Flight, Chapter 2 of the still unnamed story
Old Post: The previous chapter of this story is here.
This is the second chapter of the story in progress I began two weeks ago. Until the story is done, or until I'm no longer able to continue, this story's multiple chapters will make up my entries in the Storyblogging Carnival. It's fun to write, and I hope it's fun to read.
Chapter 2
Flight
The bitter cold froze Ryan's sweat and caused his entire body to break out in goosebumps. He didn't dare pause long enough to zip up his jacket when the large and dangerous stranger was right behind them, much less put on a cap to keep his head and ears warm. He did, however, manage to pull his jacket's hood over his head to keep the snow out of his hair. Unfortunately, the oversized hood was more trouble than it was worth. It blocked his peripheral vision, and the zipper which attached it to the jacket had a tendency to disengage at inconvenient times. Even now it was working loose. He glanced at the girl, who only had that Christmas sweater to keep her warm. It occurred to him to offer his jacket, but there wasn't time for that. For now the narrow alley leading away from the mall's emergency exit was still empty, but it would momentarily be filled with people fleeing from the buzzing alarm which the closed doors barely muffled. The girl was running as best she could through the six inches of snow lining the alley. Ryan somehow managed not to lose his footing in the unfamiliar powder. While snow was common in Boston, accumulation was not. The city's snow removal machinery efficiently plowed, blew, and shoveled the snow into large, dirt speckled piles with the consistency of pebble-filled ice cubes.
Lamps mounted on the walls provided most of the illumination in this empty canyon with its tall and featureless brick walls. Ryan lost sight of the girl as she left one ring of light, her figure lost behind the gauzy curtain of falling snow. Cursing himself for letting her get so far ahead, Ryan picked up the pace. Can't she wait for her fiance?
"Hell, she didn't even tell me her name. If she really believed all that nonsense about us being destined for each other, wouldn't she have told me?" he muttered.
"It's Emily," she said from below, much closer than he expected. She was on her hands and knees in the snow just beyond the ring of light whose edge he had just reached. White powder coated the front of her sweater and jeans, and more was scattered in her face and hair. There was an impression in the snow where she must have fallen, which explained how he had lost sight of her.
Ryan grabbed her arm and pulled her up. "I'm sorry, I... My name's Ryan."
She turned to him, brushing the snow off. "Ryan, I know you don't understand what's happening. Me either. But I need help, and I think you're the only one who can help me."
Ryan wanted to shake his head, say this was crazy. Instead he nodded his head and said, "This is crazy, but I'll help. We need to hurry."
"Yes, we do. Please try not to curse, though."
"Huh? What does that--"
The door squealed as it opened behind them. They both turned to look at the stranger, and then as one turned and ran, or at least stumbled along as best they could in the hindering snow. That guy is chasing us and she wants me not to curse? Dammit, I've never had a better reason.
They made it to the next lamp before Ryan dared to look back, tossing back his hood to do so. At least the snow is slowing him down, too. That-- He would have stopped if Emily had not grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him along. Realizing that stopping right now was a very bad idea, he tucked his chin so that his eyes were free of snow while keeping watch on his footing. Snow in his eyes was the only explanation for what he had seen. That large man could not have been walking on top of this powdery snow. Ryan and Emily combined had to weigh less than he did, so how could they be sinking up to their ankles while the soles of his boots were still visible? It just couldn't be. Even so, his methodical long strides were gaining on them. He had already closed half the distance.
Fortunately, the alley ended in another twenty feet or so, with a small pile of gray snow and ice blocking the way to the well-shoveled sidewalk beyond, where the concrete showed through the spattering of snow patterned by the flat edge of a snow shovel. Here the Boston snow removal machine had successfully eradicated all the clean, white snow. Street lamps lit up the area beyond the alley clearly, punctuated by the headlights moving on the busy road. His mental map of the mall was insufficient to tell him what street it was, but any street, visible to the public, had to be a boon.
Emily reached the snow pile and scrambled over. He followed her example, gripping the brick wall at the edge of the alley with his numb right hand to help pull himself over the uncertain footing, loose and powdery on the crust but with a hard and slick center. Emily, now on the sidewalk, seized his other hand to help pull him over.
