To my audience: Firstly I'd like to say hello and welcome; I'd also like to thank you [all] for taking time to read my work(s). This story is my very first fan-fic, as well as my first published entry (although I've tried my hand, in writing before). I hope you enjoy!
A blare from a whistle cuts into the sharp winter breeze, "Halt; in the name of the Navy!" A marine shouts, followed by another sharp blast from the whistle: carried out behind him. A figure wearing a black hoodie cuts into an alleyway, disappearing from sight. Listening intently to the footsteps, scrunching through snow, the figure remains crouched watching as more than a dozen marines rush past. The figure exhales deeply, its breath becoming visible in the cold winter air.
Leaving its hiding spot, the figure clutches two burlap sacks slung over its, left, shoulder. However, the exact moment it walks out from concealment: a cloth scarf snags on something unseen. The hooded figure tugs the garment loose, causing several adjacent garbage cans to clank and batter together, noisily scattering trash everywhere. The figure shudders, hoping it wasn't too loud; praying no one heard.
"What was that!?" A marine shouts.
"It came from over here!" Another voice responds, shortly followed by gunshots.
The figure mutters a four-letter word, dodging a hail of gunfire, sprinting the full length of the alley before reaching a ladder at the end. Bullets whiz by, zipping past the figure, buzzing likes bees only louder and far more deadly. The figure proceeds to climb the ladder making its way up to the rooftops, as bullets continue flying in rapid succession towards it. A carefully placed shot rips through one of the sacks slung over its shoulder causing food and other supplies to fall onto the snow below. Another had torn through its leg, evident from the red blood seeping onto the figures white trousers. Although, adrenaline mostly blocked the pain out: focusing solely on the climb, and nothing else.
The figure quickly scales the wall and pulls the ladder up immediately behind it; in the process a bullet grazes it on the cheek. Gathering a running start the figure leaps onto an adjacent, snow-covered, rooftop jumping across from building to building as it made it's escape, disappearing off into the distance. Taking extra precautionary measures the hooded figure sprints, and doesn't stop running until it reaches its hideout: on the East end of the island.
The figure slinks inside an abandoned house and ducks underneath the staircase, crawling down a hidden compartment. It takes several seconds for its eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. The figure stands loosening its scarf and removes its hood; revealing an adolescent male, "Whew, ah, that was too close for comfort." He says using his thumb to wipe fresh blood off his cheek; where a bullet grazed him earlier.
He attempts walking but pain had already replaced adrenaline; his leg felt as if it were on fire. He hobbles toward an old ornament table with only one of its original legs, the missing legs had been replaced with discarded pipes of uneven lengths; placing it on an awkward lean. He rummages inside the remaining sack and piles the contents onto the wooden surface.
"Its May. May's back, everyone!" The voice of a young girl shouts ecstatic, rushing beside him "Look May, I lost a tooth." The little girl points to the vacant spot in her smile. The commotion he'd caused upon entrance garnered him an audience; other small children clamor into the room, excited to see what the young man had returned with.
" MAY!" A fiery voice erupts: a previously unnoticed figure looms in the shadow of the doorway, "Damn it. May! Half the friggin' island's looking for your dumbass" A young woman; not much older than May lectures: the young man presently cowering behind a nearby child, "As usual you've been acting reckless." She pulls May by the ear.
"Ow, ouch, ow. . .Just a tiny bit, ow, ow, ow." He makes a gesture with his fingers, "Besides, I didn't come empty handed." The young woman eyes the table, first, before finally giving him his ear. May rubs his sore ear as the woman inspects his haul, "Only this time the son's of bitches were waitin' for me. 'Course like always the infamous May gets away, ha, ha, ha!" May finishes triumphantly and strikes a glorious pose, to the cheers of the many children.
"Don't influence them!" She yells at May putting him in a headlock, "Don't encourage him!" She shouts at the children before whispering in May's ear, "Delivery tomorrow; needs someone to cover his morning route: meet 'em at the hangout if you're alive." She puts emphasis on the word 'delivery' punching his wounded thigh, intentionally. May nods, painfully, understanding the phrase.
She releases him and retreats to the exit, "Oh, one more thing, Chyster's been askin 'round for you, supposedly something important." The woman says before departing the hideout.
May bandages his injuries and gathers up all his remaining strength, he'd need every ounce of energy and wit at his disposal: dealing with Chyster one always had to be alert and perceptive. Before leaving May gives the little girl, with a missing tooth, a new book he had hidden, tucked, inside his shirt; she flaunts it off to the other children satisfied greatly.
Please feel free to leave/post any questions or comments. I am open to criticism (I like it rough but please take it easy on me). I intend to adapt the story to your liking for the best reading experience imaginable. So let me know if you have any ideas you'd think would make the story more exciting and enjoyable for you.