Nope, I checked, not mine

i.

The spiders are crawling, cold hands touching his face as frigid water soaks into his every pore and Don jolts awake with a strangled gasp, eyes flying open at the sudden, darkly mirthful laughter. Ian is stony and silent as the fingers leave bruises along sharp cheekbones.

Like tiny splinters of ice, the voice pierces every part of them as it says that one more move is necessary, because there is just one final lesson. It leans closer to Don and whispers lightly that this is going to be a lesson for their old friend Billy Cooper, too. The affected drawl makes Ian's teeth grind.

Just the mention of the name sends a surge through Don and he bucks, forehead hitting the aristocratic nose with a sickening, satisfying crack. (he won't get you Coop promise)

Stars swim across his vision but he holds stubbornly to consciousness as the voice spits profanities.

ii.

Just like it only took seconds to go wrong (it all went so wrong) what feels like years ago, it only takes seconds to all of a sudden become right again.

(right might be pushing it a little)

It only takes a cat darting across the road to send the SUV careening off course at fifty miles an hour, a split second for the wheels to spin in the loose gravel on the side of the road and then everything whirls as they roll.

As tightly strapped in and restrained as they are, when the vehicle finishes rolling and comes to a solid halt on its side, Don and Ian are little more than rattled and nauseous. (of course a car accident won't kill us not anymore) The same can't be said for the driver or the men either side of them, however.

The one beside Ian and against the window closest to the ground looks dead, if the awkward angle of his neck and glazed eyes is anything to go by. Don can feel the warm, sour breath of the one resting heavily against his side, but the man is definitely not conscious. The oozing blood that has coated some of the cracked window facing the sky suggests he'll be out for a while. They can't see the driver but there is blood dripping along the steering wheel and what might be a spatter across the windshield. (yes yes yes yes)

Hope begins to stir, warm and bright, in their stomachs.

It takes a while for them to figure out a way to undo the seatbelts holding them fast with still cuffed hands. It takes even longer to get the keys to the cuffs from the dead man's pocket and slowly free each other. Their hands tremble, pressed together for just a moment. (hold steady to reality)

It takes considerably more time to manoeuvre around the still unconscious man, take the two handguns they find and figure out how to prop the door open far enough for them to get out. The assault rifle they decide on, pilfered from the trunk, isn't perfect, but it holds long enough for Don to climb out. His foot impacts hard with the unconscious man's ribs in the effort (not sorry because it wasn't an accident) and he stirs, eyes fluttering and head moving forward.

Ian moves like a viper and the strike he delivers across the back of the man's skull is enough to render him solidly unconscious again. (satisfaction) The smile that he and Don share is all bared teeth and adrenaline as he presses himself against the back of the driver's seat and releases the seatbelt clasp. The unconscious man falls to land against the dead one and Ian slowly climbs up and over them, Don's arm hauling him onto the side of the car.

A glance at the sun tells Ian that maybe three hours have passed since they started driving and he guesses that it's between three and four in the afternoon as they slowly slide down the side of the totalled vehicle, feet landing on springy grass. The sound of an approaching car makes them still instantly.

The road is about fifty yards away and they can hear the rumble of an engine much more clearly now. A nearby copse of trees offers some shelter and they wait there as the front end of a shiny silver sedan stops just within view. Ian's hand closes around Don's and they are breathless with anticipation.

(rescue finally this is almost over)

The raised voices that begin to come closer and one look at the guns in the familiar pair's hands are enough to quell that fever dream and they run.

iii.

They play leapfrog for what must be at least another two hours, hiding and running and thoroughly exhausting themselves but are forced to stop when the long stretch of dirt road straightens out as they approach what looks like a small industrial area. They can hear the car that has been following them getting closer. (time is running out it's getting dark)

Don's breath is coming in painful gasps. Ian's whole body aches. (can't keep running they're coming) They find a small group of bushes a few yards from the road and hide themselves as best they can.

