1st AMERICAN BLITZ
CHAPTER 6
Girls, No. 05
Misty Greer
"Murder Games"
"I can't say I understand what's going on in that head of yours, Greer."
The girl in question, Misty – first-string liberos of the Bayside High School Varsity Volleyball Team – just kept her cool, light-blue eyes focused on the school banner against the wall before her. It had become practiced ease to ignore her coach's ranting. His tirades were always the same; overblown, boring and way too predictable to be taken seriously by her – or anyone else with brains, for that matter. And because of that, dealing with him was never a problem. Besides, what could he do to the team's star player? Absolutely nothing, if he wanted to keep on winning.
"You don't need to," she stated, no hint of anger or reproach in her voice. "All you need to understand is that we won because of me." Misty's face remained icy and steady as she turned her eyes to the older man dressed in a dingy warm-up suit leaning against the edge of the desk just to her left. It made her sick just looking at him. How a loser like him had even gotten a coaching job in the first place was a complete mystery to her. "You do understand that, right coach? We won the game. Because of me. Not Hailey. Not Jordan. Not even that varsity bitch, Rochelle. Me."
Eyes incredulous, Coach Butterman stared at the girl seated in front of him.
"You…You can't be serious," the gray-haired man sputtered out.
Misty ran long fingers through her damp, undercut-styled, blond hair indifferently.
"Completely serious, coach."
Butterman pushed himself away from the desk and folded his thick arms across an even thicker chest; giving the unconcerned Misty the most serious expression he could muster. He threw in a scowl for good measure. But neither it nor his new, 'this-is-no-joke' pose had any effect on her.
"Do you realize that your little obsession with getting the ball and winning the game cost us one of our best players? Walters is going to be out the entire season because of that idiotic stunt you pulled," he exclaimed hotly.
Sighing, Misty leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling in boredom.
So that's why he had me called away from the gym, she thought, annoyed.
Misty didn't bother to hold back the frown she could already tensing her sweaty forehead. She couldn't believe it was all about that idiot girl again! He had cut her afternoon practice short because of this? Because of Becky Walters? The stupid little bimbo who had almost lost them the game in the first place? If she hadn't busted her ass in the last two sets to clean up that slut's mess, the varsity volleyball team wouldn't be anywhere near the Tri-State Tournament this year! And this was the thanks that she got? A goddamned lecture? This had to be some sort of joke.
"So," she uttered, voice uncaring and eyes never moving from the office's stucco ceiling, "what's your point? She was hardly the best. And it's not like it's anything serious. I mean, it's just a broken ankle. It'll heal."
The coach just shook his head in disbelief.
"Yeah, a broken ankle that you caused by not watching – or caring – where you were going! You knocked her down and then stepped on her ankle! Or did you forget that, too? All to return a high pass that anyone on the court could have gotten! Did the spotlight mean that much to you, Greer? Was it that damn important to knockback that pass?"
Misty rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She was really getting sick of being lectured. Especially by some loser jackass who's coaching ability was no better than that of a brain-dead mule. Was it any wonder that she hated the man so damned much?
"No coach," she replied in a gruff and annoyed voice, "it wasn't the spotlight that mattered to me. The only thing that mattered to me was winning the damned game. Becky was useless that night. Hell, even a half-assed coach like you couldn't miss how bad she was playing! She was dropping pass after pass, left and right. If I hadn't done what I did, we'd have lost. So what if I broke her goddamned ankle! We won! I mean, wasn't that the whole point of playing? Winning?" Misty only paused long enough to lift her head back into an upright position, directing an intense gaze at Coach Butterman. "Who cares if a few players get hurt along the way, especially useless ones like Becky Walters."
The coach's eyes narrowed at the tall, well-built girl sitting in front of him like she didn't have a care in the world. Grunting in absolute disgust, he dropped his arms, turned away from her and made his way to the other side of his desk. Seating himself in the rickety, old chair, Coach Butterman leaned forward onto the desk with the points of his elbows; steepling his fingers just in front of his slender lips.
"I care, Greer," he spoke out in a cold, even tone, "which is why…you're suspended, effective immediately. Clear out your locker and get the hell out of my sight."
The confident, worriless expression that'd been on Misty's face since the beginning of Butterman's tirade evaporated like rain on hot pavement. Had she really heard him right? Did he really say what she thought he had just said? Had he really just…just suspended her?
