened?" She mumbles.
"Nothing. It's okay, though. You're okay." I nearly cry with my relief to see her alive.
She's alive. And more surprisingly, so am I. For now, at least. Whoever is killing everyone, is succeeding. Quite nicely, I might add. The thought makes me sick. Another thought that makes me sick: Why are they blowing places up? Haven't they made us suffer enough?
If they're bombing all the way out here, then what did they do to New York? What did they do to my city? Worst of all, what's left of it?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's note:
Wow. This chapter was....really short. Well, I didn't have a lot of time to do it, so.
So.
{Chapter 6}
I carry Ginger in my arms back to the hunting shop. I don't know if she can walk or not, but she passed out right after the bombings started up again, farther away this time, thankfully.
At least now we have a chance to get back to the rest of The Survivors now. Well, unless The Others find Ginger and I.
I shudder at the thought. What if they do find us? I have no way to contact Ralson, Mack or Arson for help. I'd be screwed. We both would.
For now, all I can worry about is keeping Ginger safe and getting us back to that shop. If it's even still there, The helpful voice in my head tells me. Of course it's still there. Mack said it herself, it's been closed for a long time.
Leaves crunch under my Converse and I wince at every snapping twig. To my relief, the hunting shop comes into view. A smile forms on my face as I pull Ginger closer to me. It's still here! Thank God.
In my arms, Ginger shifts a little, yawning.
Now is not nap time, can't she see that?
But, as I look down at her, my annoyance flares out. No, she can't see that and I refuse to let her. I'd had the chance to have a normal childhood, and Ginger never will. Not now.
I can do my best to give it to her, but no one can fix this. No one can bring back what's been taken from us. Fighting won't get us anywhere. It can't bring our families back, and it can't save my city.
We just have to focus on getting out alive. Finding somewhere secluded. Somewhere that The Others won't find us.
It's not going to be easy, but it's the only thing we can do.
I use my foot to pull open the door and three pairs of wide eyes land on me. I can almost feel the heat of the 'spotlight' shining on me.
"Um." I shift from on foot to the other. "So, we found a plaza. But, it blew up. Then, we came back. Uh."
They stare at me as if they expect me to say something helpful. Something a leader would say.
"Okay, well. Right now, we need to leave. The Others are bombing buildings, probably their way of making sure they killed everyone. It's not safe to stay here. We need to go somewhere they'll never find us, got it?"
Arson, who's sitting on top the glass counter playing with a lighter, is the first to speak. "We thought you were dead."
I gently lay Ginger on the ground, her eyes fluttering open. "Dead?" I ask. "Why?"
Ralson comes over to me, stepping around Ginger. "We heard the bombs in the direction you two went. We tried to get through to you, but you didn't answer. We came back here, but you weren't back yet."
Oh. That makes sense then, doesn't it? I frown and Ginger sits up, rubbing her eyes with another yawn. There's a cut above her eye and a bruise forming on her jaw, but other than that she's fine.
"We lost the walkie-talkie in the blast," I tell them. "I didn't even think to-"
"Are you okay?" Ralson asks, his question directed to me, and only me.
I reach up to brush a strand of hair from my face and my finger tips brush a cut on my forehead, just below the hairline. Ralson grabs my wrist and holds it out in front of him, his eyes glued to the cut on it.
The blood it dried and it's scabbing over, but the skin around it is red and swollen. "When did this happen?" He asks, his voice low.
"Uh, yesterday. During one of the first bombings. Or, maybe it was two days ago. A chandelier fell and there was glass everywhere and-"
"And you didn't bandage it or at least care for it? Look where the cut is, Taylor," Ralson says, his eyes cold as ice and fearful.
I pull my arm back, glaring at him.
"I had more important things to tend to, Ralson. And my decisions are none of your concern."
I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on us. My cheeks start to heat up.
"Yes they are, if you continue to make poor decisions like that. What would have happened if that cut hadn't stopped bleeding?" He demands.
"Oh, so what, you're a doctor now?" I snap, avoiding his question.
Sure I know what could've happened. But, it's fine now. I'm not dead, and anyway, why are we arguing about this? "Taylor, we need a leader who we can count on to be there for us. I know you're upset about all of this, so am I, but-"
"You think it was a suicide attempt? Ralson, I told you. A chandelier fell and shattered. And I didn't tend to my wounds because I needed to make sure Ginger and Mack were okay, FYI. In case you haven't noticed, I put all their needs ahead of mine. That's what a leader does. If you think I'm a bad leader for doing that, then fine. I am. Deal," I say, curling my lip.
I narrow my eyes and turn on my heel. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Ginger hiding behind Mack and Mack stroking her soft hair.
The glass door slams shut behind me and the already cracked glass cracks more from the impact with the door frame.
