The Shearing

Three

Right at this very moment, I know my life will never be the same again. The man's clutches upon my wrist tightens. His fingers dig my skin with jagged nails that threaten to pierce through my flesh. When I turn to face who it is, Gordon's dark eyes streak to mine. Gordon Fleet is just a new worker here, and I know nothing more about him than his name. I think I needn't to anyway. The fictitious possibility of being in good terms with him has already crumbled down right at this moment.

"You're a Holland," he growls. A menacing wolfish grin cracks along his lips.

I feel like a cornered prey.

"I'm Kiera!" I spit the words as I frantically swing my free lefthand fist to his bald head.

Gordon made a loud grunting noise as he goes toppling back and losing grip of my wrist. The stark ugly red lines that sprawl my skin stare back at me like heinous handiworks.

"Kiera!" Oliver dodges a few bodies that have given chase.

All my strength mounds a lump within my frantic nerves, and my mind is nothing more than a jumbled heap of thoughts. Fighting for the little courage I harbor, I start making my way out of the small cubicle where Gordon is beginning to get a hold of his bearings.

I am met with a tight hug as Oliver collides with me, our panicked breath mingles together with the loud thuds on our chests.

"You had me worried sick!" he crows; his eyes roam my sweat-stricken face, and we're awkwardly sliding side ways as he pulls me.

My eyes gaze back at him weakly, and my whole expression blanches out.

"The Hollands—we are being hunted now too." My voice is harrowed. "I'm done, Oliver."

"You're not," he quickly says, then he draws out a weird-looking device on his palm.

At first sight, it looks like a detonator, but instead of an explosion, all the lights go out as he presses a button, showering us all in bleak darkness with only the afternoon light from the outside to provide little illumination as it filters through the glasses of the exit doors far ahead.

I think this isn't a good idea.

People within the store quickly turns into a more chaotic frenzy.

"Two criminals together, eh? The world sure is becoming strange." The man I've talked to moments ago cackles on his position, his hands crossed out against his chest.

Oliver and I shoot him a bemused stare, then the man holds out his hands in the air.

"I'm not planning anything," he says, albeit I don't trust him at all.

It is dark within the store, and so I couldn't see clearly whether the man's smiling or not. And now the only illumination left is from the thick closing chrome doors outside the two layers of glass doors of the store.

Once that door slams shut, we're no doubt dead.

"Let's go!" Oliver pipes.

He pulls me along the tottered crowd without minding whoever we shove along the way, and we're already lost amidst the sea of people just in time when Gordon decides to chase us again.

The door . . . it's the only thing that matters now because it's either we make it or we die here together with the other wanted folks.

"Bon voyage! And good luck!" The man calls out from behind, and I'm starting to mentally question his sanity.

As the door inches closer and provides narrower passage, my hope unbearably falters. Two naïve individuals certainly don't stand a chance especially if the government itself is against them, but, it seems, since The Shearing has been enforced by all other countries worldwide, the world itself has already turned its back against us.