"Y-You…You can't do that," she stammered in astonishment. "If you suspend me, we'll lose the Tri-State Tournament! Even you can't be that stupid!"
The balding man pulled his arms away from the desk and leaned back irritably in the chair. "You should've of thought of that before you did what you did, now get out."
Misty pushed up angrily from her own chair and glared daggers at Butterman.
"Don't forget who my mom is, you stupid jackass," she spat, reaching down to grab her gym bag roughly. "Once I tell her what you did, she's going to have your ass up before the school board and the athletic committee! I think it's pretty safe to say that you won't have this coaching job after that. And don't forget that she knows people…important people. I guarantee that she'll make sure that you won't be able to get another coaching job anywhere in Florida if the board or committee pulls your plug!"
Butterman just gave her a level, stony expression that radiated an outside confidence; but inside Misty was sure that he wasn't nearly as cocky or smug as he looked. The fact that his left eye had begun twitching unconscionably only confirmed it for her. Of course, it wasn't like Misty wasn't aware of it. Afterall, she had played this particular game with Garret Butterman for much of her freshmen year. And it was a game that she was getting very good at winning.
"I'm going to be gone for two weeks," Misty began with a dark smile emerging on her smooth, heart-shaped face, "trip to Paris. I'm sure you've heard about it, the contest that I and a few others from my French class won? Yeah, I knew you'd heard about it. You see coach; winners like me get rewards like that. That's just how it is and it's something that you'd better get used to. Two weeks. You've got that long to make the right choice about this stupid suspension idea. And you better make it a good decision, coach." The tall girl dressed in tennis shoes, kneepads, black spandex shorts and a white sleeveless jersey with highlights of red and yellow casually walked over to and opened up the door to Butterman's office. She stopped in the doorway before leaving the dim room and turned around to cast a crude look at the older man sitting behind the desk. The smile on her face never touched her eyes. "Otherwise, your job'll be history when I get back."
Flashing her coach one last, dirty look, she resumed her steps through the open doorway and slammed it shut as hard as she could behind her.
-O-
Misty Greer grunted sourly at both the memory and at the effort required to push open the heavy door which led out of the Quarters Module. After leaving the room two minutes behind some pimply face, chess geek and four minutes behind that redneck girl who'd almost gotten herself shot; Misty had made an immediate effort to find someplace safe and secluded where she could lay low long enough to open the white envelope. She had found just the place in the form of an unlocked office on the floor below the one containing the room where she'd awakened. It was cramped and small, but fit her purposes nicely.
Unlike most of the other students in the madness about to erupt around them, Misty knew exactly how important the contents within the envelope were. What was written on that index card would play a significant role in her surviving the insane 'game' she'd found herself trapped in. But it was only one part of what she needed to come out on top as the winner. The other part she already possessed.
Checking her surroundings before entering, she'd wasted no time in closing the door and locking it. Misty had known that she was racing against the clock. She'd been very lucky to be one of the first ten students to leave the room. Being one the last to get her name called would've put her at a serious disadvantage. By then, most of the other students would have already found their weapons. And with all the desperate, fear-minded teens running around; it would've made it that much harder for her to win. Yes, she'd been very lucky indeed.
As soon as she had settled herself into the small space, Misty pulled the envelope from her pocket and tore it open. Clear thinking and keeping a level head would be her most important weapon, in truth. It was something that would give her the advantage over most of the others involved in 'the Blitz', especially after seeing just how many had already collapse into despair and hopelessness before the damn thing had even gotten started. Of course, it didn't hurt to have a little extra leverage to help her grab the win and be the sole survivor.
And that's where the importance of the envelope and the card came in. Misty allowed herself a brief sliver of a grin as she reached into her other pocket to retrieve the GPS handheld. Turning the index card around to its back, she carefully read and reread the instructions for creating a 'waypoint'.
A clear mind and a level head is what's going to get me through this, is what she remembered thinking at the time. It's what's going to get me the win! I have to win!
While not on the verge of desperation or a full mental breakdown like some of the other students she'd watched during her time in that room, she was incredibly unsettled and disturbed by what that Omatsu woman had revealed. Even Misty, who placed winning above all else in her life, found herself unable to comprehend the best way to react to the conditions of what it took to win the crazy 'murder game' she'd been trapped in. Kill or be killed? Death was the only way out? It was as simple as it was complicated.