Something jerked him backwards, pinching at his shoulders and armpits, lifting him up and back, as it pulled at his jacket. Ryan turned his head to see the large stranger right behind him, one hand wrapped tightly around his jacket's hood, the other scrabbling for a good grip on the back of the jacket. It was the first time Ryan had a really good look at his face. With the added elevation from the snow pile, their heads were nearly even. The face was square and blocky, too wide but otherwise normal. It was the expression which was all wrong, not angry or excited or afraid but simply blank and dull, not what Ryan would expect on a man who was trying to kill him. And there was something else, something that Ryan almost didn't notice at first. His eyes weren't normal. They had normal looking whites, irises, and pupils, except that the irises were a shade Ryan had never seen before. They were red, and not some dull, dark red that he might have believed were a normal shade of eyes for some rare ethnicity, but a brilliant, primary red that seemed to glow in the lamplight. That's it. She is crazy and somehow I caught it.
Ryan could not have spent more than two seconds looking into those unnatural eyes, one of his hands pulling at the wall with all of his strength, the edge biting into a hand too numb to feel the pain, the other pulled by Emily, as his legs just tried to keep his footing so he wouldn't fall into his pursuer's arms. The big man pulled on him with his right hand locked on Ryan's hood and his feet now sunk beneath the snow and planted firmly on the concrete beneath. How the hell is he getting traction? Red-eyes' left hand had still not found a grip on his jacket, and that's the only reason the chase did not end then and there.
The lousy, inconvenient zipper connecting hood and jacket, the zipper which Ryan cursed every time it came loose, wondering why anyone would need to detach the hood on a winter jacket, gave way. After that, physics did its thing. Pulled by Emily and his straining right arm, Ryan went over the icy ridge, stumbling three or four paces into the sidewalk while Emily somehow managed to keep them both from falling. The stranger, hood still in his right hand and left hand still empty, fell backwards, his traction finally lost, and landed in the snow with a whump. Ryan did not pause to recover his balance, but simply kept moving, using Emily's centripetal pull to make a sharp left rather than running out into the high traffic street. Now that he had clear, almost snowless sidewalk in front of him, he started running. Emily, still holding onto his left hand, joined him in his mad dash away from the stranger. Dammit, I meant to go right.
No help for it now, anyway. Now that he was out of the alley, he thought he knew where he was. Boylston Street, on the river side of the mall, but still several blocks from the river. With most of the snow shoveled away here, he had enough traction that he could run all out, and he did so, hopeful that he had at least a few seconds to gain some distance. Emily ran beside him. To the left, the wall of the mall fell away, recessed for a wide, empty plaza, behind which were the main entrance to the mall and an outdoor foodcourt, whose tables and chairs were now empty, since people with sense did not dine outside in the snow. Heh, maybe I should be surprised that it's empty. A small crowd was gathered in the plaza, having left the mall due to the alarm. The crowd was way smaller than it should have been, considering how overloaded the mall had looked when Ryan was inside. He guessed that not too many people were paying attention to the alarm. Yup, not too many people with sense here. He was just as glad, as he and Emily had been the cause of the alarm, and the emergency didn't seem to have much interest in anyone other than them. Besides, the last thing they needed right now were hundreds of people blocking their path.
Ryan and Emily plowed through the few stragglers who had drifted from the plaza and into the sidewalk, Ryan barely managing to avoid bowling over a stroller. As he looked back over his shoulder at the horrified parents with the intention of at least shouting an apology, he saw the pursuer not a hundred yards behind him and his apology froze in his throat. He was moving with the same purposeful long strides, not running but steadily gaining ground, his trenchcoat trailing behind him in the wind. Ryan would have thought they'd be further ahead by now. He whipped his head back around to face forward and narrowly avoided running into another couple who stared at him with wide eyes.
His breath was whipped away before he could see it, but he had no doubt it would be visible if he dared stand still long enough. It was coming in gasps now, the cold air raw in his throat. His clothes were damp from snow on the outside and sweat on the inside, leaving his skin freezing underneath. His clumsy, heavy boots were not designed for running, but he made do despite the soreness of his calves and ankles. He just hoped he didn't hit a slick patch of ice, as he was having enough trouble keeping his feet as it was. I'm not going to be running a marathon anytime soon. We haven't even gone a mile yet. Ryan looked back as they cleared the sparse crowd to see the red-eyed man closing on them, now within fifty yards. How can he be closing? He's walking while we're running. His blood ran as cold as his skin. If we can't outrun him, what can we do?
Ryan hadn't had time to think through a strategy, having focused on putting some distance between them and the stranger. That seemed unlikely now, but he didn't know what else they could do. Find a cop and hope he'd care more than everyone else? Ryan was beginning to doubt that a cop could stop this man. Maybe some transportation, a bus or the T, Boston's subway? They didn't have time to wait at a bus stop or a T station. Now I wish I had a car, he thought, wondering whether he'd even have a chance to reach it if he did. A cab? If they could put some distance between them and Red-eyes, then maybe they'd have time to hail a cab, but he was close and he was gaining. Besides, this wasn't New York. Cabs weren't so common that you could hail one at whim.
