Hey there! Thought I'd continue on the same murderous note as last time. I know I said the stories wouldn't stick to a specific time line or anything, but... I couldn't help this one. Or the next one which I'll post soon. This one is about Derek. Sooo... here we go. Theme 59. "No Way Out".
No Way Out
He felt sick. Where was his inhaler? Oh, he'd fumbled with it when he'd heard the gunshots. It had to have been a few hundred yards back.
His eyes hurt. He hadn't seen the light of the sun in a while. A long while. He was lucky he'd escaped from the center with his glasses. They were broken; he'd have to get a new pair when he made it into town.
When. He was hopeful.
His feet stung. They were sticky with blood, but he ignored them. If it meant getting back to her, he would gladly trek barefoot over any terrain.
He was running. Dodging trees. His lungs burned with every breath. He had to keep going. He would get to safety. Angeles Bay was not too far. Northridge was not too far. He was almost home free!
He'd been abducted, he couldn't remember how long ago. He didn't have time to think of that. More gunshots. They were closer. He came to rest behind a tree. They were behind him. He couldn't run anymore. He was too tired. He closed his eyes.
And saw her image on the back of his eyelids. How could he give up when he had someone to go back to?
"…I won't give up," he muttered softly, "I'm not going to die. Not now. Not like this." He silently wished for his inhaler as he pushed himself to his feet and willed himself to run.
Barking.
Dogs? Really? Were dogs necessary? He quickly glanced back – bad idea; there was a Doberman behind him. An angry, bloodthirsty Doberman. The dog, with vicious sharp teeth exposed, lunged for the man's leg. He let out a scream as he sidestepped, barely managing to dodge it's teeth. His right foot slipped and he tumbled down a rocky cliff.
Barely conscious, he mumbled to himself, "Oh god. It hurts. It's broken." He couldn't move. Something was wrong. He couldn't feel his legs. He clawed desperately at the ground, trying to keep moving. "T-This isn't good… I can't move. I've got… I've got nowhere to run. They're going to find me." He closed his eyes. The dogs and voices were getting closer. He heard footsteps. He rambled nervously, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head yelling at him to take his inhaler… what good would it do him?
"I hate to have to do this to you… but I've got no other options," Derek knew that voice. He felt sick. He wanted it to be any other person. Why? He opened his mouth to try and ask questions, but a round hit him square in the chest. He let out a sharp cry of agony. Grasping at the wound in his chest, he tried to get a better glance at the shooter. A woman. She quickly hid her gun.
"Angie, I'm sorry. I tried… I couldn't make it back to you…" The man let out a shuddering breath, his hand fell away from his chest.
"Es tut mir leid," the woman muttered somberly, "I'm sorry. I couldn't let you lead them to my precious Angie."