by Frankie Rose
******
I’m lashing out before I can even think properly. The baseball bat connects with wood and then with something softer. A loud ‘uffff” comes out of the figure as he staggers sideways, holding his arm, knife still gripped firmly in his hand, which gives me enough time to raise the bat over my shoulder and swing with all my might.
The white ash contacts with the side of the figure’s head and he drops to his knees, one hand on the floor supporting himself. I run then. Run past the person who smashed their way into my house, heading for the stairs. A hand reaches out and grabs hold of my ankle, though, firm fingers digging into my skin, and I shriek.
I kick out, my shoe landing a solid hit against his shoulder, and he spins and falls onto his back, letting me go. Bat still in hand, I charge down the stairs, racing for the kitchen. There’s a carpet of broken glass everywhere, and the back door hangs off one hinge. The thunder of footsteps behind me has me running again, and I don’t think. I react, barreling out of the doorway into the night.
My breath blows in and out, in, out, short, sharp blasts of air over my teeth as I run faster than I’ve ever run before. Past the beater and the black SUV; past Mrs. Harlow’s abandoned house. My arms pump furiously, bat still in my right hand. I know it’s stupid to look over my shoulder, but I can’t help it. I have to know. I throw a glance behind me and my attacker is charging out of the house, barely twenty feet away. And he can run.
The snow that has been falling heavily all day coats everything—the driveway, the trees that surround the house, the road beyond, everything. The world is white and grey and black as I run blindly, veering left and then right, hoping to gain some cover in the trees. They’re spindly and bare, however, and do nothing but get in the way. I have to get back onto the road. I have to make my way down on the highway that leads back into Breakwater proper. I’ll be safe if I can do that. I dodge more trees and lift my knees up as the snow gets deeper, setting like concrete around my lower body every time I try to push forward.
The bat is just getting in the way now, so I let it go, praying to God that I’ll be okay without it. That I won’t need it again. That I can get away from this crazy person and make it back to civilization before I’m stabbed to death. I reach the small roadway leading away from the house. My lungs are on fire. Luke. I have to get to Luke. I run faster, an agonizing burn surging through my legs each time I force them forward.
And then suddenly my legs are no longer beneath me. Fire sings through my nerve endings, a high-pitched chatter of pain that blinds me. The next thing I know I’m falling, crumpling in a heap into the snow. I can’t stop shaking. My back contorts, my body balking against the alien, frightening, painful sensation coursing through it. A low and fast tick, tick, tick, tick, tick sound fills my ears. After that I hear the creaking and crunching of boots slowly approaching through the snow. And then blackness.