Omatsu Reiko didn't seem to care though. According to her, most American teens were nothing more than delinquents unworthy of the life they'd been granted. They were spoiled, arrogant, self-absorbed and lazy. They were a cancer slowly eating away at the diseased heart of the American Dream. They refused to work hard for that Dream, wanting it to simply be handed to them. The American teen wanted it easy and, from everything that Misty had seen some of her classmates do, she couldn't say that she wholly disagreed with the cruel Japanese woman's beliefs.
But even if that was the case, it didn't give her – or those traitors in her very own government – the right to do this to them! Kidnapping American teenagers as young as she and the others were; forcing them into some nutty 'game' where they had to kill each other? Since when had that become the norm for dealing with rebellious teens in the States? Yeah, things were bad. The 'Little Depression' was playing havoc with everyone's lives except the rich and the U.S. was still embroiled in two wars it couldn't afford to maintain; especially with a third one looming on the horizon. Things were definitely a long way from getting better. But to Misty, that was what made it so great about being American in the first place. The struggle and fight to get back on top and stay there. That desire to be the best. That desire to win!
It was a desire that formed the very core of who Misty was.
Giving the door another good shove, she finally managed to push it all the way open. Hinges in need of oil groaned and squealed in protest as the door widened. The noise they produced carried through the air easily. Grimacing, she took a quick look behind her to make sure that no one else who might've been lingering about had heard. Seeing that the hallway was still empty, Misty wasted no time in leaving the Quarters Module.
Taking a deep breath as she adjusted the canteen slung across chest, Misty stepped through the threshold. Exiting, the humid sea air that greeted her offered a little relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the Module's interior rooms and hallways. The damp heat inside had caused her mid-riff t-shirt to cling to her sweaty body in a somewhat whorish fashion despite the sports bra she was wearing underneath it. That would have bothered her if it hadn't been for fact that the t-shirt, along with the capris and tennis shoes that she was wearing, were lightweight and easy to move in. Another advantage she had over almost everyone else in this sick 'game'.
She smiled at that thought.
Unlike many of the others, she had dressed as light as possible. Not because she knew that they'd be forced into some kind of crazy Japanese death match; but rather, because she liked to be comfortable. Comfort was often the key to victory. If you were uncomfortable, it messed with your concentration and ability to focus. In normal situations, it could lead to you losing the game. Here, it could mean your death.
While in the briefing room, she'd taken a quick study of what some of the other girls were wearing. Long skirts, tank dresses, short-shorts, flip-flops, platform sandals and other nonsense seemed to be the rule of the day. She was sure that in the end, however, it would get every one of those girls killed.
Girliness was all fine and dandy for the ones who liked to giggle and gossip about what the ones not in their clique did. The one's who this insane contest was really created for. But for her, it was an encumbrance that she couldn't afford to have. Not if she wanted to be a winner. The winner. And in the end, that was all that truly mattered to her.
Winning and being the best.
It was like her mother had told her when she was old enough to understand it; being a winner demanded focus and sacrifice. That was something that would be virtually unachievable if she pampered herself like most of the other girls at Bayside High. It was the very thing that most of the teenage girls – save for a few she'd taken careful note of – gathered on the drilling rig lacked. Make-up? The latest, trendiest clothes? Tanning at the beach? Shopping for shoes? Gossiping with 'girlfriends'? Partying all night? Drinking? Boys? No, she didn't need any of that. Dedication and working hard to be the best was all she needed. It was all she wanted. And it wasn't something that she could achieve by being a bitchy 'girly-girl'.
Her mother couldn't have agreed more.
Checking behind her again, Misty stepped away from the door and further into the overcast daylight to scan the surrounding area cautiously. A literal wall of machinery lay directly in front of her. To her left or right was a narrow alleyway. One direction – the shorter of the two – seemed to break out into some sort of open space where she could see three large, orange objects line up neatly beside each other in a row that pointed diagonally toward the sea. Lying beyond that stretched grayish ocean water that almost seemed to be a part of the cloudy sky that about matched its color. In the other direction was darkness born of that gloomy sky and the high machine-walls surrounding her; a dim alley that seemed to lead nowhere else other than deeper into the superstructure of the offshore platform.