We can't outrun him and we can't fight him. We can't even hide unless we can get some distance. Ryan glanced at Emily. Her face was flushed and she was panting for breath. He didn't know how much further she could go. She didn't look any better than he felt, and she had been running from him longer... Of course! He's after her, not me!
Ryan skidded to a halt, shouting "Keep going!"
Emily might not have noticed him stopping, but she heard the shout. She slowed, looked back. "Find a cab or something!" he yelled after her as he turned to face Red-eyes. He didn't know whether she did as he said, but he didn't have time or breath to explain. For that matter, he didn't have time or breath to think it through as carefully as he would have liked. If he's after her, then I'm just an obstacle. If I'm enough of an obstacle, maybe she'll have time to get away. And if I'm lucky, he'll lose interest in me afterwards.
As Ryan assumed a fighting stance, he had second thoughts. He had been greatly overmatched in their last encounter. Ryan watched Red-eyes approach now, over six feet tall and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, striding down the middle of the sidewalk as if nothing could conceivably slow him down or force him to step aside. Indeed, anyone who crossed his path was out of the way by the time he arrived without even acknowledging the man who caused subconscious retreat. If I'd been smart, I'd have gone in a different direction than Emily. He considered doing that now, just getting out of the man's way and letting him do whatever he wanted with her. He could snap my arm or leg without slowing down, maybe even my neck. He certainly wouldn't hesitate to do so. He was ashamed at his cowardice, at being tempted to give up Emily to protect himself. He didn't know what Red-eyes wanted with her, but it couldn't be good.
If the big man had continued on his path, not slowing his methodical pace or even deigning to acknowledge him, Ryan might have given into his panic and run. But seeing him there, Red-eyes slowed, bearing to the right, toward the street where cars were continuing to roar past. He means to go around me? Red-eyes considered Ryan an obstacle which needed to be avoided rather than trampled. That thought gave him courage and he moved to block the man's path. Dammit, why aren't I ignoring the stupid part of my fight-or-flight response which says to fight? Ryan knew he had no chance to win, that at best he'd delay Red-eyes without being too badly injured, but even then there was a lot of pain in his near future. He resigned himself to that fact as best he could. It was the price for doing the right thing, and that was that.
Ryan placed himself in front of Red-eyes, at the very edge of the curb. His feet almost slipped on the ice, but he managed to slide off of it without falling into the standing pool of ice, slush, and water which lapped against the curb, unthreatened by Boston's drainage system. Ryan took a few steps back, away from the ice, but when the pursuer came to a halt at five paces, staring at him, he stood right on top of the icy patch without seeming the least unsteadied by it. What, is he wearing ice cleats now? "Why do you impede me, mortal?" Red-eyes said. The voice sounded wrong. It wasn't loud enough for a man speaking right next to him. It sounded distant, like the echo of a voice, pitched low and resonant to carry but barely traveling the five paces to Ryan.
"Mortal? What the hell does that mean?"
Ryan was sure it was an illusion, a result of uncertain light of the Boston streetlamps and the snow, but the man seemed to grow taller while his eyes flashed with red light. The lips in the expressionless face quirked upward at the edges. "For a moment I thought you might be a hazard, but you know even less than she does. Your courage is mere ignorance."
"Who are you?" Ryan asked. If he could get it talking, maybe he could buy more time.
"Don't you mean `What are you?' No you don't. You have eyes to see but you don't see, or you see but you don't believe. Now be gone and forgotten, mortal!"
Red-eyes started to take a step forward, not at all lacking in traction despite the thick sheet of ice beneath his feet. Ryan once again took a fighting stance, his heart thudding in his ears loud enough to drown out his panting breath. He was already sore and tired, but at least he would make this guy remember him.
Since the cab was coming from behind him, Ryan didn't see it before its tires kicked up a spray of icy water from the street and soaked his legs. With a startled cry only slightly more dignified than a four-year-old girl's, he leapt aside, all thoughts of a heroic last stand forgotten in that single freezing instant. He was glad he did, since if he had not, the cab's door, even now swinging open, certainly would have hit him. It did hit Red-eyes, whose miraculous traction finally gave way before the force of the slowing but still-moving cab. With one foot still in the air, he actually slid backwards for several feet like some huge, clumsy figure skater, before he hit the edge of the ice. Unfortunately, the edge of the ice was also the edge of the curb, and he went over, falling into the street and its standing pool of icy water. The tremendous splash must have covered the headlights of the cab, having now completed its sudden stop, with grey slush and muddy water, but Ryan didn't notice since he was staring at Emily, leaning out of the open door.
