Chapter 50 #2
Looking up from my makeshift weapon, the heavy metal door looms before me.
Its rust tinged edges haven't changed since I arrived, and yet they look different, more ominous than before.
A shiver dances down my spine. If this were a book, perhaps the coppery borders would be foreshadowing, the author is warning me of the blood that's yet to come in my story.
I grasp the handle and a chill zips through me.
I pull and twist, but the door doesn't budge.
I suck in a breath, hoping the air will quell the anxiety gnawing at my insides.
“Okay,” I whisper, “I just have to wait until they open the door and then, I'll attack.”
My heart sinks into my belly. I don't know how to attack.
I've never attacked anyone before in my life.
I've always been too quiet, too afraid. For my entire life, I've stood motionless in the face of conflict.
Even when my safety was at stake, something deep inside of me demanded that I be still.
Even as fists and boots crashed into my body, that little voice would cry out from the depths of my soul, begging me to be immovable.
Today, she isn't calling for my stillness. Today she's louder, more forceful. Fight, she demands inside of me, fight and survive.
I ball my fists at my side, blood trickling over the antique tree topper and dripping beside my feet.
“Okay, Ava, just think about the books. The small, unassuming woman needs to defeat the bad guys. She has no real weapons, just something she grabbed along the way. You've read it somewhere, I know you have.”
I wade through a sea of words, feeling the prose of each manuscript that’s been in my hands flood through my mind.
I pull on the threads of each story, searching for answers.
Inside of me, the sounds of battle ring out.
Swords clash and cannons boom, but those aren’t the stories I need.
I push them away, sifting through the tales that live within me.
Somewhere in the expanse of my memory, I see a tiny piece of broken metal sparkle in a woman’s hand.
Around her, machines beep and hum in a familiar rhythm.
From her fingers, I can feel smooth metal and raised buttons.
Her fear quivers through me, tightening my lungs and making it hard to draw breath.
The air around her feels thin, like it isn’t enough to live on.
Her vision is hazy like she’s looking through fogged glass.
No, not just glass, her helmet! It’s her freaking space helmet!
“Olivia,” I whisper as her world comes into full view. “I remember! She was a doctor, kidnapped by alien rogues. She had to fight them to get control of their ship and steer it back to her lover.”
Crouching down next to the door, I let myself fall into her story.
“She had a chunk of metal that she broke off from the ship’s command deck.
She used it to stab the alien guards, one in the jugular and the other in the femoral artery.
She stabbed one guy in the neck right where you would take your pulse and the other in the crease between his abdomen and leg. ” My nose scrunches. “Gross, but okay.”
Seconds drag into minutes as I crouch beside the door.
My fingers ache and the Christmas tree topper digs into my palm, but I don’t loosen my grip.
Sweat drips down my spine, making my skin feel sticky and my shirt cling to my back.
My heart pounds a rapid beat in my ears.
It thumps like a war drum, calling me to action.
It feels as if hours pass before I hear movement outside the door.
I flex my muscles, balancing on my toes and loosening my knees.
Tilting my ear, the sound of muffled voices hums through the door.
Hearing only two distinct tones between them, I huff out a relieved breath.
Two men. I can take on two men, can’t I?
Lengthening my spine, I imagine myself as a wolf.
I envision sleek, gray fur that will protect my soft flesh, lean legs that will propel me forward, and sharp teeth that will cut through skin and bone.
The door beside me begins to slide open, letting out a shriek.
“Merda!” a masculine voice yells. “Where did the bitch go?!”
Pressing my toes into the concrete, I spring forward and slam my shoulder into the partially opened door.
It flies backward before crashing into something, presumably one of the men, given the grunt that sounds behind it.
Something heavy thumps against the floor before another man bounds into the room.
Yanking my arms behind my back, I hold the metal ornament against my lower back in a bruising grip.
Slowly, the man steps toward me, his enormous form casting a shadow across the floor.
Be meek, I tell myself. Be unassuming. Be quiet. Let him get closer.
He closes the distance between us and I crane my neck to look at his face.
It’s not a face I’ve seen before, though it’s no less chilling than the others.
A thick, white scar streaks across his face, stretching from his eyebrow to his mouth.
His lips peel up into a frightening smile as his hand reaches out toward me.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I screech.
I shove my feet against the floor and jump upward, my body crashing into his chest. He struggles, trying to fling me off of him as my arms band around his neck.
The metal star scratches against the skin of my palm.
I feel the sharp sting of its edges cutting into me, but I don’t let go.
I pull my arm back and slam it forward, lodging the star into his thick neck.
A choked scream gurgles from his open mouth before I yank the metal from his skin.
Hot liquid sprays over my face and I jump to the floor.
I swallow down a gag as blood pumps from his body, squirting across the room with each beat of his heart.
He crumples to his knees, a pool of red forming around him.
The tang of copper fills the room, so thick that I can taste it on my tongue.
With a muted thunk, he falls to the floor, forcing a spray of blood to erupt from beneath him and splash onto my toes.
My bare feet slide against the blood-soaked concrete as I step over his body.
Through the doorway, I see another man. He lays on the ground just beyond it, his hand pressed against a leaking wound on his forehead.
I surge forward, tossing my body into the air.
The breath wheezes out of him as I collide with his stomach.
His eyes flit to the bloodied Christmas ornament in my hand, emotion flashing across his face.
His lips quiver and my own twitch, the edges tilting upward.
“None of you will ever touch me again,” I assert.
I slam my hand down, jamming the metal star into his groin.
A ragged scream jumps from his open mouth, the sound of his pain reverberating against the concrete walls.
Flinging my hand back, I jerk my festive weapon from his body.
I pinch my mouth shut as blood spurts from his wound, coating my face and arms. It sprays against the walls, making the room look like a scene from a horror movie.
Wiping my face with the bottom of my shirt, I move to step around him.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” I tell his shuddering body.
Lifting my eyes, I look at the staircase ahead of me and tighten my grip on the tree topper.
I try to ignore the fear that claws at my insides, cramping my stomach and making my lungs feel too tight.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I imagine myself as a brave woman.
A woman like Elodie, like Olivia, like all of the women whose stories have filled me with hope.
The Christmas decoration in my palm becomes a sword, sharp and unyielding.
The ragged t-shirt clinging to my body becomes the armor I wear into battle.
“You cannot stop,” I remind myself. “You have to keep moving. You have to get out.”
I place my foot on the bottom stair and immediately jerk it back as a thunderous sound booms through the stairwell. The ceiling quivers, sending chunks of dirt and plaster into the air. They rain down on me, embedding into my hair and sticking to my blood-soaked skin.
Pop, pop, pop.
I dive behind the door as the sound of gunfire peppers the air. Above my head, men scream. Their shouts leach through the walls, slamming into me and making my heart stutter.
“Maybe I’ll just wait here for a bit.”