Blue Words - Part I

by M.C. Edwards

their way past the dark stairway which led back up to the penthouse and continued along the passage. Their shuffling echoed up and down the hall, playing tricks on George’s anxious senses. She glanced over her shoulder at every echoed footstep. The corridor ended in a heavy, black door with a long, thin strip of reinforced glass for a window. George peeked through. She saw their salvation, a large emergency stairwell, the kind which would surely take them all the way to the ground. However, there were also two more armed guards on the other side of the door. “We need to find another way out,” she whispered.

  They made their way back up to the penthouse, back to the elevator. Finally some luck, it seemed to be working. Their ears suddenly pricked to the distinct drumming thud of boots stomping up the stairs. George glanced up and noticed a camera perched high on the wall, tattling their location to anyone caring to watch. “They’re coming! Had to be the one second they were actually watching the screens,” George grumbled loudly in a panicked tantrum. She looked at the L.C.D. screen above the elevator door. The car was still twenty floors away; there was no way it would be there in time. She glared in the direction of the incoming guards, then at Gudrik. He was barely able to walk, let alone help. There is no denying that at that particular moment in time, in that particular situation, George seriously considered dumping the relic there to fend for itself, if not for that tiny, nagging voice of morality in the back of her head of course.

  Instead, George roared with frustration and turned. She dragged Gudrik up the stairs and out the large glass sliding door. Glancing back she noticed the two guards from the surveillance room and the two guards from the stairwell had converged at the elevator. The lift arrived and when the doors opened two more stepped out. Six guards, dressed in matching grey uniforms with their firearms drawn. Six men and six weapons. All to deal with a woman they know is unarmed and a relic that couldn’t even walk? They were not planning on detaining her again, that was clear.

  On the other side of the glass, George found herself in a roof top oasis. An awe inspiring view stretched before them. In every direction lay a spectacular sight to behold. The river snaked along one side, the city smothered the other. From that height both appeared far more glamorous and serene than they truly were at ground level. The rooftop gardens themselves were immaculately manicured beds crowded with a collage of exotic, vibrantly coloured flowers and tropical succulents. A long carpet of lush, green turf lay under foot and flowed to a luxurious gazebo, perched on the corner of the building, proudly overlooking the river. Along with a Jacuzzi and a small putting green, you could say it had everything. Everything except a way down that was. They were trapped. Guards back the way they came and nothing but a fatal drop in every other direction.

  “Well, we’re well and truly done!” George announced as the realisation sunk in. Gudrik shakily raised his head and looked around.

  “No, this will do woman,” he assured.

  “Um, you can call me George. You know, rather than woman.”

  “You have done well George.” The grim bastard almost smiled.

  The six guards were by now at the large, glass doors. All had their guns trained on the pair. “Dagger is on his way up,” she heard one mutter to the others.

  “Hand over the amulet and the relic and you won’t be harmed,” yelled another gruffly. George pondered the offer for a few seconds, weighing up seemingly non-existent options. Summoning all the remaining strength he had, Gudrik suddenly snatched the night stone casket from George. “Don’t move!” shouted one of the guards. With all his might Gudrik threw it over the railing and dropped to his knees.

  The black casket hurtled down, twisting and rolling through the air and ending its journey with a splash. It sunk quickly and silently into the waters of the river below.

  Gudrik’s strength surged back. He climbed to his feet and rattled loose a fierce battle cry. The guards looked unsure how to react. George seized on the distraction and ran from firing line, straight to the glass paneling which fenced the roof. She peered down the sheer drop of glass, metal and concrete to Eagle Street far below. The guns stayed with Gudrik. George hoped and prayed with all of her might for a fire escape, a window washer’s lift, anything. She saw nothing but a dead drop.

