Page 172 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

“I think that’s a gun,” she says, and I bend to look. It’s attached to a holder.

“No kidding, Sherlock. Take it. You might need it.”

“It’s a gun,” she repeats.

I roll my eyes. Maybe I would have ended up like Brittney had certain things in my life not happened. But living the life I have made me see things in different colored glasses than her.

“Take it out, Brittney. It won’t kill you. It’s pointing in the wrong direction.”

“Are you f’ing kidding me?!” she exclaims, and I can see the fear all over her face.

I lean in, pull it out, check the single stack magazine, and make sure the safety clip is on.

“You only have maybe five or ten rounds, maybe less. So use it wisely.” I hand it to her.

“Do I have to use it?” she looks at it reluctantly as if I’m handing her a bag of snakes.

“Well, only if you see VictorDarkspire.Then please shoot the bastard.”

“Darkspire?” She takes the gun from me with an amused grin.

“Yeah, I made up that name. It goes with the dark look I think he was aiming for.”

She chuckles. “You’re funny in times of danger.”

“I wasn’t always like this. I was once like ….” I look at her sympathetically. “Like you. Confused, scared, and a lot lost. But tragedy hardens you. I spent the first eight months backpacking through the roughest areas of Mexico and then ironically ended up in Cancun. Catalina was with me, but it didn’t make a difference to our safety. A middle-aged older lady and an eighteen-year-old navigating through a country where neither of us spoke the language, and after that crazy experience, we ended up living in one of America’s loneliest deserts. I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. I had to learn to survive if I wanted to live. It comes naturally to most humans if they allow for it.”

“I don’t want to die here,” she says with a ragged voice.

I show her how to unclip the safety of the gun and explain when it’s in safety mode, there’s no chance she’ll shoot her foot or me.

Suddenly, the distant humming of machines echoes within the canyon. I raise my hand to quiet Brittney.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, looking at the jeep. “There was probably a tracker on it. Come with me.”

I shove the smaller gun inside the waistband of her skinny-fit white jeans and start running to climb to the top of a large boulder and look out towards the vast expanse of the landscape, offering me a bird’s eye view.

From a distance, I see the electric jeeps stealthily maneuvering through the narrow canyon. The soft whining of tires on the rocky terrain creates an eerie echo that heightens the sense of their approach.

“Fuck!” Brittney looks down at her knees. “I must have cut them climbing up.”

Glancing downward, I notice her jeans are filthy, with her knees cut and bleeding through the light-colored fabric.

Her face is swollen, bearing a motley bluish-black hue against her fair skin, a souvenir from Victor, who sent her flying from his violent outburst. Despite the pain she must be in, she’s putting on a brave face.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, reaching into my pocket, knowing I probably don’t have any tissues.

“No,” she replies, staring at the device I hold in my hands. “What’s that?”

“Rick’s alarm. He gave it to me, and I carry it everywhere. With everything going on, I forgot about it.”

“Hon, I think Rick died in the car blast.”

I shiver from that thought.

“No idea if the signal catches wherever the fuck we are, but the guys have an app that alerts them if it’s pressed.” I press it down and do it three more times for good measure.

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