One Last Mission (3rd Place In Short Story Contest)

I had two choices, and neither guaranteed my safety. Crouching beside a tree, I let the crickets’ song ease my nerves. I knew taking the stone pathway to the river would leave me with no immediate cover, but the other option was a route through the woods where I might snap a twig under foot.

Edging over to the side of the path, I was careful not to brush against anything. I took a breath, hunkered into a crouch, and stepped onto the stones. Tucking the butt of my rifle against my shoulder, I relaxed at its familiarity. I thanked God for the moonless night. A younger me would have taken off my shoes and made a dash down the winding path to my destination. The younger me was stupid. Even in this darkness, movement was easily seen if someone was watching. Instead, I took methodic steps and gradually shifted my weight. I knew there was still one more out there and I could be seen, but no one would expect me to take the open path.

My right foot moved forward, and I started shifting my weight. I moved slower than the bead of sweat running down my forehead. Keeping the same rhythm, I scanned the trees for movement.

Half way down the path, my muscles started to ache. My back was screaming for me to stand up straight, and my thighs told me I should have been doing more squats in my workouts. I kept moving in a race that a turtle could win. But turtles had shells they could duck into for cover—I was all soft underbelly. The thought made me move a little faster. 

My breaths increased to huffs, and I picked up my left foot for another step. The toe of my boot bumped a crevice in the stone path, and I jerked in reaction. I was able to soften the landing of my foot, but my abrupt motion made me cringe. My heart started pounding in my ears, but I tried to stay focused on my surroundings. I needed to make it to the river. There was no other option. I forced my heartrate to slow and tried to listen past the crickets.

That’s when I heard it. The slight scraping across a rough surface. It sounded like a boot against stone. I fought the urge to throw myself off the path and behind a tree. If my stalker had seen me, he would have shot already. A rustle of leaves caught my attention, and I almost cursed. I had forgotten to look up. I craned my neck and scanned the trees on my left. My eyes paused on a shade on the lowest limb of a tree. It was too dark to know if it was a person or my imagination. 

I reached into my pocket and grabbed one of the pebbles I had picked up earlier in the night. Keeping my arm close to my torso, I flicked my wrist and released the rock. As soon as it left my hand, I moved to rest my finger on the trigger.

The rock hit brush, and the dark shade flinched and spun toward the sound. I allowed myself a small smile and then pulled the trigger. My shots were followed by a string of curse words. The form above fell from the tree and thudded to the ground. Heavy boots stomped toward me.

“Dang it, McClane. I had it all set up to ambush you from the other side. I never dreamed you’d be stupid enough to take the path.”

I smiled again. The Man upstairs was on my side tonight.

“Stupid? Who has paint running down his body? I’d say I’m the smart one.”

“I’ll take you down. Next time I’ll recruit fifteen instead of ten.”

My eyebrows pinched together, and I pressed my lips into a line. I had a difficult enough time taking out ten of them; fifteen people might actually tip the scales. Thankfully, the darkness hid my reluctance. I worked hard for my reputation and wasn’t about to ruin it right before leaving for college. So, I threw another log onto the fire of my legacy.

“Nash, you could recruit the whole high school. You won’t ever paint me.” I took off in a sprint toward the river to light the lantern and signal my victory, one last time.