"I found a cab," she said.
"How? What--"
"Hurry!"
Ryan might have continued to ask questions if he hadn't seen the large hand on the cab's hood. He dashed to the open door while Emily scooted aside. By the time he was ducking in a large head had followed the hand and Red-eyes was almost to his feet. He slammed the door shut.
"Let's go!" he shouted to the cabbie.
"Where you going?" he asked, not at all concerned about the large, angry man with glowing red eyes who was even now coming to his feet in front of his cab.
"Um, how about the Burlington Marriott?" Emily suggested.
"That pretty far. You sure you want to go that far? It expensive."
Ryan couldn't see the cabbie, but the accent was Middle Eastern. From what Ryan saw on the news every day, much of the Middle East was dangerous even for the civilians just trying to get by, and he supposed an immigrant from one of those areas might feel a certain equanimity towards large, violent men trying to get into their cabs, but he still found it unnerving that the driver didn't react when Red-eyes, now on his feet and circling the cab, tried the passenger side front door. It was locked, and Ryan's reflexive jab at the lock on his door was so hard that the impact from the needle-like locking mechanism stung even through his hand's numbness.
"Yes, yes," Emily replied. "Now can we go?"
"Okay, but I only take cash," he said, and shifted into gear.
"Fine," Emily answered.
The large man tried Ryan's door handle and found it locked. As the cab began to move, he struck the window with his fist, and the glass jumped in its frame but didn't break.
"You hear something?" the cabbie asked as he started an illegal U-turn in the street, cutting across two lanes of traffic and into a third. Despite several long horn blasts, both from the traffic and the cabbie himself, the taxi slid into the correct lane. Ryan's eyes never left the form of their pursuer, though he thought the effort to keep him in sight might result in whiplash. Red-eyes stepped directly into the street, somehow not eliciting a single honked horn as drivers braked or swerved to avoid him. He was within a couple of feet of Emily's door as they passed him. Ryan had no doubt that if their U-turn had been just a little less brazen, he'd have managed to intercept them somehow.
When the taxi came to a stop at a red light only a few seconds later, Ryan and Emily both peered out the back window. They could see him coming, only two hundred yards behind, with that machine-like stride of his that was faster than most people could run. Ryan knew he could not see his irises from this distance, but he imagined he saw a red glow nonetheless. It had to be his imagination. Had to be.
He was walking in the middle of the street, between two lanes of traffic, but without seeming to notice the cars on either side of him. Nor did the cars seem to notice him. No one honked, or shouted, or made rude gestures at him. That was downright unnatural for Boston. They must have seen him, because their cars drifted around him with as much clearance as they would make for any pedestrian in the street, but with less commentary.
He was less than fifty feet away when the light turned green. He was within twenty feet before the cab started rolling forward, but so slowly that he was still gaining. His hand reached out to touch the trunk just as the taxi started to pull away. Ryan looked forward to see that the light, still a hundred feet ahead, had already turned yellow. Why can't Boston invent a traffic light that lasts more than thirty seconds? Even as he watched, and with twenty feet to go before they reached the light, it turned red. Ryan's heart sank. Maybe they could keep the doors locked and hope the windows held until the light changed. He looked out the back window again. Only fifty feet.
He needn't have worried, since the cabbie ran the red light.
The cabbie looked into his rear view mirror to notice Ryan and Emily staring out the back window, "What you two doing? Police not following, are they?"
"No, no they aren't," Ryan said. And the man who was following was falling behind, even his quick pace not equal to a Boston cab. Sighing with exhaustion as much as relief, Ryan turned around and slid into his seat. He was still freezing cold, especially below the knee, where his pants' legs had just suffered an additional soaking, as if running through the snow had not already let chill water seep into his socks and jeans. Above the knees, his plentiful sweat had dampened anything the snow had not. He must smell awful. Fortunately the cab was warm, and the numbness in his ears, cheeks, and fingers was beginning to recede. It wouldn't be enough to dry him out, but he'd take damp and warm over damp and cold anytime.
He glanced over at Emily, slouched in her seat, and from the way she looked, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, breathing deeply through her mouth, she was as exhausted as he was. She had somehow found time to fasten her seatbelt, however, which struck him as a singularly wise idea considering what he'd already seen of their cabbie's driving. He quickly followed suit.
This is Chapter 2 of a story in progress. This chapter is 4,054 words long, and the total story is 6,198 words long.
