Like a knife being slid slowly down her throat, right down her chest. Straight into her heart. That was the grief she felt. Like slivers of razors running through her veins. Throbbing with her pulse. His blue eyes. So pale they looked like clouded sky. […]
Tag: the start of something
She awoke with a jerk of all her muscles. The back of her head banged against metal and her right leg cramped so hard she groaned in pain.
“What the hell?” she whispered. It was so dark that she felt her face to see if she had a blindfold on, because she knew her eyes were definitely open. As she lay on her back in the pitch blackness, she became aware of sounds and smells. The first thing she noticed was the tang of fish in the air, and the cold metal underneath her body. This led to another realisation: She was naked. Her buttocks were numb from the icy metal and her back ached. She could feel little studs in the floor in a line heading off into the distance.
A low thrum could be heard and felt under her hands.
A ship then. Some sort of fishing ship? By the aching cold biting into her body, it was most probably a deep sea vessel.
“Right. So here I am. On a ship. A fishing ship. Buck naked in the dark. Way to go, Libby.” The sound of her voice calmed her slightly, even though the sound was swallowed up by the huge dark room she was in.
“This is Georgina. She will be be joining you on the tactical training today. Make her welcome.”
Sarge stood next to a young woman in civvies. He had an unreadable expression on his face. All business today. He left the room.
Stepman of course leapt up from his chair and shoved his hand out at the woman. She looked at his hand for a beat and then took it and shook it.
She didn’t smile, but you could see the tension go out of her shoulders.
“What you here for, Georgina?” asked Stepman, settling himself on the corner of one of the briefing room desks.
The rest of the squad were watching now, and the woman took a deep breath.
“I am, apparently, your new tactical advantage.” she said quietly. She had a wry smile on her face as she said it, and you could just see she was repeating something she’d been told all too often.
There was a bit of laughter, and Chase was about to ask for clarification (because that’s what he always did) but the door swung open and Sarge stepped in again, this time with two bigshots. One in a suit, the other in DGUs.
“Gentleman,” said the suit, trying to look important,”Georgina is very special and must be treated as such. She will rely on you for protection as she is not a trained soldier. You will rely on her for information. Very special information. You will discover her incredible talents during this next training mission. Your squad was selected, after careful research, because you seem to be an open-minded and intelligent lot. Your sarge is vouching for you here, so don’t let him down.”
Sarge winced a little at the last comment, but didn’t meet any eyes. He was a stoic, steady man who only said what was needed, but he always had your back.
The suit and the uniform left and Sarge stood at the blackboard. You could see him gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
Georgina stood to one side of the room, clearly still very anxious.
“Boys and girls.” said Sarge,”I’ve been briefed on Georgina’s capabilities. I consider myself pretty open-minded and well-read, but even so, it took me a little while to accept things. You are free to say what you feel, but only _after_ this training exercise. Clear?”
We all yessir’d.
“If even half of these things are true, we’re a lucky squad. If this works out.”
We were pondering this when Beacon raised his hand.
“A question, Beacon?”
“What exactly can she do, Sir?” he asked.
“Basically, boys, Georgina can see ’round corners.” said Sarge.
Her breath was coming in high pitched rasps between cracked bloody lips. She’d lost a heel at some point. A stitch of massive proportions was tearing its way up her side. She had to keep running, she could still hear them behind her. She kicked off both shoes and held the little straps in her left hand as she ran. Her right hand was charcoal black and it felt cold as ice. That was something to ponder when she was safe. Right now she had to keep running.
Where the hell could she go? She stopped for a moment to gasp a few breaths and to have a look at her surroundings. Pretty little townhouses and white picket fences. A dog started barking at her from behind a high wooden fence. She heaved violently as the stitch stuck its way into her stomach. She drew in a long whistling breath and carried on running. Her feet were stinging now from the pretty paved streets. She grimaced in pain as she stumbled and felt her right ankle click. She carried on running. She had no choice. If they caught up, she was deadmeat.
How dare they? She became angry. Furious. Her right hand clenched hard and her once fine nails dug into her palm. She squeaked in pain. She got her second wind. Her lungs heaved as she sucked in huge gasps of air and a burst of speed spread to her feet and she surged forward.
What have I done? What can I do to change this?
Nothing! Keep running! Find somewhere to hide!
She kept running, scanning the homes around her for a shed or a partially open garage. This was subburbia, people trusted each other. There had to be somewhere she could huddle until the mob passed her by.
She stumbled again, this time falling hands first into a hedge. The sharp sticks cut and tore and she had to muffle her shrieks. She extracted herself and saw she was in a small garden. Next to the large white double story house was a little wooden wendy house.
She stopped to listen for the pack behind her. There. In the far distance. At least they didn’t have dogs this time.
She slunk across the freshly mowed lawn towards the wendy house, listening carefully for any noise from the house.
It wasn’t locked. Thank heavens.
Her legs buckled as she closed the little wooden door behind her and she collapsed on a stack of compost bags. She was safe. For now.
Finally, the tears came.