The silver sedan rolls into view and Don buries his face in his arms to muffle the sound of his ragged breathing. Ian's arm aches as he holds the handgun steady (not going back this time not even a chance) and waits as the car stops, headlights illuminating the road ahead.

Four men get out of the car. The driver and other man from the vehicle look pale and unsteady but mutinous enough that they can't be dismissed. Gravel is there and Ian's jaw clenches painfully as he bites back a growl. The overweight man is familiar but they don't know his name.

Gravel kneels beside the dirt road with a flashlight, scanning for tracks, and Don finally gets his breathing under control enough to lift his head. The stars and moon offer enough light to travel by but the chill in the air is starting to seep into their bones. (they can't take us alive if we refuse to go quietly surely they're tired of dying to keep punishing us)

A few moments later, capable hands hold the other gun, mostly steady with only the slightest tremor, next to Ian's (Cooper was right to never have another partner when you left Eppes it would have just been a poor excuse) and a steady litany of encouragement leaves Don's mouth in a raid-whisper low enough to be inaudible to anyone further than a yard away.

Eventually, inevitably, Gravel's keen eyes follow the flashlight to fall on the bushes and find the tracks they were too tired, too hurried, too desperate to be able to hide. His teeth flash, visible even from a hundred yards away and he motions the others over.

Go for the two injured and get them down and then run, the raid-whisper is familiar and comforting. This is combat, they're armed, the odds are doable and this is their world again.

The two injured men from the car make noises of excitement and two simultaneous cracks leave the handguns and two figures cry out as bullets tear into their flesh. (shaking hands that wasn't a kill shot run)

Two shadows rise and bolt into the growing dark as a barrage of gunfire follows them.

iv.

They're no match for the car and haven't even made it a mile (lights town in sight though) when the flashlights pin them like a pair of startled deer. Don pulls Ian towards him and down. (quick) They hit the ground as a hail of bullets pass through the space they'd occupied just barely a second ago, tearing through foliage, and realise that they have silencers which makes everything worse.

Breath leaves their lungs as they roll into the narrow strip between the road and the sparse forest. A sound that once upon a time might have been laughter spills out behind it as Ian realises that their hesitation to kill is gone. Don's thoughts are similar (end this now right now) and he rises to a crouch before launching into a sprint towards the car.

He fires once as he runs, the crack of the handgun absurdly loud and Ian takes the second shot, putting one of the injured men down for good. The other falls but Gravel and the last man are still firing. (tearing up the ground better not hit skin)

A shadow that can only be Don hits Gravel's midsection and Ian fires another shot at the other gunman. Overweight, he hits the ground like a sack of bricks with a cry of pain even as the pair of shadows on the other side of the car go down in a tangle of limbs.

There's a shot and a wet thudding sound before a howl of pain and then the sound of what must be a gun impacting with flesh. Don struggles to his feet even as Ian does the same. A bullet tears up the ground between them as the man Ian grazed fires at them.

Gravel is out cold and there is a flash of silver as Don tears something that gleams in the moonlight from his shoulder (agony agony agony) and then they're running again.

v.

Don's hands are stained and covered with congealed blood by the time they stop and Ian can hide them in the shadows of a warehouse. (must stop the blood before they find us again)

They huddle beside the building, the back of Don's shoulder pressed tightly to Ian's chest as they both hold a hand each to the sluggishly bleeding entry wound and try to regulate their breathing.

(less than twelve hours til sunrise Don just hold on)


Okay, so here's 1700 words – I can't say that the rest is done but I do know where it's going so I'll do my best to nut it out as I can. Things are kind of intense right now so I'm not sure how I feel about this or how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This seminar is insane, just quietly. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to eat out or trust anyone else to cook for me ever again. On the plus side, I am making stuffed capsicums and mushrooms for dinner right now. I guess it's a tradeoff. I do promise I'll reply to the reviews from the last one eventually, they were all especially amazing and supportive!