New Post: Chapter 3 of this story is now available here.
This is the second chapter of the story in progress I began two weeks ago. Until the story is done, or until I'm no longer able to continue, this story's multiple chapters will make up my entries in the Storyblogging Carnival. It's fun to write, and I hope it's fun to read.
Chapter 2
Flight
The bitter cold froze Ryan's sweat and caused his entire body to break out in goosebumps. He didn't dare pause long enough to zip up his jacket when the large and dangerous stranger was right behind them, much less put on a cap to keep his head and ears warm. He did, however, manage to pull his jacket's hood over his head to keep the snow out of his hair. Unfortunately, the oversized hood was more trouble than it was worth. It blocked his peripheral vision, and the zipper which attached it to the jacket had a tendency to disengage at inconvenient times. Even now it was working loose. He glanced at the girl, who only had that Christmas sweater to keep her warm. It occurred to him to offer his jacket, but there wasn't time for that. For now the narrow alley leading away from the mall's emergency exit was still empty, but it would momentarily be filled with people fleeing from the buzzing alarm which the closed doors barely muffled. The girl was running as best she could through the six inches of snow lining the alley. Ryan somehow managed not to lose his footing in the unfamiliar powder. While snow was common in Boston, accumulation was not. The city's snow removal machinery efficiently plowed, blew, and shoveled the snow into large, dirt speckled piles with the consistency of pebble-filled ice cubes.
Lamps mounted on the walls provided most of the illumination in this empty canyon with its tall and featureless brick walls. Ryan lost sight of the girl as she left one ring of light, her figure lost behind the gauzy curtain of falling snow. Cursing himself for letting her get so far ahead, Ryan picked up the pace. Can't she wait for her fiance?
"Hell, she didn't even tell me her name. If she really believed all that nonsense about us being destined for each other, wouldn't she have told me?" he muttered.
"It's Emily," she said from below, much closer than he expected. She was on her hands and knees in the snow just beyond the ring of light whose edge he had just reached. White powder coated the front of her sweater and jeans, and more was scattered in her face and hair. There was an impression in the snow where she must have fallen, which explained how he had lost sight of her.
Ryan grabbed her arm and pulled her up. "I'm sorry, I... My name's Ryan."
She turned to him, brushing the snow off. "Ryan, I know you don't understand what's happening. Me either. But I need help, and I think you're the only one who can help me."
Ryan wanted to shake his head, say this was crazy. Instead he nodded his head and said, "This is crazy, but I'll help. We need to hurry."
"Yes, we do. Please try not to curse, though."
"Huh? What does that--"
The door squealed as it opened behind them. They both turned to look at the stranger, and then as one turned and ran, or at least stumbled along as best they could in the hindering snow. That guy is chasing us and she wants me not to curse? Dammit, I've never had a better reason.
They made it to the next lamp before Ryan dared to look back, tossing back his hood to do so. At least the snow is slowing him down, too. That-- He would have stopped if Emily had not grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him along. Realizing that stopping right now was a very bad idea, he tucked his chin so that his eyes were free of snow while keeping watch on his footing. Snow in his eyes was the only explanation for what he had seen. That large man could not have been walking on top of this powdery snow. Ryan and Emily combined had to weigh less than he did, so how could they be sinking up to their ankles while the soles of his boots were still visible? It just couldn't be. Even so, his methodical long strides were gaining on them. He had already closed half the distance.
Fortunately, the alley ended in another twenty feet or so, with a small pile of gray snow and ice blocking the way to the well-shoveled sidewalk beyond, where the concrete showed through the spattering of snow patterned by the flat edge of a snow shovel. Here the Boston snow removal machine had successfully eradicated all the clean, white snow. Street lamps lit up the area beyond the alley clearly, punctuated by the headlights moving on the busy road. His mental map of the mall was insufficient to tell him what street it was, but any street, visible to the public, had to be a boon.
Emily reached the snow pile and scrambled over. He followed her example, gripping the brick wall at the edge of the alley with his numb right hand to help pull himself over the uncertain footing, loose and powdery on the crust but with a hard and slick center. Emily, now on the sidewalk, seized his other hand to help pull him over.
