Woo! I'm on a super roll. Here's yet another chapter. Now, these chapters may feel way off from the ones I've posted beforehand, but that's because of the huge time gap. I've picked up on a couple of new tricks and writing things, so my writing's going to be different. By the way, I love reviews. Just a tidbit of information.
Waking up anywhere is a bad thing, especially when the sun's in your eyes and you feel like you could sleep for two more days and still not feel more rested. Waking up to a grumpy Hispanic is even worse. But the worst of all situations to be waking up in is when there are seemingly mythical, nightmarish creatures setting fire to the town you live in, that grumpy Hispanic is quickly gearing up for war, and you honestly happen to want to stay in your shack, where you most likely will be killed or the shack will be burned and you with it. And that was why Michael Evans hated to wake up on that particular day.
David was gone without as much as a, "By your leave," but Mike attributed it to his military instincts. The pasty-skinned, coffee-addicted American whose eyes were still bleary with sleep tried his best to examine his situation. Broken arm, no David to have his back, absolutely terrified, enemies at least two times bigger than he was… the odds weren't exactly screaming that he was going to live if he left. Funnily enough, that was exactly what he did. He adjusted his sling, and shoved his military-grade boots on (the only things that were salvaged from his previous outfit) on. In his left hand, he grabbed a scythe he had been sharpening the night before and threw the door open.
His eyes were met with only horror, and his vision swam. Horrific creatures were ravaging the town, and bodies of men and the creatures littered the once neat and orderly lanes. Mike nearly vomited when he saw the body of a child no more than twenty feet from him. He was frozen in fear. The sky was brightly illuminated, and it was a fine day. Birds should have been chirping, and children should have been running around as the men worked in the fields and the women did all of the other tasks. Instead, death touched this place. Mike had seen death before. He had seen a soldier fall by a stray bullet. He'd seen what it looked like when a car bomb exploded near five young men in the prime of their life. But never had he seen such butchery. He was assaulted with his most primal instinct: fight or flight? He ran for his life.
In his flight, he did manage to keep his head enough hear a child's cries. Michael looked over his shoulder. He was nearly at the outskirts of the town, if he continued running, he could get to the woods and be safe. From what he'd learned so far, he could probably live for a few days, and then return when the carnage had been cleaned up. A quick memory of his daughter, like a photograph, flashed through his head: Alex had been six years old, and she had broken her leg, falling from a tree. A complete stranger had picked her up and carried her all the way home. He remembered that flash of gratitude as he invited the young man in for coffee. He remembered what it was like to be reminded that there were good people out in the world. He turned on his heel, shot like a bullet into the house and rescued a small girl from the flames that were beginning to consume her home.
She wailed and sobbed, but Mike just continued to run. He could hear the frenzied yells as the enemies realized several people were getting away, and he was spurned on by the idea of being pursued. He ran, for his life actually did depend on it, and ignored as best he could the iron fist that gripped his lungs. It wasn't just about him anymore, it was about this child he carried in his arms. His heart broke; the poor thing was still crying. He held her closer and slowed his pace to a jog. It was then that he made the terrible discovery that he was lost.
"Oh, God." He muttered underneath his breath. He picked his pace up, and decided that being lost was better than being back in that town.
††† Several hours later †††
Little did Mike know that Elladan and Elrohir, along with twenty of Imladris' best, led by Glorfindel, were already riding towards the town.
All Mike knew at that point was he was exhausted. The little girl he had rescued had fallen asleep. He didn't know how she could have; his running was not the smoothest. Perhaps she had cried herself to sleep. His stomach grumbled, demanding food, as he found a fallen log that would make a shelter. Unfortunately, his survival techniques were limited to the three episodes of Man VS Wild he had seen. He found as many long sticks he could to lean against the fallen log, and then adorned it with pine boughs, in case it rained. Inside, he pushed dry pine needles and dead leaves and moss and laid the tiny, fragile child inside.
Laying across the opening of the shelter, without a thought to his own safety, he merely fell asleep and hoped no one found him.
Little did he know that he was being watched.