Writer’s Note: I keep thinking Chapter 9 is over, but then I keep going back and finding it needs more….so maybe this is the end of Chapter 9…or not. It’s all part of the process, folks. Kinda exciting, no? Anyway, happy Tuesday! Happy lunch time! Enjoy your nice cool beverage on this hot summer day and get your read on!
Some kind of explosion. Unintentional or directed, I don’t know. I wasn’t able to see anything or anyone that would be a perpetrator. Lying prone, I will my arms to go perpendicular to the floor. I look over to see an arm and a leg underneath splintered crates and pieces of cement. My throat struggles to make a sound for help while weak eyes try to stay open and focus.
I hear another voice coming from rubble, feminine, not calling for help, but is making the sound of someone not wanting to wake up to the alarm on a Monday morning. Cherie, emerges with a stumbling walk from the pile of building and crates that had covered her. Red droplets and smears move down her arm while splatters try to clot on her face. She helps me up as I embrace my torso trying to hold my body together. Some of the stitches have torn open – doctor told me not to do any physical activity. I can’t help but notice that she is an incredible amount of toughness in her, far more than I could ever hope to have. Has she done this before?
Once my senses are return, I hear her yelling at me to move while also yelling to find Big Rich. Dragging me along, I make the attempt to mimic her actions and call for Big Rich. Under the pile of crates, the hand and leg begin to move and we run over as quickly as we could. That’s when tiny clouds of dust begin jumping up from the floor around us. The shooters didn’t appear to be great shots, no better than a Stormtrooper, but still dangerous to be around. Cherie grabs hold of my elbow and pulls me in the direction of Big Rich. I cover my head and ears with my free arm and make a gazelle-like sprint with Cherie to the antique car.
A chaffeur that won’t earn a tip, Cherie opens the car door and pushes me head first into the backseat. Her voice matching the tension of the situation, “Stay there. Don’t move. I’ll be back.”
Car door slams shut. Trunk pops open and closes, moving the car up and then down on the shocks. Too afraid to move. Too afraid to think. Cherie’s head goes by the passenger window with something in her hand, resting on her shoulder.
She’s gone. The silence lasts for only a moment.
Then, the gun shots start.
…TO BE CONTINUED?…Maybe Chapter 10 is next…?