Something jerked him backwards, pinching at his shoulders and armpits, lifting him up and back, as it pulled at his jacket. Ryan turned his head to see the large stranger right behind him, one hand wrapped tightly around his jacket's hood, the other scrabbling for a good grip on the back of the jacket. It was the first time Ryan had a really good look at his face. With the added elevation from the snow pile, their heads were nearly even. The face was square and blocky, too wide but otherwise normal. It was the expression which was all wrong, not angry or excited or afraid but simply blank and dull, not what Ryan would expect on a man who was trying to kill him. And there was something else, something that Ryan almost didn't notice at first. His eyes weren't normal. They had normal looking whites, irises, and pupils, except that the irises were a shade Ryan had never seen before. They were red, and not some dull, dark red that he might have believed were a normal shade of eyes for some rare ethnicity, but a brilliant, primary red that seemed to glow in the lamplight. That's it. She is crazy and somehow I caught it.
Ryan could not have spent more than two seconds looking into those unnatural eyes, one of his hands pulling at the wall with all of his strength, the edge biting into a hand too numb to feel the pain, the other pulled by Emily, as his legs just tried to keep his footing so he wouldn't fall into his pursuer's arms. The big man pulled on him with his right hand locked on Ryan's hood and his feet now sunk beneath the snow and planted firmly on the concrete beneath. How the hell is he getting traction? Red-eyes' left hand had still not found a grip on his jacket, and that's the only reason the chase did not end then and there.
The lousy, inconvenient zipper connecting hood and jacket, the zipper which Ryan cursed every time it came loose, wondering why anyone would need to detach the hood on a winter jacket, gave way. After that, physics did its thing. Pulled by Emily and his straining right arm, Ryan went over the icy ridge, stumbling three or four paces into the sidewalk while Emily somehow managed to keep them both from falling. The stranger, hood still in his right hand and left hand still empty, fell backwards, his traction finally lost, and landed in the snow with a whump. Ryan did not pause to recover his balance, but simply kept moving, using Emily's centripetal pull to make a sharp left rather than running out into the high traffic street. Now that he had clear, almost snowless sidewalk in front of him, he started running. Emily, still holding onto his left hand, joined him in his mad dash away from the stranger. Dammit, I meant to go right.
No help for it now, anyway. Now that he was out of the alley, he thought he knew where he was. Boylston Street, on the river side of the mall, but still several blocks from the river. With most of the snow shoveled away here, he had enough traction that he could run all out, and he did so, hopeful that he had at least a few seconds to gain some distance. Emily ran beside him. To the left, the wall of the mall fell away, recessed for a wide, empty plaza, behind which were the main entrance to the mall and an outdoor foodcourt, whose tables and chairs were now empty, since people with sense did not dine outside in the snow. Heh, maybe I should be surprised that it's empty. A small crowd was gathered in the plaza, having left the mall due to the alarm. The crowd was way smaller than it should have been, considering how overloaded the mall had looked when Ryan was inside. He guessed that not too many people were paying attention to the alarm. Yup, not too many people with sense here. He was just as glad, as he and Emily had been the cause of the alarm, and the emergency didn't seem to have much interest in anyone other than them. Besides, the last thing they needed right now were hundreds of people blocking their path.
Ryan and Emily plowed through the few stragglers who had drifted from the plaza and into the sidewalk, Ryan barely managing to avoid bowling over a stroller. As he looked back over his shoulder at the horrified parents with the intention of at least shouting an apology, he saw the pursuer not a hundred yards behind him and his apology froze in his throat. He was moving with the same purposeful long strides, not running but steadily gaining ground, his trenchcoat trailing behind him in the wind. Ryan would have thought they'd be further ahead by now. He whipped his head back around to face forward and narrowly avoided running into another couple who stared at him with wide eyes.
His breath was whipped away before he could see it, but he had no doubt it would be visible if he dared stand still long enough. It was coming in gasps now, the cold air raw in his throat. His clothes were damp from snow on the outside and sweat on the inside, leaving his skin freezing underneath. His clumsy, heavy boots were not designed for running, but he made do despite the soreness of his calves and ankles. He just hoped he didn't hit a slick patch of ice, as he was having enough trouble keeping his feet as it was. I'm not going to be running a marathon anytime soon. We haven't even gone a mile yet. Ryan looked back as they cleared the sparse crowd to see the red-eyed man closing on them, now within fifty yards. How can he be closing? He's walking while we're running. His blood ran as cold as his skin. If we can't outrun him, what can we do?
Ryan hadn't had time to think through a strategy, having focused on putting some distance between them and the stranger. That seemed unlikely now, but he didn't know what else they could do. Find a cop and hope he'd care more than everyone else? Ryan was beginning to doubt that a cop could stop this man. Maybe some transportation, a bus or the T, Boston's subway? They didn't have time to wait at a bus stop or a T station. Now I wish I had a car, he thought, wondering whether he'd even have a chance to reach it if he did. A cab? If they could put some distance between them and Red-eyes, then maybe they'd have time to hail a cab, but he was close and he was gaining. Besides, this wasn't New York. Cabs weren't so common that you could hail one at whim.