How dare he accuse me of trying to kill myself? Maybe I got a little careless. Being brave isn't a bad thing. I was being brave for the girls. I didn't have choice and I never will.
"Taylor."
I stop my pacing and turn my attention to Ralson, who's standing in front of the cracked glass door.
He lets it slip shut behind him as he stares at me with his cold, icy eyes. "Oh great, are you here to lecture me some more? In case you haven't noticed, we're nearing the end of the world so if I want to act brave, and maybe a little careless, damn it I will!"
Ralson takes a few slow steps toward me as if he expects me to back up. I don't. I stand tall and hold my ground. "How are you handling this, exactly?"
I stare at him, unsure that I have an answer for him. A real answer, at least. "I'm fine. It all sucks big time, but I didn't lose anyone I cared about," I lie.
I lost the only person I ever cared about. Douglas. Now he's gone. My only family.
"No, you're not fine. I can see it in your eyes. You act brave, but you're not. You act like you can take on the world alone, but you can't. You're not fine with this. Any of it," Ralson says.
I look up at him. I hadn't realized how close he'd gotten. The toes of our shoes our touching and I have to tilt my head back a little to meet his gaze. "Great. So you know I'm a hypocrite. That's just fabulous. Really." I cross my arms over my chest.
"Go ahead, act brave. But you're not in this alone. I'm here and I got your back. But, bravery and stupidity are two different things. Don't get them confused. Okay?" He says, grabbing my shoulders.
I look down at my feet and sight. "Yeah, alright."
"Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself," He says, running his thumb over the cut under my eyes, forcing me to look up at him.
"Yeah. I will." I tell him. "But, can I just be alone right now?"
He nods, reluctantly, turns and pulls open the door. I'm safe. I'm free. And I'm alive. I don't care if that's only for now. That's now. I can't spend my time dwelling in the past. That was then, this is now, and now I'm focusing on surviving. On getting them to safety. I will.
My gave flickers to the smoldering city, shadows against the sun. I'll get them to safety right after this.
Right after I find Douglas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I walk down the middle of the road, able to do that without all the traffic. The skyscrapers grow taller as I near the city. I'm coming, Douglas, I promise.
But, the closer I get to the city, I feel danger creeping in around me, surrounding me, closing in on me.
I hear a low, dry laugh from behind a building. The building looks like it could have easily been a gas station at some point, but took well to the bombs. A man, fairly short, maybe taller than me comes walking out. He has short, black hair and a clouded look to his eyes, his lips pulled into a psychotic smirk.
"Taylor Martinez. How nice of you to come by. You know, we've been looking for you for quite some time. But yet, here you are. Delivering yourself to us, wrapped up like a present," he says, his smirk turning into a foul grin. "Coden! Get 'er down!"
A man, shorter than him, climbs out of the rubble, aiming a gun at me. Oh, God. I feel bile rise up in my throat.
Another guy climbs out behind him, standing next to the first man. "Derek-"
The man - Derek - glares at the boy next to him.
"Shut it, boy. Coden, let Jagger do it."
The boy standing next to Derek, apparently named Jagger, smirks and gladly takes the gun from Coden.
"Look, if you're going to kill me, could you please get it done and over with?" I ask, biting my lip.
"Gladly," Derek says. "Come on, Coden, we have the rest of the city we need to look through."
Coden follows Derek around the back of the building and down the street.
Jagger stands with the nose of the gun against my head, between my eyes. His finger rests on the trigger. "Do it," I dare him, closing my eyes. "I've been through enough."
Please, please just make it fast. Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I force myself to swallow my fear and let my pride soar. "Do it. I dare you. Can you live with all this blood on your hands? Can you?" I ask him, opening my eyes.
Jagger says nothing. I roll my shoulders and brace myself. "Shoot me."
The gun goes off and I crumple to the ground, screaming in pain. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm alive. I look up at Jagger through my pain, sucking in air through my teeth, feeling tears falling down my cheeks.
I grit my teeth and put all my hate into one venomous glare, unable to speak. As I blink, more tears fall.
He glances behind him, then looks past me.
"Run," He says.
He's letting me get away? Am I really going to live? With all my strength, I drag myself to my feet, holding a hand over my bloody shoulder. The blood seeps through my fingers as I look at him. He aims his gun at me.
That's all I need to high-tail it out of here.
My feet pound against the asphalt of the road. My shoulder throbs like a second heartbeat. I need to get out of here. I need to find shelter. Somewhere to hide. Somewhere that The Others won't find the rest of us. The Survivors.
So that they can't find me. So be it if I'm dooming myself. If I die, I die. Ralson can take over. He can lead them. I know he can. He has to.
I see a store come into view. Walmart. My tears of pain turn into tears of relief. I made it. I really made it.
