A lot of writers talk about "plot bunnies" when describing how their story ideas came about. My stories tend to come to me as a scene. Then, I tease it out, asking the who, why and how. This is one such story. In my head, the ending of this one still fuzzy. I am eager to see how it will end. :)
Thank you for reading.
As always, I don't own GI Joe, Hasbro, Marvel or any affiliates, nor do I make any profit off of them. I just like to borrow the characters for my own enjoyment, and hopefully yours.
"We can't shoot at them." Alison shouted above the roar. "They're civilians."
"I know," Shana yelled bitterly. She moved her hand to her shoulder to push back her hair. But it had been cut. It still felt so wrong. She wanted to shout her fury to the world. More than hair, she had lost a piece of herself, of her identity. She wanted it back.
They ducked behind a car as another spray of bullets came their way.
"We have to do something. This trying to scare them is doing nothing and we can't stay here all-day throwing bullets back and forth," Shana said, rising to her knees to shoot a few more rounds above their heads. "Besides, I'm almost out."
Alison looked around. "I have an idea," she said. She picked up her last javelin. She had long since abandoned the case. "Over there." She pointed across the street. "That abandoned apartment building looks like a convenient fire hazard." She stood up, exposing herself briefly, and threw. Before she could duck back down, a stray bullet caught her in the shoulder. She fell backwards with a cry just as the javelin hit its target. An explosion shook the ground beneath them. A section of the building tumbled into the street as fire erupted inside.
"Allie!" Shana grabbed her under her arms and dragged behind cover. A red stain was spreading from the shoulder of Alison's pale pink blouse. It contrasted brightly with the inky blackness of her newly dyed hair.
"It's ok—" Alison gasped, trying to catch her breath. "Just a flesh wound." She sat up gingerly.
"It's still a bullet," Shana said, frowning.
The apartment's collapse had created a temporary barrier between them and their pursuers. They took advantage of the protection it gave.
"Come on." Shana took Alison by her good hand and pulled her up. "We have to get out of here while we still can."
Alison nodded.
They ran, ducking between cars and shrubbery until they were sure they were not being followed.
"Where are we going to go?" Alison panted, holding her shoulder and grimacing.
"Somewhere off the streets—" Shana glanced at Alison's shoulder. She was concerned by the amount of blood she saw. "Where I can get you cleaned up and we can rest."
They hurried along several more blocks, each house looking more rundown than the last. Finally, Shana pointed toward a faded building at the end of the street. The neon sign above it was only half-lit.
"There," she said.
"That roach motel?" Alison slowed to a stop, taking in the number of beat-up cars in the parking lot, the groups of people loitering and smoking in the shadows, and the number of open curtains in the windows of the building. "Are you crazy?"
"They'll never recognize us."
"I'm bleeding, Shana. How is that possible?" she asked.
"Look at us. We're both grungy and we don't exactly smell like roses. We'll fit right in."
Alison sighed wearily. They hadn't showered for days and though their clothes might once have been considered nice, they were now torn and stained. Shana had a point. And she didn't have the strength to argue.
Shana took off her leather jacket and slipped it over Alison to hide the growing stain. "Perfect," she smiled. Then, she untucked her green, cap-sleeved T-shirt and let it hang sloppy and loose over her jeans.
"Act like you're drunk—like you're about to pass out," she instructed.
Alison's eyes widened briefly, and then she nodded. "This had better work," she grumbled.
"It will."
Alison didn't have to act hard to pretend like she was about to pass out. The world spun as she began walking toward the building. She stumbled and would have fallen if Shana hadn't already wrapped her arm around her waist.
Shana steered them both inside and up to the counter. "We need a room," she slurred. "For the night."
The woman at the counter looked up from her phone with annoyance.
"It was a party," Shana giggled and swayed. "Two whole days. Or maybe three." She held up four fingers and almost fell on the counter. "But we can't drive." She pouted. "Cause—" She leaned close as if to share a secret. "We're drunk," she whispered loudly before breaking into laughter.
The woman at the counter rolled her eyes and sighed. She took the false information Shana gave her and Shana's cash. Then, she handed Shana a key with the number 23 stamped into it. She pointed to the right.
"Down the hall at the end," she said in monotone. "Check out time is 10:00."
Shana stared at the key as if trying to make out what it was. Then, she blinked and giggled. "Oka-lee Doka-lee," she said brightly. "A key. No problem. I know how to use it."
The woman, already back on her phone, ignored her.
Staggering and bumping the walls, Shana led Alison down the narrow hallway. At the door to their room, Shana fumbled with the key and dropped it a few times before unlocking the door. She helped Alison inside and then shut and locked the door behind them.
Immediately, she straightened.
"That was distasteful," she muttered as she helped Alison across the filthy carpet to the sagging bed in the middle of the room. The room was about as nice as she had expected.
"Let's see to that arm," she said.
Alison was already unbuttoning her blouse with her good hand. She winced as Shana helped her slip her injured arm out of the sleeve. Alison looked at the wound and frowned. The bullet entrance was ugly—puckered and swollen, and still bleeding.
"Bind it up and then just let me rest a bit. I'll be fine," she said, stifling a sigh.
Shana frowned but nodded.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. It ran brown before settling on a murky yellow.
"On second thought," she muttered, looking around. She found the room's coffee pot. After giving it a good scrubbing, she filled it with cold water—which was clear, at least—and plugged it into the wall and switched it on. Then, she grabbed some washcloths and soap.
Once the "coffee" was made, Shana used it to clean Alison's wound. She had nothing to take the bullet out, but she bound the area firmly. At least the bleeding would be stopped.
Shana hoped it would be enough.
Alison slept on the bed while Shana flipped through the channels on the TV. All the news channels were reporting pretty much the same as before. Nothing had changed. Shana knew that she and Alison would have to keep running. They were almost there. Another week if their luck held.
Shana just hoped Alison's wound wasn't as bad as she thought it was.
And that Alison could keep up.