Miranda [Watty Awards 2013]

Chapter 27

It took time to register, and by that point he was already shoving his way past me, grumbling as he went. Something about ‘the young ones.’

            I stood rooted to the spot, mulling over his words in my head. “I’ll be taking. . . .” I copied under my breath

            And then it hit. Lacy was on the Collectors’ list, and Mr. Walters was a Collector himself. Lacy was not supposed to live that night, and it must’ve upset this popular balance. And that means. . . .

            “No!” I shrieked, turning on my heel and charging at him, full force. He barely had time to turn around before we were struggling on the ground.

            I kneed him in the stomach, but was not satisfied with his grunt of pain. Striking at him viciously with all my strength, I connected with numerous points before he finally got a chance to get back at me with anything.

            Grabbing my hair at the roots, he threw me against the wall, and my head hit the corner, effectively sending blood spilling down my back. But it did not hinder me. Whipping my hand back, I aimed at him, scratching him across his face, eerily happy at the blood that poured from his wounds instead.

            “You shouldn’t have done that!” he yelled, trying to scare me into submission.

            And then I said something I never had before in my life: I gave him a loud, “Fuck you.” Never before had I had enough reason to use a curse so vile, but there was a decent one standing right in front of me.

            His eyes flared crimson, and I knew that there was going to be a dangerous, possibly deadly, battle ahead. He was not going to give up easily, and neither was I. And I didn’t know what would happen, but I did know that I was not going to let him have Lacy. No, he would never have her. Never!

            Grabbing my hair a second time, I let out a vicious shriek, feeling all the anger boil up inside of me, finally spilling over. It never ended.

            “Alexa? Alexa!” Jack was yelling my name, and I heard him rushing down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

            I stopped him halfway down the staircase, locking eyes with him in my awkward position. “Protect her,” I said forcefully, intensely, and he ran back upstairs, knowing this was not some sort of trick or illusion.

            No. This was real.

            Bringing up my knee, I hit him right in the groin, and he immediately doubled over and coughed so hard I thought he might spit up blood. But then again, that wouldn’t be such a bad sight right now.

            My head was beginning to feel light. I needed to act fast, get rid of him as quickly as possible. Otherwise there would be horrible consequences, and not just for me.

            Punching him with as much strength as I could muster, Walters fell against the wall. I might be small, but I could definitely pack a punch. Tackling him once again, we fell to the ground in an array of limbs, kicking and screaming.

            “Just—stop!” he screamed in between hits.

            “No!” I screamed back as loudly as I could in frustration. He drew back, covering his ears.

            “Stop!”

            “I said, no!”

            Slapping me brutally across the face, I flew across the hallway, landing the wrong way on my wrist. Crying out in pain, I cradled it to my chest, but gathered my wits. I knew he was behind me; I could feel it. Spinning, I used my momentum to hit him square in the nose. Blood poured from both nostrils, and it was clearly broken.