Please read Parts 1-6 first. Thanks!
“Where?” Amanda asked, eyes wide.
“Someone is hiding in the trees.” Michael stood, ignored his screaming muscles. “Pretend you haven’t noticed. We need to get out of here.”
He started walking toward her car. Guilt snagged at him, but getting her involved was too important. So many lives depended on telling the world.
“Wait just one minute,” she hissed. He heard her job up behind him.
He continued toward the little white car. “We don’t have one minute. I have to assume he’s seen you talking with me. That puts you in danger, too.”
She grabbed his arm where the worst of the pain was centered. His vision went white, and he stumbled.
“God, I’m sorry,” she cried. She steadied him. “I think you arm’s broken.” He heard her sigh. “All right. I’ll drive you somewhere, but I’m not convinced of anything other than your injuries.”
Michael’s ears rushed as the wave of pain subsided. He was in shock, he realized. He wondered if he had other injuries he’d missed. Focus, dammit. Get to safety. The rushing took a steady cadence, making his ears pulse.
“Hey!”
Amanda’s shout snapped him out of it. At first, he thought she was yelling at him. Then a rough hand gripped the bad arm. Bone ground against bone as the bastard twisted and pulled. Michael vomited.
“Where’d you hid the files?” a gravelly voice demanded. “Tell me and I’ll let the girl live.”
Michael forced his eyes open, willed them to work. Amanda was sprawled on the sidewalk a couple yards away, her feet tangled in the Go-Pak’s shoulder strap. Their attacker had a gun in his free hand and pointed at her.
“You know how it works, Tanner,” the man growled. “The bosses don’t want you leaking their shit. You’re done. The files are just a bonus. A prize for not killing that cute little thing over there.”
“I already looked. They’re long gone.”
The thug pistol-whipped Michael in the face. A tooth, loosened by his earlier face plant, gave way. He spat it in the man’s face.
The man raised his arm to hit Michael again then froze. Michael felt something tingle along his mangled arm until the guy dropped to the ground. Amanda stood behind the attacker, fierce pride burning in her eyes.
“What’d you do?” Michael choked out.
She gave him an impish grin and held out a small metallic canister.
“Shock spray,” she said. She lost the grin and helped him up. “And for the record, now I’m convinced. My ride is this way.”
… to be continued
Filed under: SS-Science Fiction | Tagged: dark science fiction, donor, explosion, futuristic, identity shaper, jail break, journalism, MJ Twain, prisoner, reporter, rig, short story, writing