Taking yet another quick look behind her, Misty maneuvered to the other side of the open door where it would block her from being seen by anyone else who might end up exiting through it as she had. Once she'd leaned against the wall next to the door, Misty reached into her pocket and grabbed hold of her GPS handheld. Pulling it out and holding it up in front of her face, she pressed the 'menu' button and arrowed down to the 'saved waypoints' option. Raising her eyes from the GPS for a moment to make sure that she was still alone, Misty returned them back to the small, color screen and pressed the 'enter' button. After a second or two, the waypoint screen opened up and she chose the only highlighted option available to her.
'Kill To Win'.
She had named the waypoint that as a reminder; a reminder at what was at stake in the crazy 'game' of life and death she'd been trapped in. Just like everyone else who had been expecting to go on a trip to Paris. That still pissed her off. The reward that she'd so arrogantly proclaimed that she deserved to that idiot Coach Butterman was nothing more than a lie; a ruse to entrap her and the other students and bring them to an offshore drilling platform to die. Misty could've screamed at the irony of it all. She was sure that if Butterman knew about the situation she was in right now, he wouldn't be able to keep that smug smile off of his stupid-looking face. Too bad he wasn't here. Because she knew for a fact that she'd be able to kill him without any kind of hesitation!
I'm going to win this, she thought while an image of Coach Garrett Butterman's laughing face danced dangerously in her mind. If for no other reason than making sure that piece of shit never coaches in the Tri-State area again!
Returning her attention to the GPS, she watched with intense eyes as the small screen switched over to a multi-colored map which highlighted each and every section of the oil rig. A thin red line traced a trail that led from the Quarters Module – presumably from the small office she'd hidden herself in – to a tiny area that seemed to be situated between the Power Module and the Process Module. That meant she'd be heading deeper into the platform's superstructure. Misty bit at her lip apprehensively. It was obvious that the GPS had charted out the quickest and most direct route for her to take. The problem was, it was the route she least wanted to travel.
Lowering the GPS handheld, Misty gave an aggravated sigh. As lame as it sounded, she hated the dark ever since she was little. She'd never been able to handle it all that well. Even after getting older, it still bothered her. Her room back home was full of those cheap, outlet-mounted LED nightlights. She just couldn't get herself to sleep knowing that darkness surrounded her. It was hard enough just closing her eyes to sleep! Her phobia of the dark was so bad that her parents had to resort getting a doctor to prescribe her sleep-aid medication. It was a prescription that she still had and used frequently. Maybe a little too frequently at times.
Slumping against the wall, Misty let the hand holding the GPS fall to her side. There was really no other way around it, she supposed. Trying to chart a new waypoint would just be a waste of time as Misty barely understood what she was doing the first time. And this time, there were no instructions for her to find on the back of an index card. Besides, time was a luxury she just didn't have. It'd been more than long enough for there to be dozens of other students running around the Quarters Module in a panicked frenzy. It wouldn't be too long before someone came running through that doorway. And Misty didn't want to be around when that happened.
Because as much as she was playing to win, she just wasn't sure she had it in her to kill someone. Hurt someone? Yes, without a doubt. Afterall, Becky Walters had learned that particular fact the hard way. And in retrospect, the bitch had probably deserved it for almost losing them the game. But there was huge difference between breaking someone's ankle on purpose and ending their life intentionally. It was a line that she knew she'd have to cross, probably sooner than later. Either way it went, if she wanted to win she was going to have to kill everyone else to do so. The quicker she accepted that fact and put it at the core of her desire to win, the better.
Misty took another deep breath as she pushed away from the wall and strengthened her grip on the GPS handheld. First and foremost, she needed to get to her weapon. Her clear thinking and level head would only get her so far in this 'murder game'. Those both needed to be tempered with that weapon waiting for her at the end of the GPS-created path she'd have to travel to get there. And that meant traveling through the darkness of that passageway as a first step to achieving her goal of winning. Still, the thought of braving that shadowy alley made her shudder.
Pull your shit together, Greer, she shouted inwardly. Darkness or losing? Which one are you afraid of more? Which one would disappoint him more if he were here?
Face hardening, Misty leaned her head around the door to peer down the hallway. It was still empty. Slipping back behind it, Misty tried to steady herself mentally for the trip through her personal Hell to come. But she couldn't stop the sliver of panic which had set her heart to racing.
Focus, girl, she yelled in her mind. Focus on the win! Focus on the victory! Focus on anything but your fear! You've got to do this! If you don't, you'll lose and die! YOU WILL DIE!
