Bloodlines

The Chase.

An ear-splitting blast jolts me uncomfortably to consciousness, rudely invading my dreams. At first, I convince myself someone has set off fireworks but the three men lay belly down on the metal floor alerts me to a much more serious matter. I realise with sudden dread that what I'm hearing is gunfire.

Judging by the intensity of volume, the shots are somewhere distant but rapidly approaching. All three of the guys are ready and waiting with deadly weapons of their own. At least Clarke isn't aiming it at my head anymore, that sure is a relief.

With a blank expression on my face, I stare down at the remarkably still bodies.

"Come here!" Clarke hisses, irritation in his tone already.

Before I can get a single word out, a hand swipes towards me, grabbing me by the arm like a hungry viper. Akira yanks me down harshly onto the hard floor beside him which I hit with a thud.

"Get down!" He barks, and not a second later do we both observe a bullet penetrate cleanly through the metal chassis, skimming directly past where my head had been only moments ago.

I gasp, rendered speechless for once in my life, and give him a simple nod as thanks.

At that moment, the degree of severity without a doubt sunk in. You would think that would have happened long ago. Beside me, Akira nods in return, sidling over to the back window to spy out, hopefully without getting his head blown off in the process.

I'm struggling to understand why I'm finding myself worrying about the welfare and safety of these guys. I brush it off, convincing myself that it must be due to the fact that they are the only people who know our whereabouts or location. Without them, I would be lost, and have absolutely zero chance of getting back home. Them being present still allows me to feel hope, even if it's a minute amount.

"Guys! I don't think we can lose them!" Ezio's Italian accent is immediately recognisable from the front seat, though distorted some by the car speakers.

"How many?" Clarke demands loudly, over the rumble of his buddies pummelling bullets in the direction of the vehicle hot on our trail.

"Two cars," comes an almost, immediate reply, "four shooters."

Clarke rolls his eyes towards the roof of the car, probably trying to contemplate our chances of getting out of this alive.

"We've got to detour," he answers back shortly after. "Ez! Call Bobby! Tell him to have his men ready at the safe house."

What an idiot. Ordering the driver of a vehicle that's currently being open fired at to make a telephone call. Now that has got to be illegal. Illegal and stupid.

"Ready? Ready for what?" The question spills from my lips, without having contemplated how stupid it sounded first.

"Ready for a god damn tea party. What do you think, Octavia?"

Clarke's sarcastic response causes Akira and Logan to snigger to themselves. I narrow my eyes at Clarke, whose eyebrows knit together as he snarls straight back at me.

More bullets ricochet off the cast iron shell, hurtling off in every direction. And I'm so on edge, that each bullet that hits makes me nearly jump out of my skin.

Without any warning, the vehicle lurches to the left-hand side, and in an instant I've been thrown against the wall, stumbling around to stay upright. Another jerk throws me right off balance, and before I realise I've crashed down, right on top of Logan.

I waste no time in jumping to my feet to avoid the awkward positioning against his warm body but am hauled back down to the floor. Turning sharply I glare at Clarke, whose bulky hand is still tightly gripping the material of my sweater.