Mel stumbled back a few steps, her hands instinctively coming up to her throat where she could still feel the sting of the cold metal. She looked down at Jenkins who lay in a pool of his own blood, turning blue and ivory. Monroe jumped down from the loft and came to her side. He dropped the rifle, taking her face in his warm hands and turning her neck in a circle to make sure no damage had been done.
"Are you okay?"
Mel nodded in reply, trying to compose herself. With broken words she said, "I'm fine."
He pulled away from her sooner than she hoped he would, and took up the rifle once more. "The other two are bound to have heard that."
She craned her neck to glance out through the broken slabs of wood which still hung on the hinges. The fields, and the tree lines beyond it, were empty. "We have to leave,"
"We?" Monroe sniffed unbelievingly at the word. "Mel, you can't stay with me. You'll die."
"Well, you'll die without me." She rapidly snapped, meandering through the cabin, trying to pack as much of her needed possessions into a small rucksack.
"Don't you wish," he scoffed beneath his breath.
Mel turned to him, hands on her hips and eyes boring through his. "I am coming," she told him slowly. "So shut your mouth and help me pack."
"Where could we possibly go, Melanie?" Monroe threw his arms out to the side, demanding to receive some sort of logical explanation. "There are two more armed men out there! They're probably just waiting for us, armed and ready."
With a loud, frustrated groan, Mel threw the bag, which was half full with clothing and loaves of rye bread, to the ground before putting both her hands on either side of the heavy bureau, pulling it back a few feet.
"What are you doing, Mel?"
She leaned over, disappearing behind the shifted bureau, and then stood up soon after with two Beretta's in her hand. Without a word, she tossed one to him and rummaged under the ashes in the fireplace for a small metal box.
Bass impatiently tapped his foot, occasionally glancing over his shoulder and out the door to see if any of Jenkins' men were stalking toward the cabin.
The fields swayed peacefully.
When he turned back to see what she was up to, he was surprised to look right into shiney new 9mm bullets which were neatly stacked in the box she held up to his face.
"There are fifty bullets in here," Mel said, lowering the box to waist level and securing it shut, "and there's ten rounds in each clip. Is that enough for you to kill two men?" She held out the second pistol in her other hand.
A slow smirk spread across his face as he took the gun from her hand, his fingertips brushing against hers lightly. "So, you're telling me that I have seventy bullets for my disposal?"
She nodded. "Don't forget the four left in the rifle."
"Seventy-four? Damn," His shoulders squared and he looked straight above her head and out the window, letting out a deep breath of knowing when he saw two dark figures stand up from the golden stalks. "That's seventy-three too many."
"There are two foot soldiers." She reminded in a breathless whisper, sensing him inching closer to her.
"I know," Monroe titled his head to the side, parting his lips slightly.
Mel's words got caught in her throat as her free hand took a piece of his shirt and tugged him forward. "Just this once, please," Her body pulsated desperately for a moment as his heat radiated against her skin, surrounding her. "Before we go,"
A surge of surprise flushed through her very being when his lips gently came to hers. Just like that he wasn't the tyrant that wanted to kill her, he wasn't the man who had been running for his life...he was the man she knew he was capable of being again.
Their kiss deepened. Passionate. Resolute.
You're not losing this war alone. She bit down on his lower lip, registering the slight moan that escaped through his mouth and vibrated into her
Nothing seemed so perfect.
Until that second shot rang out. Then a third.
Two heads spinning round and round
Two dead bodies on the ground
Seventy-four bullets shattering without a sound
Two souls sinking, hell bound