Chapter 11
Unable to rest and steady my scope without drawing suspicion, I quickly realize that my only option is to point and shoot.
While it’s no sniper’s preferred position to be stuck in, it’s all I’m left with.
Lucky for Lowell, Grandma forced me to practice shooting from the hip for hours until I had no strength left to lift my arms.
Hastily lifting my crossbow from my lap, I point the tip at the criminal who has piercing bullets loaded into his firearm. I don’t have time to focus or rethink. It’s only a matter of time until one of the criminals gets hasty, or Lowell’s temper wins out.
I pull the trigger and the bolt releases with a thump. My target stumbles backward with a bolt now lodged in his chest, bullets spraying wildly from his gun. The others recoil, dropping or lowering their weapons in surprise to the sudden gunfire.
“What in the hell?!” the leader shouts, desperately trying to gain control by shouting both expletives and commands.
His words are muddled, drowned out by the chaos of screams and shouts.
Criminals scatter like mice in every direction.
Any chance the leader has for recovery dies as my target falls to the ground flat on his back, his empty firearm clicking with every strike of the hammer.
Still startled and fleeing, the men take refuge behind metal debris and unload bullets into Lowell’s chest. Each one bounces off like a pebble against a brick wall, burying themselves into the ground with a cloud of dust trailing behind.
Lowell remains unfazed. If anything, the hindrance only seems to make him more excited. While I can’t see his face, the horrified expressions the criminals wear tell me that he must look more crazed than I have ever seen him before. At times like this, I’m grateful we are on the same side.
The leader selfishly pushes past his subordinates in a desperate attempt to flee, but Lowell catches up to him without even breaking into a jog. His long reptilian legs glide across the terrain with ease, not at all hindered by the loose grains that swallow up my boots with a single step.
Sinking both claws into the leader’s shoulders with a quick swipe, Lowell lifts him into the air like a spectacle for all to see.
“Got you,” Lowell chortles.
A bloodcurdling scream tears from the leader’s chest as he’s ripped in half down the middle slowly, Lowell’s back muscles flexing as he pulls the man apart.
The leader’s voice wanes, feeble squeaks and wet gurgling pouring from his mouth until he falls silent. A sea of red coats everything within his radius, mounds of curling intestines draping from their source.
My jaw hangs open at the display of strength. If I hadn’t known it was a man before, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to guess by what remains.
Lowell bellows a hearty laugh over deafening screams, gunshots, and frantic footsteps pounding the earth. He flicks the lingering halves of the leader’s body to the side, the others freezing in place with frightened expressions.
Seizing their paralyzed fear, Lowell slices and swipes at the onlookers tauntingly, his elongated movements appearing like dancing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, stalking the men while flashing his teeth as they trip and fall over one another to try and flee.
I drop my gaze, sloppily trying to load another bolt into my bow amidst the commotion.
I can’t just sit here and gawk, I have to make myself useful.
From what I saw, before, I’m certain that there are others hiding along the top of the base. For all I know, they have more of that corrosive sludge in their arsenal. Any exposure to the mystery substance by either myself or Lowell could result in a grave injury.
The corners of my mouth crack with dryness as I fumble with the crossbow bolt, unable to pull the string back into place. My hands are shaking, and my heart jumps into my throat. I’m more scared than I expected to be.
When the string snaps forward, I curse. I haven’t had to use the cocking stirrup since I was a child, but I’m grateful I kept it attached despite my withering pride—
“Hands up!” someone shouts.
I freeze. A tall, lanky criminal with a shaved head points the barrel of his gun at me, a crossbow bolt poking out his chest.
I press my lips together upon seeing that I missed his heart.
Shit.
“Hand up!” he shouts louder than the first time.
I lift my hands to the sky, per his demand, subtly sweeping the ground for any useful tools to relieve me of the situation. There’s only sand and more sand. But thankfully, that’s all I need.
“Throw the bow to the side,” he demands, jerking his weapon to illustrate the request.
With my bow cradled in both hands, I toss it dramatically to the side. It thuds to the ground, the metal and wood coated in dust.
The criminal flinches from the sound, giving me my desired opening.
I kick sand up into his face, a deafening shot ringing out the moment my foot collides with the ground. A bullet whips past my face, my ears buzzing with a stinging pain. Warm liquid dribbles down my cheek, a small cut radiating heat.