The door slides open as I stumble across the floor. My legs don't carry me any farther than just inside the door. I feel my body drop like dead weight against the floor. Maybe...maybe I will die, after all. Right here with my blood on the floor.
And you know what? I don't care. I did what I needed to do. I kept them safe.
I carry those words as I slowly drift away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note:
Okay, so....CLIFFHANGER! My favorite! Please comment with some feedback. Do you want me to change anything or what do you want?
Please, tell me!
I carry Ginger in my arms back to the hunting shop. I don't know if she can walk or not, but she passed out right after the bombings started up again, farther away this time, thankfully.
At least now we have a chance to get back to the rest of The Survivors now. Well, unless The Others find Ginger and I.
I shudder at the thought. What if they do find us? I have no way to contact Ralson, Mack or Arson for help. I'd be screwed. We both would.
For now, all I can worry about is keeping Ginger safe and getting us back to that shop. If it's even still there, The helpful voice in my head tells me. Of course it's still there. Mack said it herself, it's been closed for a long time.
Leaves crunch under my Converse and I wince at every snapping twig. To my relief, the hunting shop comes into view. A smile forms on my face as I pull Ginger closer to me. It's still here! Thank God.
In my arms, Ginger shifts a little, yawning.
Now is not nap time, can't she see that?
But, as I look down at her, my annoyance flares out. No, she can't see that and I refuse to let her. I'd had the chance to have a normal childhood, and Ginger never will. Not now.
I can do my best to give it to her, but no one can fix this. No one can bring back what's been taken from us. Fighting won't get us anywhere. It can't bring our families back, and it can't save my city.
We just have to focus on getting out alive. Finding somewhere secluded. Somewhere that The Others won't find us.
It's not going to be easy, but it's the only thing we can do.
I use my foot to pull open the door and three pairs of wide eyes land on me. I can almost feel the heat of the 'spotlight' shining on me.
"Um." I shift from on foot to the other. "So, we found a plaza. But, it blew up. Then, we came back. Uh."
They stare at me as if they expect me to say something helpful. Something a leader would say.
"Okay, well. Right now, we need to leave. The Others are bombing buildings, probably their way of making sure they killed everyone. It's not safe to stay here. We need to go somewhere they'll never find us, got it?"
Arson, who's sitting on top the glass counter playing with a lighter, is the first to speak. "We thought you were dead."
I gently lay Ginger on the ground, her eyes fluttering open. "Dead?" I ask. "Why?"
Ralson comes over to me, stepping around Ginger. "We heard the bombs in the direction you two went. We tried to get through to you, but you didn't answer. We came back here, but you weren't back yet."
Oh. That makes sense then, doesn't it? I frown and Ginger sits up, rubbing her eyes with another yawn. There's a cut above her eye and a bruise forming on her jaw, but other than that she's fine.
"We lost the walkie-talkie in the blast," I tell them. "I didn't even think to-"
"Are you okay?" Ralson asks, his question directed to me, and only me.
I reach up to brush a strand of hair from my face and my finger tips brush a cut on my forehead, just below the hairline. Ralson grabs my wrist and holds it out in front of him, his eyes glued to the cut on it.
The blood it dried and it's scabbing over, but the skin around it is red and swollen. "When did this happen?" He asks, his voice low.
"Uh, yesterday. During one of the first bombings. Or, maybe it was two days ago. A chandelier fell and there was glass everywhere and-"
"And you didn't bandage it or at least care for it? Look where the cut is, Taylor," Ralson says, his eyes cold as ice and fearful.
I pull my arm back, glaring at him.
"I had more important things to tend to, Ralson. And my decisions are none of your concern."
I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on us. My cheeks start to heat up.
"Yes they are, if you continue to make poor decisions like that. What would have happened if that cut hadn't stopped bleeding?" He demands.
"Oh, so what, you're a doctor now?" I snap, avoiding his question.
Sure I know what could've happened. But, it's fine now. I'm not dead, and anyway, why are we arguing about this? "Taylor, we need a leader who we can count on to be there for us. I know you're upset about all of this, so am I, but-"
"You think it was a suicide attempt? Ralson, I told you. A chandelier fell and shattered. And I didn't tend to my wounds because I needed to make sure Ginger and Mack were okay, FYI. In case you haven't noticed, I put all their needs ahead of mine. That's what a leader does. If you think I'm a bad leader for doing that, then fine. I am. Deal," I say, curling my lip.
I narrow my eyes and turn on my heel. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Ginger hiding behind Mack and Mack stroking her soft hair.
The glass door slams shut behind me and the already cracked glass cracks more from the impact with the door frame.
How dare he accuse me of trying to kill myself? Maybe I got a little careless. Being brave isn't a bad thing. I was being brave for the girls. I didn't have choice and I never will.
