Page 2 of Chaos
As I approach, the voices become clearer—angry, threatening. I slow my pace, sticking close to the shadows.
My blood turns to ice as I register the scene. Two rough-looking guys in leather vests are on their knees, heads bowed, and two other scary-looking men are standing over them.
Warning alarms fire in my brain. I should turn back. I should run. But my feet are frozen to the pavement.
Then I see the gun.
It happens so fast—the flash, the sound muffled by a silencer, the first kneeling man slumping forward. The second tries to lunge upward but receives the same treatment.
I need to get out of here, butmy lower body won’t cooperate. I just stand there.
The other man holds something that glints under the streetlight. It’s a knife. Holy Mary, it’s a knife. A blackish liquid pools beneath the bodies. I study it for a moment before realizing it’s blood.
The guy with the knife crouches and begins cutting into the chest of one of the victims. The other turns, scanning the area?—
His eyes lock with mine.
For a long, suspended moment, we stare at each other. Then his mouth moves, shouting something to his partner, and he raises his gun.
Mercifully, my legs finally take action.
I spin and run for my life—quite literally. Heavy footsteps pound behind me as I sprint down the darkened street, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
I’m short. And kinda chubby. I can't outrun him—not in these shoes, not as exhausted as I am.
I know these streets, though, like the back of my hand. That may be my only advantage.
I veer sharply left, darting between buildings into a narrow alley. The darkness swallows me, but my pursuer's footsteps still echo behind. My lungs burn. I need to lose him.
I see my salvation—another turn just ahead, an alley that will eventually emerge out onto the next street over. I take it, only to find myself facing a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. What the heck? When did they put that up?!
"Shit!" I hiss.
No choice but to double back. I edge back to the main alley. His footsteps grow louder.
I quicken my pace, completely out of breath. As I round another corner, my backpack catches on a rusted metal bar jutting from the wall. I pull, panic rising. The safety pins give way with a pop, and my backpack tumbles to the ground, contents spilling across the dirty pavement.
"No, no, no." My phone, wallet, keys—everything scatters.
The noise behind me is getting closer.
My wallet lies visible in the dim light. I lunge for it, fingers just brushing the faux leather, when a hand grabs my arm, yanking me backward.
"Got you,puta.” His accent is thick, unfamiliar. His grip crushes my bicep, and I let out a little yelp.
In a terror-driven, instinctive movement, I drive my knee upward between his legs with all my strength.
He howls, doubling over. I wrench free and run, abandoning everything on the ground.
My lungs feel ready to burst. I don't know where I'm going anymore, just away. My surroundings blur together until somehow I find myself back where I started. In the parking lot of the warehouse, near the *gulp* bodies.
I press myself against a wall, trying to control my ragged breathing.
The second killer is still there, still crouched, still doing whatever he was doing to the bodies with his knife. From this angle, I can see the victims better—leather vests, tattooed arms.
Oh my god! My hand clamps over my mouth to stifle a scream.
My mind races frantically. I can't go back. I can't go forward. I scan my surroundings, desperate for another option, any option. Is there a hiding place?
