Ah, Kellem
realized with doomed certainty they were not playing on a level field. His
blade shimmered and disappeared. When he felt the shimmer against his back, he
arched away from it and cried out. They weren’t even playing the same game. “Rafe!
No!”
He felt his body
lift up from the top of the bus, his back an agony of fire. Rafe simply stood
there, as if he were merely watching. Kellem’s feet touched the bus, and Rafe
lunged forward, driving his blade deep into Kellem’s belly and twisting as he
pulled it out. He lifted the blade and bowed in a mockery of the formal
farewell. Kellem slapped his arm across his middle and spat at Rafe’s feet.
“I will
see you in hell, Raphael.”
“Not today,
spawn,” Rafe’s voice dripped disdain, not even calling his blood brother by
name. “Though you’ll return there soon enough.” And he was gone.
Kellem dropped
through the top of the bus.
#
Robin pressed her
head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, trying to convince
herself she was comfortable enough to sleep, at least until Boise. The guy next
to her was sacked out, twitching as he dreamed. She worried a little what she
might do by instinct if he dropped his head on her shoulder while she slept.
The bus was too
crowded for her to find a row to stretch out in. If she’d been wearing
fatigues, someone probably would have moved for her, despite her protests. But
it had been six years, and she never planned to wear them—or have anything to
do with the military—again.
Pediatric
physical therapy was a far cry from the bloody triage work she had specialized
in through two tours in Iraq and Afganistan. Parents were always amazed at how
calm she was, even in the face of a hysterical infant or temper tantrum-throwing
toddler. She never felt the need to explain how very relative it all was. Children
seemed to recognize that she could easily handle anything they threw at her;
and when they were done, she would be waiting to continue with the next stretch,
the next exercise.
Six years on the
job since she got out, and they laid her off without so much as two-weeks
notice or a severance package. Don’t let the door hit your butt on the way out.
Funny how things work out though. Her first call was to her best friend in the
peds program, and by the next day, Louanne had arranged a six-month contract
job at her clinic out in San Diego. Robin just had to get herself out there by
Monday. Flying was out of the question. Go Greyhound.
The sharp tang of
iron sent a surge of adrenaline through her body. She jerked awake and looked
around, trying to make sense of what she smelled on the dark bus among sleeping
passengers. She glanced over at her neighbor. His head leaned against the
window, but he was facing her, his right arm pressed against his stomach. She looked
up and saw his eyes open. She blinked. Surely they had not been that brilliant
blue before. She would have noticed those Peter O’Toole eyes. She blinked
again. His eyes were fading, not closing, but turning opaque.
She reached out
to touch his arm. “Mister? Mister? Are you okay?”
She smelled the
blood again. His arm dropped away, and she saw the gleam of blood and organs
spilling across his shirt under his arm and his jacket.
The lady walking
down the aisle headed to the bathroom screamed.
|
Dogs
in house
|
Houdini
|
|
|
|
|
Music:
|
Ofra Harnoy, Vivaldi’s Complete Cello Concertos
|
|
|
|
|
Time
writing:
|
50 minutes, interrupted
|
|
|
|
|
August
word count:
|
6,644
|
No comments:
Post a Comment