Golden Hour | Cole Stewart AU

Not Afraid

ELORA

Something isn't right.

I look over my shoulder for the third time. The buildings on the block huddle close together, scarce of any sign of life. The dusty road stretches behind me and a few cars are parked along the footpath, each looking more beaten up than the one before.

No one lives here anymore.

Maybe this place stopped serving their needs and they went to find something that would. Or maybe the memories of the town chased them away.

A ghost town. America has a lot of those now.

I bury my palms in the pockets of my sweatshirt and cross the street. A coffee shop, a bookstore and a stationary, are all lined up next to each other.

On any other day, I would’ve stopped to investigate. You never know what you would find inside. But not today. Not when I think I’m being followed.

Glancing to the left, I increase my pace.

I can almost hear Frost’s voice in my mind. You have to be careful, Elora. Frost used to say every time I was venturing out on my own. Being seen is not an option.

And I understood that, I really did. But that didn’t mean that I never ran into trouble. When I was fifteen, I’d just walked out of an abandoned supermarket with a haul when I felt something sharp against my back.

Turns out it was just another kid who'd been ravaging for food.  Hunger can make people go absolutely feral and I’d surrendered my loot right away. Since then, I’ve been more cautious. Nothing like being held at gunpoint to keep your senses alert.

Rounding the corner, I press my body against the next building and wait. A minute passes and then another. I hear the footsteps before I see anyone and all the training I’d been given kicks in.

I barely catch a flash of black before I spin on my heel and my fist strikes an eye and palm punches a jaw. The stalker staggers back a few steps and blinks at me through watery blue eyes. Unfortunately, my hit sets him back only for a few seconds and he approaches me.

I try to step out of his reach but he’s good. He wraps his arm around my neck and traps me in a headlock. His muscles strain against mine and the touch is hot, way too hot even for this summer heat.

I turn my head slightly. Bringing my hands up to pinch his arm, I give a slight shrug and tuck my chin in the curve of his elbow. At the same time, I bend my knees and put my foot behind his. Curving my back, I reposition my feet and my body turns completely, almost free of his grip but I’m barely able to relish the freedom.

He throws his first punch at me and my nose cracks, a sharp stab of pain travels towards my eyes. Something warm and wet slides out of my nose.

Next thing I know, I’m being knocked down and my body is being crushed under a body that is more than well-built. His arm feels hot even through my sweatshirt. It's almost like an iron is caressing my back. I know this fact is important but I’m in too much pain to connect the dots.

I stop fighting back and he hesitates. His hands still clutch my wrists but he moves an inch and gives me an opening. I move my knee and kick him in the groin. Just like that, the weight lifts off my body and I roll out from underneath him. Arms aching, I spring up to my feet.

The pain in my nose is somehow worse. My hand comes up to my nose and finds blood. I feel a jab of satisfaction when I see the man bend over, still recovering from my last hit. The man's face twists up in a grimace but he stands up to his feet.  Dressed in black from top to bottom, he looks at me through a swollen eye and sways on his feet.