"Taylor."
I stop my pacing and turn my attention to Ralson, who's standing in front of the cracked glass door.
He lets it slip shut behind him as he stares at me with his cold, icy eyes. "Oh great, are you here to lecture me some more? In case you haven't noticed, we're nearing the end of the world so if I want to act brave, and maybe a little careless, damn it I will!"
Ralson takes a few slow steps toward me as if he expects me to back up. I don't. I stand tall and hold my ground. "How are you handling this, exactly?"
I stare at him, unsure that I have an answer for him. A real answer, at least. "I'm fine. It all sucks big time, but I didn't lose anyone I cared about," I lie.
I lost the only person I ever cared about. Douglas. Now he's gone. My only family.
"No, you're not fine. I can see it in your eyes. You act brave, but you're not. You act like you can take on the world alone, but you can't. You're not fine with this. Any of it," Ralson says.
I look up at him. I hadn't realized how close he'd gotten. The toes of our shoes our touching and I have to tilt my head back a little to meet his gaze. "Great. So you know I'm a hypocrite. That's just fabulous. Really." I cross my arms over my chest.
"Go ahead, act brave. But you're not in this alone. I'm here and I got your back. But, bravery and stupidity are two different things. Don't get them confused. Okay?" He says, grabbing my shoulders.
I look down at my feet and sight. "Yeah, alright."
"Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself," He says, running his thumb over the cut under my eyes, forcing me to look up at him.
"Yeah. I will." I tell him. "But, can I just be alone right now?"
He nods, reluctantly, turns and pulls open the door. I'm safe. I'm free. And I'm alive. I don't care if that's only for now. That's now. I can't spend my time dwelling in the past. That was then, this is now, and now I'm focusing on surviving. On getting them to safety. I will.
My gave flickers to the smoldering city, shadows against the sun. I'll get them to safety right after this.
Right after I find Douglas.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I walk down the middle of the road, able to do that without all the traffic. The skyscrapers grow taller as I near the city. I'm coming, Douglas, I promise.
But, the closer I get to the city, I feel danger creeping in around me, surrounding me, closing in on me.
I hear a low, dry laugh from behind a building. The building looks like it could have easily been a gas station at some point, but took well to the bombs. A man, fairly short, maybe taller than me comes walking out. He has short, black hair and a clouded look to his eyes, his lips pulled into a psychotic smirk.
"Taylor Martinez. How nice of you to come by. You know, we've been looking for you for quite some time. But yet, here you are. Delivering yourself to us, wrapped up like a present," he says, his smirk turning into a foul grin. "Coden! Get 'er down!"
A man, shorter than him, climbs out of the rubble, aiming a gun at me. Oh, God. I feel bile rise up in my throat.
Another guy climbs out behind him, standing next to the first man. "Derek-"
The man - Derek - glares at the boy next to him.
"Shut it, boy. Coden, let Jagger do it."
The boy standing next to Derek, apparently named Jagger, smirks and gladly takes the gun from Coden.
"Look, if you're going to kill me, could you please get it done and over with?" I ask, biting my lip.
"Gladly," Derek says. "Come on, Coden, we have the rest of the city we need to look through."
Coden follows Derek around the back of the building and down the street.
Jagger stands with the nose of the gun against my head, between my eyes. His finger rests on the trigger. "Do it," I dare him, closing my eyes. "I've been through enough."
Please, please just make it fast. Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I force myself to swallow my fear and let my pride soar. "Do it. I dare you. Can you live with all this blood on your hands? Can you?" I ask him, opening my eyes.
Jagger says nothing. I roll my shoulders and brace myself. "Shoot me."
The gun goes off and I crumple to the ground, screaming in pain. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm alive. I look up at Jagger through my pain, sucking in air through my teeth, feeling tears falling down my cheeks.
I grit my teeth and put all my hate into one venomous glare, unable to speak. As I blink, more tears fall.
He glances behind him, then looks past me.
"Run," He says.
He's letting me get away? Am I really going to live? With all my strength, I drag myself to my feet, holding a hand over my bloody shoulder. The blood seeps through my fingers as I look at him. He aims his gun at me.
That's all I need to high-tail it out of here.
My feet pound against the asphalt of the road. My shoulder throbs like a second heartbeat. I need to get out of here. I need to find shelter. Somewhere to hide. Somewhere that The Others won't find the rest of us. The Survivors.
So that they can't find me. So be it if I'm dooming myself. If I die, I die. Ralson can take over. He can lead them. I know he can. He has to.
I see a store come into view. Walmart. My tears of pain turn into tears of relief. I made it. I really made it.