The disapproving face of her father appearing disingenuously in her mind, Misty forced resolve into her heart and rushed out from behind the door without checking to see if anyone was coming down the corridor. It wasn't that she was so arrogant as to be unconcerned about any potential threats running through that well-lit hallway. It was more that her concentration had to be exact and precise if she wanted to make it down the shadowy passage without breaking down and losing her mind. Afterall, they were both things that could get her killed if she lingered.
Ten steps away from the door, the first shadows created by that high wall of machinery engulfed her. Misty could feel her breath quicken. The dark path which lay before her seemed to stretch and distend as she trekked deeper into the gloom that stood between her and her salvation. Her legs felt like they were gaining a will of their own, muscles straining against the orders sent by her mind to move forward. Misty's arms were pinned rigidly to her sides, hand holding the GPS clamped around it like it was the only thing that could fend off whatever lay in the dark waiting to drag her into it.
The sea breeze picked up and much a colder gust of air than before washed over her body, nudging her forward. Misty nearly screamed but held it back at the last minute. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. Her head felt heavy and her legs were leaden. The darkness surrounding her was twitching and convulsing. It almost felt like it was trying to drown her! She tried not to close her eyes and instead forced them forward to the passage's exit. The dim end to the throughway seemed miles from her. Had the alley been this long when she'd first entered it?
Suddenly, a shadow darkened the end of the passage momentarily and then disappeared. Misty almost screamed again. Her legs tried to stall but she forced them to keep moving. It was just her imagination. It had to be! The shadows weren't alive. They couldn't hurt her!
Swallowing hard, Misty pushed on in absolute terror and stared directly ahead despite what she thought she had seen.
Focus on the light, she repeated soothingly in her mind. Focus on the light. Focus on the light.
The few minutes that she'd spent in the dark alleyway felt as though they had stretched into hours before Misty finally reached its end. It was like one long nightmare come to life for her. By the time she stumbled out of the passage and into the dim, open space that it had led her to; she found that the experience was more exhausting than she could've imagined. For all of her desire to win, for all of that passion to be the one left standing at the end of this crazy game; Misty felt it all slip from her mind as she collapsed heavily to her knees and began to cry. If she could've stopped herself, she would have. But the harrowing trip through her worst nightmare brought to life had been like a kick in the gut.
Misty could force herself to feel no relief from making it through the shadowy alley. All it had done was reinforce the fear that she had felt since she was a child about what lingered in the darkness. She was shivering. The hand clenching hold of her GPS was again tightening around the device unconscionably. No matter how much she had tried to fight that fear of the dark, no matter how hard she had tried to push it away by focusing on something else; it always seemed to be undefeatable. Unbeatable.
It was the one struggle she could never win against.
Slowly, Misty raised a trembling hand to her eyes to wipe away the tears; head rising on instinct to take in her surroundings. She was kneeling in what looked like some kind of T-intersection outside the Quarters Module. Clearing the remaining tears from her eyes, Misty gave more attention to her surroundings; if for no other reason than to take her mind off of the trip through the dark alleyway. As she did, however, something caught the corner of her eyes. And it stopped her cold. It was something that made the fear caused by that tormenting trek through the hellish alley almost seem like an afterthought. Because just off to her left, in a small alcove flanked by a tangled mess of pipes and other machinery; there sat a long, dark-green box.
Her head immediately snapped in its direction, light-blue eyes widening. The box didn't match its surroundings at all. It was too uniform, too perfectly placed, too…military. Misty's heart tried not to leap into her throat as she realized, in horror, it was one of the military chests that the Omatsu woman had mentioned during that so-called 'orientation'. The ones containing weapons to be used by the students forced to participate in 'the Blitz'. She also had a vacant realization that this one couldn't be the one indicated by her card. Not according to the waypoint she'd set on her GPS handheld. She was still more than a good walking distance away from where the path created by the GPS ended. And that wasn't even the worst part of it.
It was open!
Before Misty even had a chance to react, something cold and hard pressed itself against the back of her head.
Shit!
She froze without even a second thought, afraid that one wrong move could set off whoever was behind her; whoever was holding what seemed to be some type of gun to her head. A growing terror of a brutal and hard death made it hard for her to catch her breath. It left her feeling dizzy with foreboding. Panic tried to invade her mind. Fear raced through her heart. Misty could feel a lump in her throat as she swallowed unconscionably. Her thoughts were swimming in a dozen different directions, making it harder and harder for her to concentrate; harder for her to focus. It was first time in Misty's life that she truly felt helpless and unsure of what to do.
