Karla of House Nellenbach, First of Her Name, the Uncool, Queen of Sarcasm, Treadmill Battles, and the First Cup of Coffee, Khalessi of the Great Green Scion, Breaker of Lawnmowers, Mother of Dogs (and one Cranky Cat).
These are my words. This is my life. You have been warned.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
In Which I TEASE You
Long time, no tease, huh? Well, friends, this one is from my on-again, off-again WiP involving an alien uprising, ZERO.
The lieutenant’s brother reaches for
a small black box on his belt.It is not
a gun, but I’ve seen it before.Never
have they ever used one on us.These
devices are reserved for when the hendlings get out of control.The image of the hendling, a massive animal
taller than a house with skin so thick as to be nearly impenetrable and large
jagged horns on either side of its elongated snout.A hendling cannot be taken down with just
anything.It requires something with
The box the man is unstrapping from
his belt can easily kill a hendling.Even on its lowest setting, it will vaporize me.
Self-preservation kicks in, and I
launch into action.I kick out again,
punching my foot into the other man’s neck.He crumples instantly.No more
time to torture and punish.I whip
around, eyes searching out the nearest exit.
“Leda, run!”I snarl.Why is she just standing there at the door staring at me?She should’ve been miles away by now.She and the other two should have been well
away from the truck.“Run!”
I leap away from the two men,
stumbling as my hands fly out, shoving her toward the door and pushing her out
into the hazy afternoon glow.She and
the others tumble down to the hard-packed soil.Murky gray sand and dead yellow plants surround the truck.I don’t need to look up to the sky and see
the pale blue sun, shrouded in filmy gray to know where we are.
The guards are taking us through the Sunbelt.That arid
strip of land where nothing of any value grows.The only water running through this barren wasteland is horrid, stagnant
and tastes of death.It’s the kind of
water the humans prefer.They call it
freshwater, but there is nothing fresh about it.The water is devoid of any nutrients.It contains nothing to revitalize, only drains
our bodies of strength, makes us sick.
“Run,” I shout at her again.
Grabbing hold of the two girls, she
peels out, her legs pumping in fast strides as she drags them along with
her.I watch her for only a moment, just
long enough to verify that she is, in fact, fleeing.Then, I am in motion.Propelling myself forward, crawling to the
door to make my own escape.But, I won’t
be following in her wake.I will run in
the opposite direction.When they give
chase—which they most assuredly will—it will be me they come after, and Leda
will be free.
At the door, my hands grip the metal
frame of the truck, one foot stepping out.I am almost clear of the danger the man and his hendling weapon pose
when a hand latches onto my ankle.It is
nothing to jerk him loose.He is weak as
a babe, a groan floating out of him as he tries and fails to catch hold of me
“Stop,” he commands, his voice a low,
A smile curves my lips as I take
off.My feet are sure.Even barefoot, I fly over the hot sand,
barely noticing the jagged rocks that leap up to slice at my soles.Nothing can stop me now.I have won.I am free.
“Dammit!” he thunders behind me as he
drags himself from the truck.“I said Stop!”
Hazarding a quick glance over my
shoulder, I see him push himself upright, take the stance they all do when
readying themselves to shoot at a moving target.I double my speed, my legs pumping harder and
faster than I’ve ever pushed them before.
But, it is not enough.Not when he aims that black box at my
back.Not when he clicks the button that
will end me.
Three tiny prongs land on my back,
centered perfectly between my shoulder blades.They latch onto my clothing, dig into my flesh until they attach
themselves to my spine.I stumble to a
halt, arms flying up, fingers scrabbling at my back, a vain attempt to reach
the prongs, dig them out before they can—
Hot, sharp, and blinding.White heat and static noise blanket my entire
being.My brain scrambles, frying under
the electric current now skipping gleefully up and down my spine.My body is no longer my own.My arms and legs flail.My shoulders and hips shaking.I am a puppet, dancing on unseen strings.
I have no control over what happens
next.Nor can I borrow the energy to
care.For in the next minute, I lose my
grip—tenuous as it is—on life, and everything is gone.
That's it for this Tuesday, folks. Until next week, when we see if Thia makes it out of this alive:)