Gods Under The Dome

18.2

"Down, now!" I yell, whirling back around and yanking Sin to the floor. He topples over more chairs, people spilling from them like spilled garbage. Through the tangle of limbs of metal parts, I double-check to make sure Quint and Marava have done the same. They're hunkered down between the rows, cramped against peoples' legs and the backs of chairs.

I glance back at Sin. "Start kicking!" With all my might, I shove another emptied chair onto the floor. It flies out smacking one of the guards' shins. Sin kicks two chairs at once. I free my gun from my waistband, point it at the guards while they focus on the chairs, raise the barrel at the nearest one, and fire. The bullet misses.

"They've got weapons," a guard yells. He waves at the group to widen around us. "Switch to shock," he says, pressing the dot. His visor shifts from blue to green. The black baton waving at his hip matching that same shade of green, electricity zigzagging along their tips.

"You trying to get one of those guns free?" Sin asks. I nod. 

Sin smiles and starts slamming more chairs into the opposition. While the Militia deal with the onslaught of chairs, I take my time aiming the gun again, my hands steady as I hold it up. When I have the guard in my sight, I fire. The bullet slices through the air, and he falls back, screaming. The bullet lodged in his shoulder. His gun falls to the side. Sin bolts upright and barrels toward it. I hold my breath.

The tip of a shock stick rams into Sin's side. His eyes bulge as electricity dances across his skin, his body convulsing. His face is a sheet of wetness, tears mixed with drool. His mouth flops open as though he's going to scream yet no sound comes out.  Within seconds, he's crumpled on the ground, knocked unconscious, a dark spot blossoming around his crotch.

Marava squeezes Quint into her.

I don't have time to waste. I plunge forward, hands clawing at the ground as I go for the gun. I fire my own, two shots into the ceiling. More debris falls around us. I hope it'll be enough. My fingers graze the handle of the gun. Almost there. Almost—

A shadow falls over me. I look up. A man stands over me, his face twisted with angry, his hand clamped tight over his shoulder, blood oozing between his fingers. With an upturned mouth, he slams his foot onto my wrist. I yowl in pain. He digs his boot in further relishing in the way I squirm. There's a snap of bone and I shudder, my vision threatening to blink out. My teeth chatter out of sheer pain.

Slowly, the man reaches down and plucks up the gun. He closes his visor so his brown eyes bore into mine. "Stupid bitch." He tosses the weapon into the air before catching it, a cruel smile widening on his face. "What a pain in the ass."

His gaze flicks back to his wound before the gun barrel comes down hard on my cheek. My head slams against the floor. Black spots dance across my vision. My brain screams. Blood fills my mouth as the man grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet. I teeter, try not to fall and blink back the tears I feel forming. Across from me, Sin's being dragged by two men whose faces both seem tense as they threaten to break under Sin's weight.

Marava and Quint stand up, hands raised high. Three guards step toward them, motioning with their guns for them to turn and head toward the exit. Quint glances at me and shakes his head. Marava shrugs slightly, her lips moving to mouth the word, 'sorry.'

Dove's face shines on the stage, his hands held in front of him, knuckles bloody and broken open. Dots of crimson stain his desk top. "I told you," he says, triumphant, as a guard escorts me toward the door. "You already lost. You shouldn't have fought." 

The guard digs his nails into my arm, making me wince. It'd been a good thing he confiscated my gun or else I would have blown his brains out the back of his head, without hesitation, and without the onset of guilt afterward.