Page 78 of Homebound
Simon must have noticed the shapes at the same time. His posture never changed but he cocked his head and his long fingers flexed in his lap.
Gemma told herself not to overreact but her protective instincts were already raging. She executed a quick turn and started walking away from the Perali as fast as she could, which, with her pushing the heavy chair, amounted to no more than a brisk stroll.
The Perali spoke to each other, their voices reaching her retreating back, a staccato chop of strange sounds thrown around.
“Do you think we need to be concerned?” Gemma quietly asked Simon.
“Yes.”
Her heart lurched in fear. “Why? We did nothing to them.”
He shrugged again as if indifferent. “We’re weak. Prey. They will attack.”
She hoped he was mistaken. “What are we going to do?”
“Get back to the prison.”
“It’s almost a mile.”
“You can run.”
“Not with this chair.” She was already limping badly.
“No, not with the chair.”
She tensed. “Simon, did you think I’ll just leave you here and run?”
She pushed the chair harder, moved faster applying all she had to get them going. They covered fifty feet or so when another muscled shape emerged from the fog blocking their way and screwing up their plan for a straight shot to the safety of the prison entrance.
With her stun gun left on the inside, for the first time Gemma wished the building had windows facing the street so that the guards could see out. Although in this fog it wouldn't have made a difference.
“Go around the church,” Simon said quietly. “If we’re lucky we’ll lose them in the fog.”
Without slowing down, Gemma took a sharp right.
“Somehow, I’m not feeling particularly lucky, Simon.”
They zig-zagged within the area of Simon’s confinement until Gemma ran out of breath. Her ankle was holding up better than expected but her heart was hammering and her head swam. She cursed the recent illness that left her in recovery mode today.
They ended up near the crumbling wall where the church’s entrance used to be and Gemma parked the wheelchair to catch her breath. She turned around slowly, listening to eerie silence ripe with foreboding. She didn’t dare look at Simon knowing she’d failed him. The weight of responsibility was crushing.
“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. She dropped her eyes to the ground and searched for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. Spotting a stick among the debris littering the road, she picked it up and realized it wasn’t a stick but a length of steel pipe, rusted and bent, but sturdy.
Good. It could do some damage.
She positioned herself in front of Simon. Of course, as a fighter, she was a joke but she was going to protect him till her dying breath. Which, in this case, might not be a figure of speech.
Simon’s liquid eyes fastened onto the pipe she was gripping.
“What are you going to do with this?”
“I’m going to swing it and hopefully hit some Perali.”
“You don’t know how to fight.”
“Sadly, no. But do you have an alternative?”
“You need to run. Get lost.”