The door slides open as I stumble across the floor. My legs don't carry me any farther than just inside the door. I feel my body drop like dead weight against the floor. Maybe...maybe I will die, after all. Right here with my blood on the floor.
And you know what? I don't care. I did what I needed to do. I kept them safe.
I carry those words as I slowly drift away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note:
Okay, so....CLIFFHANGER! My favorite! Please comment with some feedback. Do you want me to change anything or what do you want?
Please, tell me!
{Chapter 7}
White light surrounds me and my head throbs. Muffled voices surround me, but I'm unable to make out any words, as if my head is submerged underwater. I want to open my eyes and see where I am, but they won't open.
Maybe I'm just too tired.
That's it. I'm just tired.
"Wake up," I hear someone say.
Shela? I mumble, trying to open my eyes. Did I even speak? Did she hear me? "Taylor, please. Wake up."
That's not Shela. Shela's dead. So am I. "Go guard, or something. I'll watch her," Another voice chimes in.
"She's not dead, is she? Tell me she's not, Arson!" The other voice demands.
Arson......? Who's.....oh, crap.
"You're the boy, so go guard," Arson says, annoyed.
I squeeze my eyes shut and blink a few times to get them open. Arson sits on the floor, staring at the flame from her lighter. Figures she'd have a lighter. The flame flickers slightly and she blows it out. Great, so she's actually an arson in the making. I just thought people called her Arson 'cause of her hair. Guess I was wrong.
I shift myself into a position that makes it look like I'm at least somewhat sitting. Her attention turns to me. "Taylor!" Arson shrieks. "You're alive!"
I groan and touch my bandaged shoulder, where I'd been shot. "Not so sure about that," I grumble.
My shoulder feel like I've just been shot. Oh, wait. That's 'cause I was. "Don't worry. You're just lucky you ended up here. Walmart's got plenty of medical stuff," She says, getting to her feet.
Walmart? "Why are you here? I mean-" I groan again, closing my eyes.
"You're welcome for saving your life, by the way," Arson says, crossing her arms.
"That's not what I meant. Just....why aren't you at the hunting shop? Where's Ginger?" I try to sit up, but a shooting pain move through my shoulder and down my back forces me to fall back against the floor.
"She's in the back, playing with Mack in the toys department. The rest of us are fine, thanks for asking." Her eyes go cold as she turns away.
"Arson. Wait. Just a question but, why'd you do it?" Arson stops and turns to face me, the confusion written on her face.
"Why'd you save me?" Her eyes look me up and down, as if trying to figure it out for herself.
"We need a leader Taylor. You are that leader."
At that, Arson turns and weaves her way through the maze of shelves and displays.
What has she been drinking? I am most certainly not that leader. I am going to get us all killed. I don't even know what to do as a leader or how to keep us safe. Why do they all follow me? Who voted me leader? Am I the only one who notices this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Okay, so we obviously can't stay here. The Others have been bombing buildings that could still contain people who are....awake," I tell the group, glancing at Ginger, who's playing with her new best friend, a Barbie doll. Go figure.
"So, I suggest we try and get back to the shop. Stay there for a couple of days, then we'll leave. Questions?" I rub my wounded shoulder carefully, in attempt to make it stop hurting.
"Leave?" Mack asks. "Where?" Her eyes dart between all of us, like they all know something she doesn't.
"We can't stay this close to New York City. It's too dangerous. If we want to survive, we have to leave. I can't lead anymore. Not now," I say with a sigh. "Ralson, you're in charge."
He looks at me wide-eyed. "No way. You're the leader. Not me."
My eyes narrow at him. "Excuse me? You'll do what I tell you to do."
"That's why you're the leader," Ginger chirps, smiling at me.
Five minutes ago, I wasn't even aware she'd been a part of the argument. "No excuses. Ralson, you're the leader now."
"No."
He's not fighting with me. Not arguing. Just....proving a point. Proving why I'm the leader. Proving to them, and to myself. Well, I'm not taking the bait. Forget it.
"Why? I mean, who was stupid enough to vote me the leader?" I demand, glaring at each of them.
They all sit around me, staring as if I'm stupid. Ginger sits cross-legged on the cold floor, braiding her Barbie's hair. Mack lays on her back, staring at the ceiling, glancing at me occasionally. Ralson, who's the only one standing, is leaning against one of the alarms that sit by the door. Then, there's Arson, who sits sprawled out on a blue plastic lawn chair, looking bored.
Ginger raises her hand, excitedly with a big grin on her face. Mack's hand goes up. Then Ralsons. Arson sits up and leads forward, her hands gripping her ankles.