We can't outrun him and we can't fight him. We can't even hide unless we can get some distance. Ryan glanced at Emily. Her face was flushed and she was panting for breath. He didn't know how much further she could go. She didn't look any better than he felt, and she had been running from him longer... Of course! He's after her, not me!
Ryan skidded to a halt, shouting "Keep going!"
Emily might not have noticed him stopping, but she heard the shout. She slowed, looked back. "Find a cab or something!" he yelled after her as he turned to face Red-eyes. He didn't know whether she did as he said, but he didn't have time or breath to explain. For that matter, he didn't have time or breath to think it through as carefully as he would have liked. If he's after her, then I'm just an obstacle. If I'm enough of an obstacle, maybe she'll have time to get away. And if I'm lucky, he'll lose interest in me afterwards.
As Ryan assumed a fighting stance, he had second thoughts. He had been greatly overmatched in their last encounter. Ryan watched Red-eyes approach now, over six feet tall and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, striding down the middle of the sidewalk as if nothing could conceivably slow him down or force him to step aside. Indeed, anyone who crossed his path was out of the way by the time he arrived without even acknowledging the man who caused subconscious retreat. If I'd been smart, I'd have gone in a different direction than Emily. He considered doing that now, just getting out of the man's way and letting him do whatever he wanted with her. He could snap my arm or leg without slowing down, maybe even my neck. He certainly wouldn't hesitate to do so. He was ashamed at his cowardice, at being tempted to give up Emily to protect himself. He didn't know what Red-eyes wanted with her, but it couldn't be good.
If the big man had continued on his path, not slowing his methodical pace or even deigning to acknowledge him, Ryan might have given into his panic and run. But seeing him there, Red-eyes slowed, bearing to the right, toward the street where cars were continuing to roar past. He means to go around me? Red-eyes considered Ryan an obstacle which needed to be avoided rather than trampled. That thought gave him courage and he moved to block the man's path. Dammit, why aren't I ignoring the stupid part of my fight-or-flight response which says to fight? Ryan knew he had no chance to win, that at best he'd delay Red-eyes without being too badly injured, but even then there was a lot of pain in his near future. He resigned himself to that fact as best he could. It was the price for doing the right thing, and that was that.
Ryan placed himself in front of Red-eyes, at the very edge of the curb. His feet almost slipped on the ice, but he managed to slide off of it without falling into the standing pool of ice, slush, and water which lapped against the curb, unthreatened by Boston's drainage system. Ryan took a few steps back, away from the ice, but when the pursuer came to a halt at five paces, staring at him, he stood right on top of the icy patch without seeming the least unsteadied by it. What, is he wearing ice cleats now? "Why do you impede me, mortal?" Red-eyes said. The voice sounded wrong. It wasn't loud enough for a man speaking right next to him. It sounded distant, like the echo of a voice, pitched low and resonant to carry but barely traveling the five paces to Ryan.
"Mortal? What the hell does that mean?"
Ryan was sure it was an illusion, a result of uncertain light of the Boston streetlamps and the snow, but the man seemed to grow taller while his eyes flashed with red light. The lips in the expressionless face quirked upward at the edges. "For a moment I thought you might be a hazard, but you know even less than she does. Your courage is mere ignorance."
"Who are you?" Ryan asked. If he could get it talking, maybe he could buy more time.
"Don't you mean `What are you?' No you don't. You have eyes to see but you don't see, or you see but you don't believe. Now be gone and forgotten, mortal!"
Red-eyes started to take a step forward, not at all lacking in traction despite the thick sheet of ice beneath his feet. Ryan once again took a fighting stance, his heart thudding in his ears loud enough to drown out his panting breath. He was already sore and tired, but at least he would make this guy remember him.
Since the cab was coming from behind him, Ryan didn't see it before its tires kicked up a spray of icy water from the street and soaked his legs. With a startled cry only slightly more dignified than a four-year-old girl's, he leapt aside, all thoughts of a heroic last stand forgotten in that single freezing instant. He was glad he did, since if he had not, the cab's door, even now swinging open, certainly would have hit him. It did hit Red-eyes, whose miraculous traction finally gave way before the force of the slowing but still-moving cab. With one foot still in the air, he actually slid backwards for several feet like some huge, clumsy figure skater, before he hit the edge of the ice. Unfortunately, the edge of the ice was also the edge of the curb, and he went over, falling into the street and its standing pool of icy water. The tremendous splash must have covered the headlights of the cab, having now completed its sudden stop, with grey slush and muddy water, but Ryan didn't notice since he was staring at Emily, leaning out of the open door.
