Fragile Storm

Prologue » » Escape

I looked behind me. They were there, precisely 19.4 feet away. I looked forward, tried to double my speed, clutched the back of my left shoulder, and tried to subside the pain and blood flow.

I hissed as the pain intensified again. My legs were growing weak. My energy, running low. Sweat trickled down my forehead. Fiery hair flew in my face. Twigs snapped below me. Little animals scurried away at the sound of my feet.

The screech and crunch of truck wheels against the stick-and-leaf-covered ground.

I remembered what I was doing. Running.

The sound of Enforcer Jets' blades spinning above the trees that barely provided some coverage.

I remembered where I was running to. Nowhere.

Another gun shot. The whiz of a bullet, one that was directed at my head, passed my ear.

I remembered why I needed to keep on running to nowhere. Because th―

"We need her alive! Don't shot, we need her! Hold your fire!"

That voice. I know that voice. Of course, I know that voice. Of course, he would be here. Leading them to catch me. But he wouldn't let them hurt me.

It didn't matter because he had failed. They had already hurt me. They only needed to catch me and do more harm.

But I couldn't let them. I had to run. I didn't have any other choice. Well, I did. But the key term was, did. That chance was ruined when they shot me in the shoulder blades. But I survived until now.

"You're a survivor," he had once said to me at the Lab, looking at me intently in the eyes, "and you can do anything."

He was right.

"As long as you believe in yourself."

No, he is right.

"You are strong."

I can do anything. I am going to survive this, survive them. I am going to run away and they wouldn't be able to lay another finger on me, ever again.

"You can defeat anything, anyone."

So I do the only thing that I know how to do at this moment.

"You can do it."

I run, and run, and run.

Because I'm going to get somewhere at some point.

And I did get somewhere.

The edge of a cliff.

A dead end.

I stopped, realizing there was nowhere else to go, and turned around. My breath came in and out quickly. I was panting. I was out of energy. I couldn't do this anymore. I was no longer a survivor. I was dead.

The vehicle he was in came to a stop no more than twelve feet away from me.

He stepped out, and took three slow steps towards me.

I took a step backward, then suddenly remembered the danger behind me.

The other trucks and motors came to a stop, blocking any means of escape, and trapping me. The masked riders stepped out and immediately had me at gunpoint. They were fully covered in white, except where there was a dark glass in front of their eyes, to give them an enhanced view of their surroundings. Their uniforms were made to give them enhanced agility. I knew if I moved again, this might just be it. The end.

His voice tore through the silence like a pair of scissors through paper.

"Yves." He said my name with sadness laced in and out of his voice like a tangled mess of vines.

He took another step forward. "Please―"

"No!" My voice came out clogged and shaky. I wanted to yell and scream and shout and fend him off. But I couldn't. I found myself rooted to my spot, unable to say more.

My eyes pricked with something. I held it in. I would not break down. Not like this, and definitely not in front of him.

"They're not going to hurt you." Two steps forward. "I won't let them lay a finger on you." Another step. Now, he was standing about 7 feet away from me. "I promise."

"NO!" I finally found my voice. "You lied to me," my voice rang through the air. I felt the pricks again, at the back of my eyes. My vision began to blur slightly.

He moved his head from side to side, then proceeded to take another step forward.

"You betrayed me..." my voice was now nothing but a shaky whisper. I blinked slowly. A single tear formed, rolled down.

He stopped in his tracks. "No, Yves. Not this time." His eyes searched my face, with hope written all around his. With one arm outstretched, he reached out to me, then took another step forward, eyes pleading. He was so close to me, he could touch me if he reached further.

I was tempted to take his hand. To touch him. To let him hold me in his arms and tell me everything will be okay. To believe him.

But I couldn't.

"This time will be different. I promise, this time―"

The last gun shot.

"NOOO!"

His voice was the last thing I heard.

His hand, the last thing I felt.

His face, the last thing I saw.

Then I was falling backward.

Over the cliff.

Through the air.

Into the water below.

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