I’m standing outside of the mouth of an alley, squinting at the darkness ahead. I see the gleam of a knife, winking eerily at me, and then hear another grunt and the sound of a body falling to the ground with a thump.
“C’mon man,” a voice – deep and ragged – persuades from inside of the alley. “Just give it up. You know we can kill you, right? We aren’t fucking around!”
Another groan. Another thump.
My heart is pounding in my ears and slowly, as if the world has gone into slow-motion, my Hunter senses flow through me; starting at my ears, ending at my tense muscles.
“I didn’t –“ the voice – laced with a Southern accent and sounding strained – wheezes, hacking up something. With my sight horribly detailed and heightened, I can make out – and hear, oh my God – blood, a gleaming ruby color, splatter across the ground.
“Didn’t what?” the deeper voice demands.
“I didn’t save this –“ –wheeze –“money up just so you –“ –wheeze – “punks can –“ the rest of his words are cut off by the sickly gleam of the knife and I hear no groan, just a gargled sound – like he’s gargling water – and I see the silhouette of his body, his arm cling to his stomach, him dropping to his knees.
I guess my mind is too slow for my body because now, as if him dropping to his knees was my cue, I’m in the alley, being swallowed up by complete darkness, standing before two guys – the one with the knife is hovering over the bleeding boy and the other guy who’s wearing a beanie is staring down at the bleeding boy – and my body is tense to the max, waiting to pounce.
“Rodney,” Beanie boy gasps, eyes growing wide as he takes hold of Rodney’s – the one with the knife – arm, his bitten-down nails digging in. “What the hell?”
Rodney shrugs, still looking down at the barely breathing, bleeding boy. Rodney’s knuckles are white from holding onto the knife too hard and too long.
“What? He didn’t give me the fucking money,” Rodney says, trying to sound nonchalant, but I can hear the slight quiver in his voice, showing his fear.
“Still bro. You coulda –“ Beanie boy’s head turns slightly and my heart does a weird leap. I – almost silently – move to the brick wall that’s splattered with a thick shadow.
Why didn’t I bring my weapons belt? I ask myself, digging my nails into the brick behind me, pressing my back closer to it until I feel the bricks digging in and puncturing my skin. Nothing’s worse than being stuck on a rescue mission with just freaking training to relay on. I’m screwed. Totally, royally screwed.
The guys saw me take cover in the shadows and the air seems to shift as they turn around, ignoring the panting bleeding boy behind them whose on the edge of life and death. Taking a shaky breath, I pry myself off the wall and step out of the shadows.
Beanie boy and Rodney stand two feet away from me, eyes darting from the boy behind them to me nervously. They clench and unclench their fists, their legs are spread apart. I guess Rodney remembers that he’s the one armed here, because he holds up his switch-blade, pointing it to the middle of my forehead. His hands no longer shake.
Okay, not your best plan. This is a suicide mission! Get out and go back to Clarence! The voice shouts at me, causing my brain to shake at the volume.
