Note: I wrote this story based off a dream I had on the 4th of October 2002. It took me aaages to finish it. I wrote a bit more and had it added to the end, but I’ve now removed that ‘cause it was preventing me from finishing the story. :)

Second-To-Worst

I gasped and pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to stifle further sounds. I couldn’t afford to be detected…not with them after me. They’d snuck up on me again – how could I have let this happen? Too much was at stake; namely, my husband and child. If I kept being careless like this, I was going to pay in the end. I had to shape up or, as the saying went, it’d be time to ship out.

How many were there this time? I wished that I was Superman and had x-ray vision of some kind. Instead I was just me, and I had to outsmart an unknown number of gunmen who were on my tail, intent on extinguishing the threat I posed. I didn’t have any plan, I was just running from place to place, darting from here to there, moving from point A to point B, with no real sense of where I was going to end up.

I broke out into the night air, and found myself in yet another dark alleyway. I wanted to sigh dramatically, letting my frustration overcome me, but then I remembered that my life – and those of others – depended on me staying smart. I just wanted to go home. But would that be safe?

I really didn’t have any time to think about it. Eventually I just started moving as quietly as possible down the alley, knowing that further along was the back of the apartment complex in which I lived. Maybe I could outsmart them in the multi-storeyed building?

I was only about five metres from the entrance to the building in which I reside. I quickened my pace slightly, eager to duck inside. Yet I’d moved too fast. In the next instant I heard sounds behind me: the scraping of a shoe sole on the cobblestone, the whispery movement of clothing, and the ticking of a gun. My throat constricted and I dove for cover as two or three shots whizzed over my head. They would’ve devoured me if I’d remained standing, I realised dazedly. Oh, Jesus, I have to get inside.

I did the only thing my besieged brain could think to do in that instant – I ran. I sprinted the last few metres and shot inside, racing across the tiled floors of the basement hallways towards the stairs and elevators. I decided to take the stairs, as I couldn’t stand the thought of stopping and waiting for an elevator to arrive. When I’d gained some ground on my pursuers I would get an elevator to my floor. It was only as I was racing up a second flight of stairs that I realised how lucky I had been to find the basement door open. I am sure if I had stopped to really think about it, I would’ve been overwhelmed and incapable of acting further. Thankfully I didn’t stop to think – I didn’t let myself.

I reached the second floor, heart pounding thunderously in my ears, and decided on a vague plan of action: I was going to lead these bastards on a merry goose chase. They would look and look and they would never find me. I’d always be one, or two, steps ahead of them. They’d end up chomping at the bit, all dressed up with nowhere to go, all fired up with no one to destroy; at least, no one who really mattered to them.

Instead of hopping off at my floor (the fifth) I went all the way to the top of the building. Stepping out of the elevator I was again confused by the building’s design. I’d always told myself the builders had been smoking crack or something during the “design finalisation meeting” that I imagined had taken place at some stage years ago. The top floor of the apartment complex only contained one apartment – while other floors housed at least five each – and they were more attic space than anything.

I hurried up the last few stairs to the apartment, not quite knowing why. I half expected it to be a dead end with the door locked, but another part of me drove me onwards, reassuring me – perhaps quite insanely – that this was the right way to go.

My jaw dropped when my own key slid into the lock on this apartment’s door and turned smoothly. How can my key work in this door? I thought, on the verge of hysteria as a result of this entire experience, yet not quite that far gone yet. I pushed inside the apartment, pausing briefly when I thought I heard movement on the stairwell behind me. Oh gods, please give me some more time, I thought feverishly, closing the door to the hallway and leaning against its inside in a moment of weakness. I wanted to sit down and have a relaxing cup of tea. Instead I had to work out how to throw off my homicidal stalkers.

I somehow sensed that I had several of them hot on my heels. In other words, I definitely had no time to waste. I darted smoothly and silently through the beige/white apartment, noting subconsciously how truly tiny the place was. The beige carpets were thick and soft, good at cushioning my hurried footfalls.

In mere moments I reached the far end of the apartment and exited through the back door, which led to the rear stairwell. I felt like shouting, ‘Hallelujah!’ but thought it might be a bit premature of me if I did so. I briefly considered carefully shutting the door behind me but then remembered how close my enemies were, and merely left it as it was. If I had slammed it, I would’ve given myself away with a blatant disregard for my own safety. This way, perhaps I would buy myself a little more time at least.

I flew down the stairs at an incredible rate, but soon realised even this wasn’t enough. I vaulted over the side of the staircase, astounding even myself with my acrobatics, and flew through the air, finally landing agilely on one of the steps further down. I continued in this fashion until I reached the sixth floor. For some reason I decided, as I entered the landing, that I wasn’t going to go to my own place yet. In fact, I was going to go to Maureen’s. The old lady had always been good to me, and sensible too. Maybe she’d know what to do now.

Who am I kidding? I thought as I slid my key unthinkingly into Maureen’s lock and let myself into her apartment. The woman’s eighty or something. She’s not up for kicking a bit of assassin butt. I frowned as I shut the door behind me, thinking, But maybe she has a gun I can use.

Before I knew it I had said something to Maureen – but for the life of me now, in hindsight, I can’t remember what – and then was saying more, seemingly informing her of multiple things at once. The obvious one was my need for a gun – I asked her if she had one anywhere in the apartment. Secondly I wanted her to be safe, and I did intend to tell her that she had to find a good hiding spot. Somehow, though, the words never came out of my mouth. I still feel ashamed of that – of my inability to do everything I could to keep the woman safe.

The next thing I knew she was handing me her gun, a tiny silver pistol that would be all my protection against the enemies’ machine guns. For some reason I wasn’t worried about my chances. As you can imagine, I still can’t explain a lot of what happened to me during those hours. Only now, years later, am I starting to sort through far more of my memories than I ever managed to in the direct aftermath.

I had only just gripped the pistol in my hand when the enemies found me. They came into the apartment in twos, from the maintenance entrance in the back. The silence with which they moved chilled me to the core. I could hardly tell they were there but for the eerie shadows they made on the hall carpet and walls. The apartment was full of freestanding walls – it was one of the modern designs that were so popular these days – and I was huddled at the end of one of them, knowing I was probably as plain as day to my hunters. The silence stretched and I thought my head might explode.

I was still aware of Maureen, tending to her two bits of toast. I couldn’t believe she could be oblivious to what was going on, but it seemed she was. She went and selected some peanut butter from the cupboard. I squeezed the pistol’s trigger as the first enemy came into plain sight, and the next instant I was under fire – from a machine gun. I shot back, holding down the trigger, and the pistol’s resources seemed to last forever. I thought maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I was terrified enough to be imagining things.

I felt a sickening sense of accomplishment when I finally hit my target. She crumpled on the spot but I had no time to celebrate my victory or relax my guard. It was far from over.

I glanced nervously around the other side of the wall and saw another enemy – I shot at him too, an automatic action executed by a feverish mind. My stomach clenched with horror when a rain of bullets cascaded over and past and into Maureen. It must have been my imagination playing tricks again, but I didn’t notice her body jerking with each impact, as I’d have expected it to.

I kept on shooting, and lost my mind.