"Okay. Look, I'm…I'm not going to hurt you. At least I won't as long as you don't do anything stupid."
Despite the terror she was feeling, the words angered Misty for some reason. Whoever the boy – the voice had been masculine – was, he held her at an obvious disadvantage. The last thing he should be doing right now was giving her a chance to come up with a plan of escape. If he were really playing to win, he wouldn't have hesitated to splatter her face against the dirty metal deck! And if she was still alive, still breathing long enough to begin conceiving a way to get out of her predicament; it meant that he wasn't playing to win. It was either that of the boy was a total chickenshit.
Whichever he was, Misty wasn't going to let the opportunity to capitalize on his mistake pass. She was quick to take hold of the opening that the boy had given her by testing it with a natural taunt.
"And I'm supposed to believe that, right?"
The unforgiving hardness pushed against her head painfully. Misty didn't bother to stifle the grunt that escaped her compressed lips. Reckless! That had been very reckless! Pushing at a panicked boy holding a gun to her head with a taunt like that could've gotten her very dead!
It was a stupid move, especially for her. But at least it proved one point to her. The boy wasn't going to pull that trigger, at least not yet. And that meant she still had a little time to work out some sort of escape plan.
But what was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this? She had to clear her mind. She had to think. And on top of everything else, she couldn't let herself be reckless again! Her life was riding on every action that she took. The boy had been stupid enough to give her time by not killing her outright. She had to make good use of it. She wouldn't get another chance.
"YOU KEEP BEING A SMARTASS," he screamed suddenly, catching Misty off-guard, "AND IT WON'T MATTER WHAT YOU FUCKING BELIEVE! NOW GET THE FUCK UP!"
The menacing barrel of the weapon pushed against Misty's head again and she rose to her feet unsteadily. That fear of imminent death returned to her as quick as it had left. She could hear her heart pounding strong and loud in her ears. She could almost feel the blood racing through her veins and arteries. Blood that would certainly be spraying against the deck if she didn't play her cards right. Panic tried to push into her mind again but she resisted it by focusing on winning the game she was playing with this boy. A twisted 'murder game' where there could be only one winner.
And Misty intended on being that winner.
"O…Okay," the boy stammered in a tight voice. "Look. I…I'm sorry I yelled at you. If you couldn't tell, I'm stressing pretty fucking hard here. I mean, what the fuck? How the hell did this shit even happen?"
Misty didn't say anything. It wasn't like she hadn't asked herself that same question a dozen times since everything had been explained by that Omatsu woman. It was like some nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. But, it was a nightmare that she planned on surviving; one that she planned on living through long enough to come out on top. For Misty, there was no other option.
Abruptly, the pressure from the gun barrel that was shoved against the back of her head lessened.
"Turn around," the boy began in a strained, hesitant voice, "slowly."
Misty did what she was told. Afterall, with the kind of stress he was under, it wouldn't take too much to set him off. And she didn't want a repeat of her earlier mistake.
When she came face to face with the boy, Misty was shocked that she recognized him. That shock was accompanied by immediate horror. The unblemished skin. That moussed hair. Those facial features she was sure made him handsome to every other girl who saw him. And those eerie gray eyes that carried a hint of something dark and terrible lying just beneath the surface. He was one of the students gathered in that room she'd taken careful note of. And he was one of the students she'd desperately wanted to avoid meeting; especially before even she had a chance to get to her weapon!
"You know," the boy said in an anxious tone, those unsettling eyes giving her body a quick once-over, "there…there's a chance that some of the others are going to team up."
Misty couldn't keep the disgust in her voice hidden.
"And?"
The boy's gray eyes narrowed as his hands tightened around the weapon he was still pointing at her. Misty felt her heart leap as she regarded it with nervous eyes. She'd figured on a handgun, a pistol of some kind. She never would've imagined that he would be carrying a shotgun. A fucking shotgun!
If he'd pulled the trigger to that, her face wouldn't have been splattered on the ground. Her whole fucking head would've been blown off! The thought of just how close she'd come to such a violent and messy death left a sick, oily feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"And," he more than emphasized, voice becoming somewhat pressured. "I think it'd be a good idea if you and I got together. You know, to watch each other's backs. A good idea, don't you think?"
