Supernova

Chapter 2: Mission Impossible

"We still don't. Have you caught a name yet?"

"Yes, I did. It's Trevor."

"Trevor fucking Phillips?" Dave had more shock in his voice than Michael had ever heard before.

"Yes."

"Fuck, get out of there. He can not discover you are alive. You will be screwed to next Sunday."

"You don't need to tell me twice. Bye." Michael clicked the red button before Dave could and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

Before Michael could pull back the sniper from the ledge, he heard a distant shout which made his stomach fall to the ground three stories below him.

"Who's up there on the roof?!" Trevor shouted. He was way more closer than he was five minutes ago. He must've spotted Michael from the building. Curse his arm sling.

"Shit.." Michael hissed, getting into a crouching position. He heard footsteps coming up the staircase. It was off the side of the building or being caught by his worst nightmare.

Making an instant decision, he tossed himself off the edge of the building, hoping to God that there were no debris or rubble that would kill him. The impact itself would be enough.

"Hiding won't keep you safe!" Trevor's deep, rough voice shouted angrily, slicing through the air that Michael was falling through.

WHUMP!

Michael was taken by sudden surprise of the impact, all the air in his lungs being forcefully pushed out. His neck and lungs burned and he gasped for air. Dust was kicked up into the air, settling in his eyes and skin.

His arm began to tingle, which turned into a painful throb within a matter of a few seconds. Michael bit his lip from the pain and refused to make a noise, anymore than he has. Trevor has undoubtedly heard it.

Slowly getting up, Michael groaned in pain. His legs ached and his ribs were probably bruised, but they'd be a lot worse if Trevor found them. It was still debatable. 

"Get over here, you stupid fuck!" Trevor seethed in anger, his voice running in the direction of Michael. In a quick panic mode, Michael bolted off towards the corner of the building. All he needed to do was get to his car and drive away.

Drive away from this mess, this nightmare. Go home and watch old classic movies along with a few nice cool shots of whiskey... 

Pay attention, Michael. Your life is on the line. Michael reminded himself. He could almost taste the liquor in his mouth and a few selected favorite movie beginnings starting in his brain. 

"Whoever you are, you will regret running!" Trevor's footsteps were becoming more frequent... more quicker. Michael had to find a way to move faster or he'd be caught on his sprint to the car. 

His lungs were burning from the quick exhaustion, considering they just had the wind knocked out of them and he was out of action for two weeks. His knees ached with a dull pain that wasn't too healthy. 

Keep moving Michael... your life depends on it. What does Michael care for his life? His wife cheats on him, his kids are assholes, he's haunted by his past, and now his nightmare is chasing him. What is holding him to this planet? Is it his burdens and guiltiness that leave him to remain here?

A sharp, alerting yell from behind made Michael nearly jump if he had been standing. Just another ten more yards....

Trevor's yelling was unbelievably aggressive. He always was sort of a wack job anywho. If Michael gets out of here, he vows never to come out here again. Perhaps retire and enjoy life with his kids and wife -- like that would happen.

"You are a wounded bird, that arm's slowin' you down! Along with that big ol' marksman sniper." Trevor was easily gaining on Michael. Thank goodness his windows were tainted pure black. 

Raspy and ragged breaths were coming out of Michael's dry lips, pain throbbing through his entire body. His ribs, arms, and knees were probably the most concentrated in pain. Maybe his old years were kicking in and telling him to stop this. 

His uninjured hand numb flung against the metal car door. Michael couldn't keep his hands from nervously shaking. He was frightened out of his mind, like a child finding a monster under their bed.

Finally getting the door open, Michael jumped in, slamming the car door extremely hard from the rush of fear and hitting the lock about twenty times. Trevor's frequent shouting had crashed into the window... literally. A fist began to bang on the thick glass.

"Get out here, you pussy!" Trevor growled, attempting to get the door open. Michael's only hand fumbled with the keys, shakily shoving them into the ignition and lighting it up.

Not today,T. Michael thought in his head as he stomped on the gas, putting the pedal to the metal. Rocks and dust enveloped Trevor, leaving him sputtering and shouting frivolous profanity into the clouded air.