Jumping to my feet, the heel of my palm strikes the criminal’s wrist to force his grip open. His eyes widen when his hand goes limp, the firearm flopping to the side.
“Dammit!” he grunts, stunned. Distressed, he throws a sloppy punch that I dodge with ease. In a parry, my fist connects with his cheekbone as he tries to shrink from his failed swing, knocking him on his ass.
He stares up at me, dazed, muttering curses as I approach him.
I use the heel of my boot to stomp on the bolt in his chest, grinding it in as deep as it’ll go.
I’m not thrilled by the squishing sound it makes, and I’m thankful my hearing remains impaired to spare me the sound of his cracking ribs as the tip of the bolt splinters them in two.
He cries out in pain with each inch the bolt sinks farther, gritting his teeth as he claws at the backs of my knees. I yelp when my legs suddenly buckle, falling on my chest to the ground, knocking the wind out of me.
As I regain my breath, the criminal sifts through the sand searching for his gun.
Unwilling to let him shoot me again, I roll over onto my back with a wheeze, feeling for my crossbow.
My eyes fill with painful tears as dust clings to the inside of my mouth and throat, the bow lost in a blur of shapes and colors.
I have to find it before he finds his firearm.
The silken grains slip through my fingers without the presence of wood and metal, fingers flexing and digging as rocks prick my skin. I blink rapidly, excess tears clearing my vision from obstruction.
It has to be close. I didn’t drop it far—
As my tears dry, I see the glint of a metal firearm pointed at me, a clicking noise rattling through my skull. I try to swallow, but all I taste is gritty dirt and dust. My lips are cracked and bloodied, my blood running cold despite the oppressive sun as I stare down the barrel.
“You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!” the criminal gurgles through the crimson that fills his mouth. His wrist sags as he tries to support it with his other hand, body wobbling back and forth. He holds my gaze, fingers twitching over the trigger.
I stare at him blankly, adrenaline prickling my skin. “I wouldn’t have awarded you the same hesitation,” I sneer.
He furrows his brows, hand squeezing the hilt of the gun with his last bit of strength left.
Exhaling, I release all tension before closing my eyes.
I prepare myself for the inevitable pain of a piercing bullet ripping through soft flesh, the pellets shredding me from the inside out.
I suppose I deserve it, but I resent being felled by such a weak opponent.
From the shame alone, the pain is welcomed.
But the pain never comes.
When I cautiously open my eyes, the criminal no longer has a head.
A torso and legs buckle and tumble as a crimson-speckled Lowell hunches over the remains.
Swallowing a mouthful, he gapes his maw to fit the rest of the man’s body down his throat.
What remains of the criminals behind Lowell is nothing but a sea of carnage and unrecognizable body parts.
Some have been partially eaten while others have simply been tossed to the side.
There looks to have been a struggle, but none of it was done by Lowell.
His neck muscles strain to pull the criminal’s body to his stomach, choking down the flesh like a bird swallowing a fish that is much too big. His pupils fixate on me, watching my expression as legs and feet disappear down his throat.
I don’t know the face I wear while watching him. I’ve never seen anyone be eaten like that before. But for some reason, I find it… sexy.
My skin is kissed with flames, eyes focused on the mass of grey scales towering over me. His shadow envelops mine, cooling me off before a single bead of sweat can form.
Licking his lips, Lowell strides over to me, his hand extended. “Well, that was exciting.”
I shake myself back to reality, my hands trembling as I place it on Lowell’s palm.
It’s surprisingly soft despite the scars.
I decide that my quivering is from the adrenaline wearing off, rather than the overwhelming surge of lust I feel after seeing Lowell tear those men apart.
The latter would be too embarrassing to think about.
“I didn’t think anyone would be here,” I say, eyeing the splashes of drying blood across his bare neck.
Lowell shrugs, lifting me to my feet with ease. “Hiding out in an abandoned restricted area is actually pretty smart. I should have expected it, though. Sorry about that,” he says while picking at his teeth with a claw.
I’m intimidated by Lowell’s nonchalance, but I try not to show it. He was not worried for a single moment during the attack, even seeming to enjoy it, and I’d rather be shot at again than show him weakness.