  “Don’t move or we’ll fire,” ordered one of the guards, his voice shook and his trigger finger twitched. Gudrik glared at him and swiftly shot towards George, who was now leaning over the stainless steel top rail, still scouring for an escape which didn’t exist. The guards began to fire wildly at him. They may not have seemed overly competent, but they could shoot. Several projectiles tore through Gudrik’s flesh as he moved, spattering blue onto the grass. Startled by the gunshots, George spun just in time to see the scruffy relic hurtling towards her. A bullet buried into Gudrik’s knee. He stumbled. Before she had a chance to react, Gudrik crashed into George. His momentum forced her backwards, toppling them both indigently over the safety railing in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

  The pair rocketed towards the ground. George screamed profanities so coarse that they blistered the very air around her. She scrambled and flailed as if trying to climb back up Gudrik’s body. He wrapped himself tightly around her. “Earvictius groot,” he bellowed.

  His bullet wounds glowed, and the tender flesh surrounding them began to transform into cold, speckled granite. The stone rapidly spread along his limbs and across his abdomen, searing with pain as it went. He cringed and grated his teeth. As it spread across his chest and onto George she began to scream as though he were slashing chunks of flesh from her. Thankfully, the agony did not linger and in the blink of an eye, stone had completely swallowed both of them. No matter how hard she tried George could not move. It was both claustrophobic and frightening.

  The living statues whistled closer and closer to the ground. Until......SMASH! They crashed unhindered onto the roof of a parked car. Glass and shrapnel exploded from the vehicle as they tore through the chassis and into the road beneath.

  Just as painfully as it had spread, the rock retreated returning the flesh to its vulnerable state, leaving it sensitive and speckled with sweat. Both lay for a moment of recovery. Their chests heaved deeply as they came to terms with what had just happened. Gudrik crawled out of the mangled wreck and climbed to his feet. “Are you harmed?” he grunted, lifting George to her feet.

  She was pale and disheveled with blank shock clouding her eyes. Time was of the essence. Gudrik slapped her across the cheek. Fire filled her blank eyes. She swung a punch, which he avoided. He grabbed her shoulders and repeated his question, “Are you harmed?”

  “I-I’m confused as hell,” she responded, panicked, but glad to be alive. “But fine. I think. Yes fine. Definitely ok,” she stammered nervously, quickly checking her body over for injuries and pulling her dress down to cover the lacy black panties on show to the world. Her hand quickly went to her locket, checking it was still there. “Was I made of stone then?” Gudrik ignored her question. His attention was otherwise occupied. By that stage, a huge crowd of onlookers and good Samaritans had gathered around their impact point.

  “We must keep moving.”

  He dragged his hand along a twisted shard of the car’s metal shell and spoke, “Unjallius.”

  Gudrik groaned as huge, white wings tore from the flesh of his back in a puff of loose feathers and a splatter of blue. They stretched to a massive, elegant span and quivered in the sun. The suit jacket and shirt were left torn and tattered, spattered, stained and hanging in shreds from Gudrik’s muscled shoulders. The stunned onlookers stepped back in awe. He grasped the confused woman tightly and with a few powerful beats of his mighty wings launched the two of them into the sky.

  George clung tightly as they whipped and glided through the city. They weaved between the highrise buildings, slowly gaining altitude and suddenly plunging toward the ground as Gudrik negotiated the unpredictable up-drafts above the busy city streets. George was not as terrified as her brain insisted she should be. She loved t
he speed, she loved the wind and she loved the gaping faces of the populous below. It all exhilarated her. Gudrik’s grasp was gentle and caring, but still so firm and reliable that there was no fear of falling.

  Finally, Gudrik surged up and breached the top of the sky scrapers. The onlookers below were now nothing more than ants. George released her grip on Gudrik and shielded her eyes. The sun was much fiercer up there without the buildings’ protection. She swivelled and squirmed as she gathered bearings. “Land on those cliffs over there,” George said pointing at a small lookout point above the river.

  Gudrik dived and swooped in, gently putting the two of them down on the grass in a rapid flutter of tiny wing beats. “Gratitude,” Gudrik grunted as the wings collapsed into a sprinkling of blood.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. A strange look crept across George’s face, a coy curiosity. “Why didn’t you just do the whole, graceful angel wings thing when we were plummeting from the building?” she blurted, “You know, rather than turn me into a rock.” He simply scowled and shrugged. “It was kind of embarrassing crawling out of the car wreck in front of everyone with my dress hiked up around my waist?” Gudrik glanced