Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I couldn’t stop.
I’d be captured—raped, tortured, drugged. I didn’t know. I’d be interrogated for sure.
They’d be cruel, too. My heart pounded its way out of my chest.
The guy was in pursuit behind me. “She’s here! Going west,” I heard him yell.
Fuck.
Damn.
I changed course, spotting a path through a backyard, and I took it, going east now.
There was more shouting.
I had to keep going.
Damn, damn, damn. Why hadn’t I kept myself hydrated? My body full of food? Those were energy reserves. I’d forgotten the reason I kept up on that shit.
I’d gotten lazy, soft.
I’d been lulled into a false sense of safety because of Raize.
I was always with him, thinking he’d always protect me. That was a joke.
I sprinted through the backyard, veering past a picnic table and around to the front of the house. I spied some gardening shears and grabbed them on the way.
An elderly guy came out the side screen door. It slammed shut behind him. “Hey!”
I whipped past him.
The other guy was right behind me.
“Oh hey! Stop!”
“HEY!”
“Why are you chasing that gi—” He stopped talking, and I heard the sounds of a tussle.
The house owner had waded in and gotten involved.
I couldn’t think about that.
I had to keep going.
When I hit the street, I didn’t see anyone following me—no vehicle—but I still kept going, finding another house that didn’t have a fence. I went around the side to the backyard. A dog was chained up. I couldn’t tell the breed, but he was big and dark, and he looked hungry.
A surge of anger burst through me.
I didn’t have a dog, but we used to beg our parents for one.
The dog started barking at me, then he started barking at something behind me. The guy was coming for me, limping now, and holding his arm where he was bleeding. The house owner must’ve done something to slow him down.
I started around the dog. Shit. I eyed the house. Were these good pet owners?
I couldn’t tell. My heartbeat was pounding so loud in my ears. I was sweating and panting, and I wasn’t thinking straight.
I had to make a decision.
I ran over and reached for the dog’s collar. He started to turn and bark at me, but I unclipped him from the chain.
He tore off, going right for the guy.
“Hey!” The guy stopped with a bloodcurdling scream.
“Oh my God! Mom!”
The screen door slammed again.
“Hey! That’s our dog. Don’t— Mom, he has a gun!”
I stopped.
Everything stopped.
That guy had a gun. Of course he had a gun. That would only make sense, and in that moment I knew he was going to shoot the dog.
The child. There was a child behind me.
I could hear growling and scuffling in the gravel behind me. They were rolling on the ground.
My heart beat firmly in my chest.
I knew.
I needed to make another decision, so I turned around.
The guy was trying to kick the dog off. A little boy stood frozen outside his house, his hand on the door, but no parent was coming after him. I saw no one.
No one was going to help.
This was my fault.
I let the dog go, knowing the guy was behind me, hoping he’d fight for me—and he had. But of course that guy would have a gun.
God.
I couldn’t let… The homeowner had made his own decision. But this dog—I had a special place in my heart for dogs, especially a hungry-looking dog, one that was chained outside.
There was a child.
I knew what I needed to do.
A child. A dog.
No.
My mind shut off, and I threw myself at him. I was in the air, arms and legs poised for an attack. The guy didn’t see me until the last second, and he never saw the shears coming.
He had the gun pointed, and the dog had backed up, maybe sensing he was about to be dust. I looked up for a split second and the kid was looking right at me. I tried to tell him to look away, but it happened so fast. Then out of nowhere, a woman swept him up, and just as she wheeled him around, my shears rammed into the guy’s throat.
I landed in a crouch and knocked the gun—my gun, actually—out of his hand with my elbow as I reached for the shear’s handle. Bracing myself, I pulled them clear through his throat. An unearthly sound roared through me from this motion, but then it was done and I couldn’t move.
His blood was going everywhere.
But I couldn’t move.
What had I done?
But then the dog was there, sinking his teeth into my arm. He was struggling, trying to do something.
I didn’t feel his bite.
The lady was screaming from the house. I looked, and she had a phone to her ear.
Police.
It registered that she was calling the police.
I looked at the guy in front of me. He was dead, hunched over, and the dog was still trying to chew off my arm.