If she could only get the perfect bitch alone…
Renegades would be blamed, and Angela would have her revenge and walk away unscathed.
She set the box with the remaining cartridges off to the side along with the ankle holster and magazine pouches and grabbed another box just for good measure. She replaced the rest of the firearms in the bag and hauled her illegal possessions back to the closet to store away from prying eyes.
With the holster tied to her ankle, the gun nestled inside, the leather hugging the metal contours, she stood and looked in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. Her damp hair, like spun silvery thread, draped over her shoulders. And her eyes, although tired and tinged with red, remained alert. Her body was toned and lean. She was just as deadly as The Center’s children, and even more so with the stainless-steel weapon hidden by the flare of her jeans.
Pleased, Angela attached the ammo pouches to the inside of her waistband. In each pouch, she placed a magazine. They felt hard against her back, but not uncomfortable. She hid the extra rounds with a lightweight blue jacket that fell loosely around her waist.
Angela checked her watch. An hour left. She grabbed another suitcase and shoved in three pairs of off-duty pants and shirts, a set of camos, and other necessities. She wrapped both ammunition boxes in a pair of pajamas, placed them within her essentials, and zipped the suitcase closed.
After one last glance around the room to make sure everything was in order, Angela shut off the lights.
6
Ellyssa woke with her cheek against the cool moss-covered ground. Fine grass tickled her skin, and the sun warmed her hair. Soft gurgles of water rushed over rocks and intermingled with the hum of insects. For a brief second, she felt peaceful, before a dull throbbing echoed from her legs, up her spinal cord, and ended at her temple, informing her that she was not well.
She swallowed. Her throat felt swollen and scratchy, like she’d eaten a wad of sandpaper. Her tongue darted between her dry, cracked lips and pulled back the metallic taste of blood.
Tauntingly, just a meter away, the water bottle lay next to her bag. With the way she felt, it might as well have been a kilometer.
She wanted to close her eyes again, to let sleep take her away, but she couldn’t. She had to keep moving.
Slowly, she pulled her hands under her chest and pushed. Her body screamed in protest. Her sore muscles felt tight, like her tendons were tied into knots. Especially her leg, which was heavy and unresponsive. Gritting her teeth, she stood and stumbled forward before crumpling next to the bottle. The three or four swallows left in the bottle sloshed tantalizingly and reflected the morning sun like glittering diamonds.
Ellyssa flicked her gaze toward the stream. Cool, thirst-quenching water ran over river rocks, shimmering with browns and greys. So was the possibility of bacteria. She turned away from the rushing stream and unscrewed the cap, then took one last small, unsatisfying sip.
Standing with care, Ellyssa slowly distributed her weight. Sharp teeth of pain clamped onto her wound. She yelped as her right leg buckled, sending her back to the ground. The already tender leg banged against jagged rocks and more skin scraped off. A slow burn mingled with the rest of the aches and pains.
Thoughts of the beatings she’d endured while training were diminished to trivial nuisances. Nothing compared to the way she felt now.
Eyes watering, Ellyssa held her leg, refusing to let the agony get the best of her.
Calmly, she regarded her right thigh. An angry redness spread from under the makeshift bandage. She gingerly poked it with her finger. An unhealthy yellow depression bloomed before the red reestablished its presence. After untying the bandage, she carefully pulled it away. Stringy pus, tinged green with red dots, stretched from the fabric to the wound.
Disgusting.
Ellyssa glanced at what little liquid was left in the bottle, her only source of clean water, and then the stream. Given little choice, she rose and limped to the babbling water, grabbing her bag along the way.
After retrieving the scissors and the antiseptic cream, she took off the coveralls. Blood stiffened the material of her tan skirt. She took it off, too. She cut off the remaining leg of her coveralls, then cut the clean part of the skirt into strips.
Using part of the skirt, Ellyssa scrubbed the wound while biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the screams. The pain was beyond belief, clouding her vision and rolling waves of nausea through her stomach. When she was done, she let the blood flow to clean the wound before re-bandaging her leg and shrugging back into the coveralls.
She gathered her items and stepped into the stream. Water lapped at her calves. She cautiously measured every step to ensure she wouldn’t fall. She couldn’t afford any more injuries. Her pace was already considerably slower than yesterday.
Ellyssa hoped the police were going upstream and the dogs, as they had undoubtedly been brought in by now, hadn’t found her scent. Wishing she could walk on the bank, but knowing such carelessness would prove to be a fatal mistake, she picked up speed, pushing her already overly-taxed body. She kept her eyes downcast as she navigated the rocks. Her arms swinging in stiff arcs, she pressed on, forcing her legs to move faster. She’d regret it tomorrow, she knew, but nevertheless, she didn’t slow.
Under the heat of the afternoon sun, perspiration gathered on Ellyssa’s forehead and dripped down her face, stinging the sores on her lips. She took another sip of her dwindling water supply. Soon she’d be forced to drink the water she was sloshing through. She shoved the thought out of her mind to worry about later.
Right now another pressing sensation gnawed in the pit of her stomach, protesting the emptiness. Hunger echoed in the hollow depths of her gut. With the expenditure of her energy, water couldn’t be her only source of sustenance. She’d have to find food. The forest in late summer provided all the nourishment she’d need in the forms of fruits and roots. If worst came to worst, the little minnows struggling to hold their positions against the current could be a delicacy.
She left the safety of the water and moved into the grass bordering the rocky edges. As predicted, just a few meters away from the stream, blackberry vines burst with ripened fruit. She hobbled over to them, her mouth watering and stomach rumbling in anticipation.
Ellyssa placed the dark purple fruit on her tongue and squeezed it against the roof of her mouth. The sweet juice soothed her burning throat. Sitting down, she picked another, and another, following the same procedure, until her stomach began to swell.
Making camp next to the food supply would be ideal, at least until she could decide on her next course of action, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She started to take turns with the berries, one in her mouth and one in an empty water bottle, filling the container with the fruit.
Squeezing her eyes tight, she pulled her feet under her and stood. Her body uttered a scream of defiance that, thankfully, calmed to a mumbled complaint. She wallowed back to the stream, submerged her feet in the icy water, and continued downstream.
She stumbled in the water until twilight consumed the east and the sun fell to the horizon in the west. Against the bluish-black sky, the first stars winked into view.
Shivering and completely exhausted, Ellyssa stopped her march and stepped onto dry land, where she dropped to her knees on a patch of grass. She took off her shoes and socks and dried her prune-like feet with a strip of cloth. No longer mobile, she felt the coolness of the night sap away the warmth in her body. Huddling into a tight ball, she lay on the ground and, almost immediately, sleep reached up and laid claim to her.
“Detective Petersen, they picked up the trail of the Renegade,” said the Captain of the Warrensburg Department, Dyllon Jones. She still found his manner of speech strange, as if every vowel had to be drawn out, so unlike the way citizens spoke in the city.
