After much soul-searching, I have decided to write a few short stories, unrelated to the other works, before continuing on with the next of the Shadow Wolf Sagas, just to keep it fresh. As always, this is raw and uncut; enjoy responsibly.
“So, what your name?”
“I don’t do names, not like this,” said the girl with the Mohawk and the rather impressive looking runed hand cannon.
“Can I ask where you are taking me?”
“Do you know where you are?”
The walls of the passage we were in were solid concrete, solid on nondescript. It was large enough to be an underground roadway of some sort, but I saw no sign of vehicles, only smaller tunnels at irregular intervals. One of the side passages that I could see had stairs. leading up.
“You’re a fucking genius, you are,” said my guide, rolling her eyes. “I’m taking you to meet the people who decide if you get to live or die.”
That pissed me off. I stopped moving and turned to face her. She smirked and looked me in the eye, the barrel of her gun resting on her shoulder. There was a cold frankness to her gaze. I crossed my arms and held my ground, waiting for her to speak.
“My name is Amy,” she said. “This is an old bunker from the Beforetime. We’re not sure if it is military or corperate, but it has been abandoned, by people at least, for a long time. It was built to last though. The closest city is Chalpit.”
Chalpit was halfway across the country from home, although I did not know the location of the prison where I was being kept. How far had that Rune taken me?
“Uh, Amy, my name is Jon.”
“Please to meet ya, Jonny,” she said. The cold look was gone. “Listen, fella. I was serious about groaners. We cleared most of them out when we moved in here, but they keep coming back.”
“Wait, who is we?”
The Carvers were terrorists of the highest order. But, then again, people who knew how to use runes were dissonants, so it made sense that the powers that be would want to paint a bad picture of any organization that sought to free them.
“What do the Carvers want with me?”
“Fuck,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why do the cute ones have to be so wordy? Listen, Jonny Boy, we have a long way to go, walk with me and I will explain–“
Her mouth cut off mid sentence, the ‘nnnnn’ sound becoming a snarl as she leveled her gun at me. The movement was so swift I was still watching her red lips move as the big black barrel appeared in my line of vision.
“Duck.” she said.
And the gun went boom.