"They want you to be their leader, Taylor." She raises her hand slowly. "We all do."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I dig through racks of clothes, hardly using my left arm, in search for anything suitable for winter. The rest follow my lead. We're nearing the end of November, and it's bound to snow any day now. The air has been getting colder by each passing second. I haven't seen the sun in days. I'm starting to wonder if 'The Slaughter' made the sun hide behind the clouds to suit the mood of The Survivors.
If and when it snows, we'd better be prepared. You know, with coats, gloves, hats, that kind of crap. I manage to find a red and black plaid coat with tan and black fur around the hood. The coat ends just below my belly. It's thick, so hopefully that won't matter.
I grab a pair of gray and dark gray cargo pants and black combat boots, considering this Walmart was apparently waiting for the first blizzard to stock up on winter goods.
Mack found a puffy pink coat with white fur around the hood and puffy pink mittens to match her coat.
Arson's was, well, typical Arson. Plain black winter coat with no hood, red beanie hat, and black finger-less gloves. Why do I even bother?
Ginger's was plain white, white-furred hood and pink gloves. Not sure what Ralson's found yet. Jeez, he's pickier than us girls.
I pull the coat over my top and turn to Mack and Arson, who's bandaging Mack's stab wound again with a clean bandage. I take a seat on the counter next to them. "Where did you learn to do this stuff?" I ask.
Arson glances up at me, but continues to wrap the bandage around Mack's stomach. "My mom was a nurse."
I nod slowly and run my fingers over my shoulder, glancing back out the window, searching for snow.
My blood freezes in my veins and my cheeks heat up. "Arson, take Mack and Ginger and get out of here," I say in a low voice.
Mack buttons her blood-stained white and pink blouse back up , turning to look at me. "Why?" Arson asks.
"Don't ask questions, just go. Oh, and take Ralson with you. Get back to the hunting shop. Don't come back. Got it?" I don't take my eyes off the figure coming toward the store. "Use one of the back doors. Take the back way. Go."
"Taylor, what's going-"
"Now, Arson!"
She nods slowly, and slides off the counter, helping Mack down with her.
The two disappear behind in the make-up department. They're gone. I sigh. That means they'll be safe.
Hopefully.
I throw myself off the counter, unable to climb down, gracefully with my shoulder. The impact makes me stumble against the counter to catch myself.
No time for this. The figure comes closer. I know who he is, and this is not a happy reunion. The door slides open as he enters.
My fingers tear at the Velcro straps that hold my dagger to my arm and I hold the dagger up. "What are you doing here?" I demand, climbing out into view.
Jagger stops and stares at me, his eyes locking on my shoulder, the bandages hidden under the coat. "How did you find me?"
His eyes narrow. "You are alive."
I nod slowly, raising the dagger so he won't think to come closer. "What of it? You here to finish the job? There are others who survived. If you kill me, they'll find you and kill you. I can promise you this: It will not be a pleasant death."
"Relax," he growls, curling his lip. "I am not here to hurt you."
"Then you lead The Others to us to kill us for you," I hiss. "I'm not buying it."
"I left. I let you get away, now they want to kill me. I am here seeking refuge," Jagger says in a low, raspy voice.
"After you shot me? No way. I can't trust you."
"Look, I do not work for them any-"
"Taylor!" I turn around to see Ralson come running over. His eyes go cold at the sight of Jagger.
"Who's this?"
He stands next to me, watching him closely.
Jagger has a gun. He did come here to kill me. "The ass who shot me," I say to Ralson, without taking my eyes off Jagger.
Jagger's eyes narrow even more and is face twists into a deadly glare. "I saved you. If Derek or Coden had the gun, you would be dead."
"You didn't save me, you shot me."
Ralson takes a step forward, moving me out of the way.
"Stay away from her," He growls.
"I have a gun. You are unarmed. If I wanted to kill you, I would have shot you both in the head." He smirks. "With one bullet."
Ralson takes another step forward, curling his fingers into fists. I sigh and grab his arm, pulling him back. "Don't. He has a point. Plus, we can't just let him go back to The Others. So what if they kill him? But, if he's lying, he'll tell them where we're hiding."
He pulls his arm out of my grasp and turn to me. "So what are we supposed to do then, kill him?" His eyes light up at the sound of that idea.
"No. That's what The Others want. They want him dead. I'm not going to stoop to their level. I won't go that low. Will you?" I challenge.
Ralson's face grows dark. "No, I guess not. What then?"
I brush past Ralson and stand a foot away from Jagger, holding my hand out. He glares at be, but gives me his pistol. I call Ralson over my shoulder and he stands next to me. "Take the gun and get behind him. If he tries to bolt, shoot. Don't just make him fall, either. Make him pay."
Ralson takes the gun. "We're taking him as our prisoner."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Slowly working my way back through and editing some of my mistakes. Sometimes I type too fast and leave words out or type the wrong word. So, bear with me.
