Again, I'm really sorry for the late update. It's hard to write with a busy school schedule. But I promise to update the next chapter sooner!
Day
The lights slowly brighten the movie theater as the credits begin to roll. I get up from the comfy red seat, stretching. "That was a pretty good movie, wasn't it?" I say to June.
"I suppose so," she answers as she follows me out the theater and to the cold, dark street. "Although there were a few minor mistakes."
"Like?"
"Well, about thirty-six minutes in, there was a scene where he was wearing a blue collared shirt with nine buttons. But when they cut to the second frame, he was then wearing a collared shirt that only had seven," she explains.
I shake my head, smiling admirably at her. "Always catching even the smallest details. I don't know how you do it, June." We cross the street, heading towards her apartment in Ruby.
She shrugs. "It's just something I was born with. I unconsciously manage to trap details in my mind."
"And this is why you're known as the Republic's prodigy," I say proudly, wrapping my arm around her.
"I'm not a prodigy," she brushes it off modestly. "There are plenty of other people who are capable of the things I can do."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? I beg to differ. The last time I checked, you were a field agent at 15, a Princep at 17, and the Lead Commander of California by 23. I doubt there is anyone else out there who is as intelligent and successful as you."
June opens her mouth to reply, but her eyebrows are furrowed together as she focuses on something far off in the dark night. Her eyes widen, and she shoves me away a split second before I hear the gunshot. The bullet ricochets off the brick wall, only a few feet away from where my head was. June pulls me into a nearby alley with a dead end, hiding us from shooting range.
Her hand instinctively reaches for her left ear, where her com should be, but comes up empty. "Stupid," she scolds herself. "I left it in my apartment."
As a second plan, June pulls a small handgun out of the purse hanging from her shoulder, firing back at the shooter. She seems to be analyzing and calculating the vantage point of the gunman before she fires back with accuracy.
I follow her gaze, catching a glimpse of the shooter perched on the roof of a six-storied building across the street. He's wearing dark clothing and a mask, gripping a heavy rifle over his shoulder.
More bullets begin to rain down, all burying into the brick wall we're hiding behind. "I only have two bullets left," whispers June as she fires futility back. Her small handgun is no match for the military rifle in the shooter's hands.
"Why is he firing at us?" I ask, pulling June deeper into the dark alley when a bullet dangerously hits too close. Her back is pressed against my chest as we evade the retaliating ammunition.
I feel her heart racing quickly, and her breathing unsteady. She tries her best to mask it, but I know deep down, she's terrified. "I don't know," she whispers back, her eyes searching for a way to escape. In the dim light of the street lamps, I realize there's blood dripping out of a cut on the side of her head. She must've scraped her head against the wall when she pulled me into the alley.
The shooter's aim seems to be improving, the bullets landing closer and closer to where we are. June curses under her breath and fires her last shots in vain. Her bullets only graze the base of the roof he's standing on.
"We're screwed," I murmur. The streets are empty, no soldiers in sight. And no one's going to take notice of the gunshots, since we're right near Batalla Hall's training center. People hearing these shots will probably assume that they were coming from a soldier's late night practice.
"Any way to escape?" June asks, her focus still locked on trajectory pattern of the bullets.
"Not any we can get to," I whisper back. There's a ladder hanging from about three stories high, but there's no way we can reach it; there are no window ledges to assist in scaling up the wall. We're trapped like cornered mice.
Suddenly louder gunshots echo in the night, but they're not aimed towards us. I look up at the roof of the building we're hiding behind, seeing a smaller armed figure firing back at the shooter.
"Did you call backup?" I ask June, but there's confusion written all over her face.
"I didn't," says June, squinting at the soldier on the roof. "I don't have my com."
The soldier continues to fire at the shooter until a bullet knocks the gun out of his hands. The gun falls six floors down to the ground, making a loud clatter as metal meets concrete. The soldier fires twice more after the shooter that has miraculously disappeared back to the darkness.
Both of us are looking at the soldier that saved our lives as they hook a rope on a balcony and climb down. "Thank you," I tell them as they let go of the rope and land in front of us.
The figure throws off the hood covering their face, revealing one I recognize.
"Selene?!" June exclaims, half outraged, half astonished.
The girl grins cheekily, proud of herself.
"Who gave you that gun?" she asks, concerned.
"Dorian," she says.
June narrows her eyes. "Dorian wouldn't do that," she says, picking out the lie.
"Well, technically he didn't because he was still sleeping in the hospital so I just thought he wouldn't mind," she says while shrugging. "Besides, what's the big deal?"
"Don't do that again!" she shouts at Selene. "You could've gotten hurt!"
"And if I didn't, you two would've faired up worse," she replies back coolly.
"She has a point," I offer. "Give Selene a break; she saved us both."
June glares at me momentarily. "Not helping," she growls.
"Just saying," I mutter.
She turns back to her. "How did you know where we were, anyways?"
"I was following the killer. I had a hunch that he'd go after Tess next, so I was patrolling near her apartment until I saw him on the roof. And then I saw you guys running so I decided to climb the building cause I had a better aim from there," she explains.
"Wait, what? What killer? And why is he going after us and Tess?" I ask. June looks at me, unable to find a way to explain. "Well?" I demand. "I have a right to know."
"I'll explain later," she says apologetically. I frown at her, although I choose not to press any questions.
Meanwhile, Selene has jogged across the street and returned with the gun she had shot out of the killer's hand. "This has a fingerprint log. We'll be able to see exactly who the killer is," she says, interrupting us.
"But why didn't he take it?" June wonders out loud. "It's a careless move." Her eyes are calculating, thinking of all the reasons why. Suddenly her eyes widen, and her face pales.
"What is it?" says Selene.
"It was a distraction," June whispers. "He was just playing with us, making us think that we won. That's why he dropped the gun and disappeared- he wanted us to think that he was running away, but really he was heading to his next target."
"Who's his next target?" I ask.
Her next words are almost inaudible, as if she's praying that she isn't right. "Tess," she whispers. "He's after Tess."
Review!