The expression on Misty's face went flat. Team up? Watch each other's backs? Was he serious? In a game where the only way to win was to make sure that the other person was dead and bleeding, he wanted them to team up? What a bunch of bullshit! She could barely stand her teammates on the Bayside High Volleyball team! Why in the hell would she team up with him?
She was about to give a polite reply that she hoped would avoid triggering his tamper until she realized that the opening she'd been searching for had just dropped into her lap. I'm facing him now, an abrupt thought echoed. The idea popped into her head almost immediately afterward. It was a simple plan, but one that would play on the boy's obvious uneasiness and fear. Misty forced herself to remain calm in the face of the student holding her hostage with that two-barreled shotgun. If she were going to escape so she could win 'the Blitz', it would be now or never.
Without even giving it another thought, Misty opened her mouth to say something and then widened her eyes in feigned fear. She immediately began to backpedal, which earned a perplexed look from the boy in front of her.
Come on, you dumbfuck, Misty voiced in her head as she continued her faked terror. You can't possibly be that stupid!
"Hey, what the fuck are you –"
And then it hit him. Misty could see the fear and panic roll across his face. She could see those concealing gray eyes get larger and larger. The paranoia on his face was palpable. She almost smiled. Almost.
Flinging her arms over her head for good measure, Misty dropped herself down to the deck and let out as girlish of a squeal as she could. It nearly made her cringe when she heard the sound escape her lips. But as much she hated doing it, it added to the lie she was telling with her actions. A lie which was about give her the out she'd been looking for since that shotgun was first pressed against the back of her head.
She watched carefully from under her folded arms as he fell for it hook, line and sinker. As she had expected him to do, the boy made frantic, unsteady turn; bringing the shotgun around in a panicked desire to blow the person he believed to be advancing on him in half. She only had seconds to act. And if she fucked this up, she wouldn't get another chance.
As soon as the boy's back was to her, Misty dropped her arms and rose from the ground as fast as she could. Launching herself at him before he could realize that she'd tricked him; she placed her hands against his back and gave him as hard a shove as she could manage. The GPS she was holding kept her from getting the momentum she was looking for. But it still did the trick.
The boy, blinking in confusion as to why no one was behind him, never saw it coming. He stumbled awkwardly, thrown off balance by both Misty's push and the heavy shotgun in his hands. The momentum of her shove threw him hard enough forward that he slammed against the corner of the nearby machine wall. The impact, as minor as it really was, still jolted him. The panic and confusion caused by her fake-out was adding to it, she was sure.
Misty wasted no time to admire her handiwork, however. She was already well on her way down the narrow passage that faced opposite to where the opened military chest lay by the time the boy had figured out what was going on. She ran as hard as she could, pushed her legs to run as fast as they could go. Behind her, she could hear an aggravated curse and a scream so rage-filled that she knew right then and there that she had to run even faster.
And she didn't hesitate to do so.
But just as she did, the first blast from the boy's shotgun rang out and struck. There was a hard impact, like someone punching her, and then a sharp, horrible pain raced through her body. And with it, all thoughts of winning disappeared from Misty's mind.
In the next chapter of
1st AMERICAN BLITZ
Made to look like a complete fool by Misty Greer in her desperate attempt to escape, Brian Addison has lashed out in the most vicious way possible. Quick to pull the trigger to end the life of someone he barely knew. Now precariously balanced between the madness spawned by 'the Blitz' and his own deteriorating mental state due to a situation beyond his control, Brian gains a frightening new insight into not just himself but the insidious 'kill or be killed game' as a whole.
But will this new insight offer him what he needs to ultimately survive long enough to win?
Coming soon, "A Fool's Errand",
Chapter 7 of 1st AMERICAN BLITZ
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
No true Author's Note this week. Just a quick thank you to everyone who is still reading (especially you Heather and your detailed review!) and another awesome shout out to Kelley A! Thanks for the Favorites add and the nice words of encouragement! You were pretty much the main reason I tried to get this chapter done as quickly as possible! By the way, I never got your MSN invite so please don't take that as meaning I don't want to chat with you.
Glad I managed to create at least one character that you liked so far…LOL!
Enjoy the chapter and leave feedback if you can!
Happy 4th of July (which I guess doesn't apply to you Kelley…LOL!) to everyone and be safe!