Anyway, if anyone out there enjoys the book enough to make a cover for it, please do so. I would love to see some of your covers. I am in desperate need of a new book cover and I would appreciate any 'Survivors' covers you can make.
Thanks.
White light surrounds me and my head throbs. Muffled voices surround me, but I'm unable to make out any words, as if my head is submerged underwater. I want to open my eyes and see where I am, but they won't open.
Maybe I'm just too tired.
That's it. I'm just tired.
"Wake up," I hear someone say.
Shela? I mumble, trying to open my eyes. Did I even speak? Did she hear me? "Taylor, please. Wake up."
That's not Shela. Shela's dead. So am I. "Go guard, or something. I'll watch her," Another voice chimes in.
"She's not dead, is she? Tell me she's not, Arson!" The other voice demands.
Arson......? Who's.....oh, crap.
"You're the boy, so go guard," Arson says, annoyed.
I squeeze my eyes shut and blink a few times to get them open. Arson sits on the floor, staring at the flame from her lighter. Figures she'd have a lighter. The flame flickers slightly and she blows it out. Great, so she's actually an arson in the making. I just thought people called her Arson 'cause of her hair. Guess I was wrong.
I shift myself into a position that makes it look like I'm at least somewhat sitting. Her attention turns to me. "Taylor!" Arson shrieks. "You're alive!"
I groan and touch my bandaged shoulder, where I'd been shot. "Not so sure about that," I grumble.
My shoulder feel like I've just been shot. Oh, wait. That's 'cause I was. "Don't worry. You're just lucky you ended up here. Walmart's got plenty of medical stuff," She says, getting to her feet.
Walmart? "Why are you here? I mean-" I groan again, closing my eyes.
"You're welcome for saving your life, by the way," Arson says, crossing her arms.
"That's not what I meant. Just....why aren't you at the hunting shop? Where's Ginger?" I try to sit up, but a shooting pain move through my shoulder and down my back forces me to fall back against the floor.
"She's in the back, playing with Mack in the toys department. The rest of us are fine, thanks for asking." Her eyes go cold as she turns away.
"Arson. Wait. Just a question but, why'd you do it?" Arson stops and turns to face me, the confusion written on her face.
"Why'd you save me?" Her eyes look me up and down, as if trying to figure it out for herself.
"We need a leader Taylor. You are that leader."
At that, Arson turns and weaves her way through the maze of shelves and displays.
What has she been drinking? I am most certainly not that leader. I am going to get us all killed. I don't even know what to do as a leader or how to keep us safe. Why do they all follow me? Who voted me leader? Am I the only one who notices this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Okay, so we obviously can't stay here. The Others have been bombing buildings that could still contain people who are....awake," I tell the group, glancing at Ginger, who's playing with her new best friend, a Barbie doll. Go figure.
"So, I suggest we try and get back to the shop. Stay there for a couple of days, then we'll leave. Questions?" I rub my wounded shoulder carefully, in attempt to make it stop hurting.
"Leave?" Mack asks. "Where?" Her eyes dart between all of us, like they all know something she doesn't.
"We can't stay this close to New York City. It's too dangerous. If we want to survive, we have to leave. I can't lead anymore. Not now," I say with a sigh. "Ralson, you're in charge."
He looks at me wide-eyed. "No way. You're the leader. Not me."
My eyes narrow at him. "Excuse me? You'll do what I tell you to do."
"That's why you're the leader," Ginger chirps, smiling at me.
Five minutes ago, I wasn't even aware she'd been a part of the argument. "No excuses. Ralson, you're the leader now."
"No."
He's not fighting with me. Not arguing. Just....proving a point. Proving why I'm the leader. Proving to them, and to myself. Well, I'm not taking the bait. Forget it.
"Why? I mean, who was stupid enough to vote me the leader?" I demand, glaring at each of them.
They all sit around me, staring as if I'm stupid. Ginger sits cross-legged on the cold floor, braiding her Barbie's hair. Mack lays on her back, staring at the ceiling, glancing at me occasionally. Ralson, who's the only one standing, is leaning against one of the alarms that sit by the door. Then, there's Arson, who sits sprawled out on a blue plastic lawn chair, looking bored.
Ginger raises her hand, excitedly with a big grin on her face. Mack's hand goes up. Then Ralsons. Arson sits up and leads forward, her hands gripping her ankles.
"They want you to be their leader, Taylor." She raises her hand slowly. "We all do."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I dig through racks of clothes, hardly using my left arm, in search for anything suitable for winter. The rest follow my lead. We're nearing the end of November, and it's bound to snow any day now. The air has been getting colder by each passing second. I haven't seen the sun in days. I'm starting to wonder if 'The Slaughter' made the sun hide behind the clouds to suit the mood of The Survivors.
