by D. S. Murphy
“Take this,” Meredith said, handing me her curved machete. I nodded and turned to go back in the building. Jake grabbed my arm and held my gaze.
“We’ll wait for you outside. Get the device and get out. We’ll trigger the bombs once you’re clear of the building. And... be careful.”
I made it downstairs without incident. The building seemed curiously empty. I wondered if most of the mercs were out on a mission, gathering more children. I guess they never expected a direct attack. Tom’s body was right where I left it. Several pots of phylia had fallen over, spilling dirt and flowers across his face. It was almost like some kind of burial. I searched his jacket until I felt the hard plastic of something that felt like a cell phone. I pulled it out gingerly, careful not to press the trigger.
I was about to run back the way I came when I noticed the mod. It was standing in the same doorway I’d passed through, sniffing the air. Hunting me. I crouched down, hiding next to Tom’s body in the flowers. I wondered if the floral scent made me harder to track. The mod stepped into the room. I was about to fire when I saw there were three more behind him. Great, a pack.
They were all wearing the same strange collars. I wondered how many bullets I had left in the chamber. Not many. There was one more clip of ammo on my belt, but if I made any noise they’d be on me in seconds. I should have practiced changing the clips at Tracy’s house. With only one good hand, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to figure it out before they reached me. My blood was racing as I glanced around the room for alternative exits. My eyes landed on a semi-automatic rifle about a dozen paces from me, not far from Curt’s outstretched hand. If I could reach it, I’d have twice the firepower. Then I could cut across the room into another doorway—if I slammed the door shut, it might keep the mods out long enough for me to reload.
I took a deep breath and sprinted across the room. The mods screeched behind me but I didn’t turn around until I reached the gun. I grabbed it and spun around, pulling the trigger. My heart nearly stopped when it gave a dull click. Empty. I reached for my pistol, but my hand shook so badly I dropped it. The mods spread out, surrounding me. One of them licked their chops, and curled its lips in a snarl that was almost a smile. It raised its claws, and they glinted dangerously in the soft moonlight before it pounced.
I cringed, holding the long blade up for protection. Time seemed to slow down as I watched the mod approach me in midair. But then, the collar around its neck lit up with red light, and its face contorted in fear and pain. The mods around me howled and scratched at their blinking collars, then collapsed to the ground. How is this happening?
I stood up and walked past the writhing creatures towards the exit. I was almost there when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I felt a tingling sensation on my skin, like someone was watching me. I glanced back and saw a silhouette in a doorway across the hall. Even from this distance, even in the near darkness, I recognized him. He was older, but still just as handsome as he’d been when he kissed me a few hours ago. Tom was right. It was Mr. Peters all along. Brett Peters. He was the one running Zamonta.
THE END
Continue the Adventure…
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More about me: I’ve been living overseas since I was sixteen, first in Argentina, then Malta, then Taiwan (where I met my wife). Now we migrate like birds, roaming the world seeking adventure and inspiration. As a book cover designer and indie author, I’ve spoken at dozens of writing conferences around the world. Last year we rented a castle for Nanowrimo and got featured in CNN.
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Derek Murphy