"I found a cab," she said.
"How? What--"
"Hurry!"
Ryan might have continued to ask questions if he hadn't seen the large hand on the cab's hood. He dashed to the open door while Emily scooted aside. By the time he was ducking in a large head had followed the hand and Red-eyes was almost to his feet. He slammed the door shut.
"Let's go!" he shouted to the cabbie.
"Where you going?" he asked, not at all concerned about the large, angry man with glowing red eyes who was even now coming to his feet in front of his cab.
"Um, how about the Burlington Marriott?" Emily suggested.
"That pretty far. You sure you want to go that far? It expensive."
Ryan couldn't see the cabbie, but the accent was Middle Eastern. From what Ryan saw on the news every day, much of the Middle East was dangerous even for the civilians just trying to get by, and he supposed an immigrant from one of those areas might feel a certain equanimity towards large, violent men trying to get into their cabs, but he still found it unnerving that the driver didn't react when Red-eyes, now on his feet and circling the cab, tried the passenger side front door. It was locked, and Ryan's reflexive jab at the lock on his door was so hard that the impact from the needle-like locking mechanism stung even through his hand's numbness.
"Yes, yes," Emily replied. "Now can we go?"
"Okay, but I only take cash," he said, and shifted into gear.
"Fine," Emily answered.
The large man tried Ryan's door handle and found it locked. As the cab began to move, he struck the window with his fist, and the glass jumped in its frame but didn't break.
"You hear something?" the cabbie asked as he started an illegal U-turn in the street, cutting across two lanes of traffic and into a third. Despite several long horn blasts, both from the traffic and the cabbie himself, the taxi slid into the correct lane. Ryan's eyes never left the form of their pursuer, though he thought the effort to keep him in sight might result in whiplash. Red-eyes stepped directly into the street, somehow not eliciting a single honked horn as drivers braked or swerved to avoid him. He was within a couple of feet of Emily's door as they passed him. Ryan had no doubt that if their U-turn had been just a little less brazen, he'd have managed to intercept them somehow.
When the taxi came to a stop at a red light only a few seconds later, Ryan and Emily both peered out the back window. They could see him coming, only two hundred yards behind, with that machine-like stride of his that was faster than most people could run. Ryan knew he could not see his irises from this distance, but he imagined he saw a red glow nonetheless. It had to be his imagination. Had to be.
He was walking in the middle of the street, between two lanes of traffic, but without seeming to notice the cars on either side of him. Nor did the cars seem to notice him. No one honked, or shouted, or made rude gestures at him. That was downright unnatural for Boston. They must have seen him, because their cars drifted around him with as much clearance as they would make for any pedestrian in the street, but with less commentary.
He was less than fifty feet away when the light turned green. He was within twenty feet before the cab started rolling forward, but so slowly that he was still gaining. His hand reached out to touch the trunk just as the taxi started to pull away. Ryan looked forward to see that the light, still a hundred feet ahead, had already turned yellow. Why can't Boston invent a traffic light that lasts more than thirty seconds? Even as he watched, and with twenty feet to go before they reached the light, it turned red. Ryan's heart sank. Maybe they could keep the doors locked and hope the windows held until the light changed. He looked out the back window again. Only fifty feet.
He needn't have worried, since the cabbie ran the red light.
The cabbie looked into his rear view mirror to notice Ryan and Emily staring out the back window, "What you two doing? Police not following, are they?"
"No, no they aren't," Ryan said. And the man who was following was falling behind, even his quick pace not equal to a Boston cab. Sighing with exhaustion as much as relief, Ryan turned around and slid into his seat. He was still freezing cold, especially below the knee, where his pants' legs had just suffered an additional soaking, as if running through the snow had not already let chill water seep into his socks and jeans. Above the knees, his plentiful sweat had dampened anything the snow had not. He must smell awful. Fortunately the cab was warm, and the numbness in his ears, cheeks, and fingers was beginning to recede. It wouldn't be enough to dry him out, but he'd take damp and warm over damp and cold anytime.
He glanced over at Emily, slouched in her seat, and from the way she looked, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, breathing deeply through her mouth, she was as exhausted as he was. She had somehow found time to fasten her seatbelt, however, which struck him as a singularly wise idea considering what he'd already seen of their cabbie's driving. He quickly followed suit.
This is Chapter 2 of a story in progress. This chapter is 4,054 words long, and the total story is 6,198 words long.
New Post: Chapter 3 of this story is now available here.
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