SMOTHERED LIES

twenty seven (Raine)

One night. Heart wrenching death, hellish fire, inescapable danger.

One gun. Cold and foreign, my hand a corrupted, stained dove.

One disguise. Cotton and leather; the chance of it saving my life.

One torch. Precious light, fragile, tainted hope.

One hand in mine. Warm, familiar, slightly unsteady but beautifully safe.

One heart. Weak and desperate, faltering at every explosion, stuttering at every gunshot.

One destination. Thumping rotors, writhing wire cords, empty cabin that must be filled.

One thought. Run.

I am numb to the blood breaking my feeble skin, numb to the spreading patchwork of blacks and blues. Creeping fingers scratch through my throat, the body they belong to obstructing my vision, blinding my sight. This fog bathes everything in its opaque shroud, unrelenting in its hold. But I dare it to try and stop me. I dare it to keep me from living. There's no hesitation; nothing but now, nothing but me, nothing but this moment. With the adrenalin pumping through my veins, the wind in my hair and the forest beneath my feet.

My footsteps echo in the air around me, fill the air as my heartbeat fills my chest. This noise is captured, savoured, repeated as Henri runs beside me, breath heavy like mine. He is a well-equipped animal, home here with the gun in his hand. His handle on the smooth weapon is comfortable, his grip confident; assured. It is an entirely different object that lies clasped within my fingers. Slick against my palm, dangerous, and an unworldly weight; I am but a child meddling in things I know I shouldn't.

Our feet are lithe, strides effortless where our breaths are not. We fly through the forest; driving forward, more encouraged with each fallen log, each stream, each rock we pass. The air is frozen; wind tearing through our feeble skin, seeping through the fragile bones that construct our desperate figures. Just one more step my mind urges. One more stride, one more scraping gasp flaming fire through my lungs. Sodden earth splashes up beneath my feet, my face so damp I wonder if that's the cause of it. I lift a hand to remove the moisture polluting my upper lip, silent tears trickling through my fingers as I do so.

Crying these tears is a relief I can't afford; I know that. Nevertheless the rivers trickle down my cheeks, tremble from my chin to the forest floor without slowing. The echoing gunshots from the tunnel continue to ring through my ears, ingrain in my mind. And that won't stop; not now, perhaps not ever. Everything happened so fast in those moments, so unbelievably fast that it was all broken, broken until it was only flashes; sections of movement.

Darkness, running, bloodcurdling screams of fully grown men who fall beneath your feet. Wrenched forwards, clutching the gun close but knowing I'll never be brave enough to use it. Then reaching for the icy ladder rungs, one foot then the other in a continuous motion.

And then it all ended.

Reeve was shot. Reeve was shot and if it weren't for Henri lifting me outside I would've fallen from that ladder. Reeve hasn't treated any of us well in the time we've known him, not until these past few weeks, not until tonight. Adele cares for him though, and I know that he cares for her. Shooting Reeve means Adele has just been shot herself. She won't get over this. And if Reeve doesn't survive then Adele will be lost as well. But I've lost everyone already.

We all scattered throughout the forest; it's just Henri and I now. I haven't any idea what happened to Aspen and Kade, or Adele and the thing that kills me the most is the fact that I can't think about it. I can't afford to worry about them, just as I can't afford to cry for them. If I'm going to survive this then that's all I can think about. Surviving.