If and when it snows, we'd better be prepared. You know, with coats, gloves, hats, that kind of crap. I manage to find a red and black plaid coat with tan and black fur around the hood. The coat ends just below my belly. It's thick, so hopefully that won't matter.
I grab a pair of gray and dark gray cargo pants and black combat boots, considering this Walmart was apparently waiting for the first blizzard to stock up on winter goods.
Mack found a puffy pink coat with white fur around the hood and puffy pink mittens to match her coat.
Arson's was, well, typical Arson. Plain black winter coat with no hood, red beanie hat, and black finger-less gloves. Why do I even bother?
Ginger's was plain white, white-furred hood and pink gloves. Not sure what Ralson's found yet. Jeez, he's pickier than us girls.
I pull the coat over my top and turn to Mack and Arson, who's bandaging Mack's stab wound again with a clean bandage. I take a seat on the counter next to them. "Where did you learn to do this stuff?" I ask.
Arson glances up at me, but continues to wrap the bandage around Mack's stomach. "My mom was a nurse."
I nod slowly and run my fingers over my shoulder, glancing back out the window, searching for snow.
My blood freezes in my veins and my cheeks heat up. "Arson, take Mack and Ginger and get out of here," I say in a low voice.
Mack buttons her blood-stained white and pink blouse back up , turning to look at me. "Why?" Arson asks.
"Don't ask questions, just go. Oh, and take Ralson with you. Get back to the hunting shop. Don't come back. Got it?" I don't take my eyes off the figure coming toward the store. "Use one of the back doors. Take the back way. Go."
"Taylor, what's going-"
"Now, Arson!"
She nods slowly, and slides off the counter, helping Mack down with her.
The two disappear behind in the make-up department. They're gone. I sigh. That means they'll be safe.
Hopefully.
I throw myself off the counter, unable to climb down, gracefully with my shoulder. The impact makes me stumble against the counter to catch myself.
No time for this. The figure comes closer. I know who he is, and this is not a happy reunion. The door slides open as he enters.
My fingers tear at the Velcro straps that hold my dagger to my arm and I hold the dagger up. "What are you doing here?" I demand, climbing out into view.
Jagger stops and stares at me, his eyes locking on my shoulder, the bandages hidden under the coat. "How did you find me?"
His eyes narrow. "You are alive."
I nod slowly, raising the dagger so he won't think to come closer. "What of it? You here to finish the job? There are others who survived. If you kill me, they'll find you and kill you. I can promise you this: It will not be a pleasant death."
"Relax," he growls, curling his lip. "I am not here to hurt you."
"Then you lead The Others to us to kill us for you," I hiss. "I'm not buying it."
"I left. I let you get away, now they want to kill me. I am here seeking refuge," Jagger says in a low, raspy voice.
"After you shot me? No way. I can't trust you."
"Look, I do not work for them any-"
"Taylor!" I turn around to see Ralson come running over. His eyes go cold at the sight of Jagger.
"Who's this?"
He stands next to me, watching him closely.
Jagger has a gun. He did come here to kill me. "The ass who shot me," I say to Ralson, without taking my eyes off Jagger.
Jagger's eyes narrow even more and is face twists into a deadly glare. "I saved you. If Derek or Coden had the gun, you would be dead."
"You didn't save me, you shot me."
Ralson takes a step forward, moving me out of the way.
"Stay away from her," He growls.
"I have a gun. You are unarmed. If I wanted to kill you, I would have shot you both in the head." He smirks. "With one bullet."
Ralson takes another step forward, curling his fingers into fists. I sigh and grab his arm, pulling him back. "Don't. He has a point. Plus, we can't just let him go back to The Others. So what if they kill him? But, if he's lying, he'll tell them where we're hiding."
He pulls his arm out of my grasp and turn to me. "So what are we supposed to do then, kill him?" His eyes light up at the sound of that idea.
"No. That's what The Others want. They want him dead. I'm not going to stoop to their level. I won't go that low. Will you?" I challenge.
Ralson's face grows dark. "No, I guess not. What then?"
I brush past Ralson and stand a foot away from Jagger, holding my hand out. He glares at be, but gives me his pistol. I call Ralson over my shoulder and he stands next to me. "Take the gun and get behind him. If he tries to bolt, shoot. Don't just make him fall, either. Make him pay."
Ralson takes the gun. "We're taking him as our prisoner."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note
Slowly working my way back through and editing some of my mistakes. Sometimes I type too fast and leave words out or type the wrong word. So, bear with me.
Anyway, if anyone out there enjoys the book enough to make a cover for it, please do so. I would love to see some of your covers. I am in desperate need of a new book cover and I would appreciate any 'Survivors' covers you can make.
Thanks.
We did get a demo simulator-like thing, too