Secret Sniper

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

I clear a table covered with sewing supplies, throwing everything on the floor and lay Michael gently onto it. He moans and tries to turn on his side. He fails, it being too painful and stays on his back. I put down my snipe bag, put my sniper in it, and leave the room to look for a first aid kit. I literally tear the place apart, as if it weren't already from our bullets shattering the glass, and finally find a small first aid kit. I make my way back to the storage room, but halfway there I see a black figure swiftly move in my peripheral vision. I shift my eyes quickly in the direction the figure moved, but keep my head forward, making it seem like I'm oblivious to the suspicious activity around me. I reach the storage room and sit the first aid kit next to Michael's arm. I can see in his face that he's in excruciating pain. I pull out all the supplies I'll need to slow the bleeding from his wounded shoulder. The bullet is so close to his neck that with just one more inch up, he would've been dead.

"Eri-" Michael starts, but coughs before he can even finish my name. His voice is scratchy and strained. I give him a look, telling him to keep quiet. I don't want him hurting himself even more by losing his voice somehow.

As soon as I finish cleaning and wrapping Michael's wound I suddenly hear the shuffling of feet. Michael sits up, groaning as quietly as possible, and tries to stand. He looks a little wobbly but he maintains his stance. I stare at him for a couple seconds, just to make sure he won't fall over or something, then I hear more shuffling. I reach over for my sniper and I can hear Michael also reach for his. A shadow approaches in the dark hallway that leads to the storage room and-

"It's just a cat," Michael sighs. I hear him lower his gun behind me and walk up by my side. Even though it's just a cat, I still feel like there's someone at the end of that hallway waiting for the right moment to ambush. I refuse to let my gun down, as I feel the cat rub against my leg. Michael notices that I haven't let my guard down, and stands straighter beside me, exactly in the same stance I'm in. I stare at the hallway intently as if a person was going to walk into my presence right.. About..

A blood curdling scream fills the hallway as Michael and I shoot a woman who attempts, or well, attempted, to attack us. I walk up to her now dead body and study her. She has dark brown hair, pale white skin, brown eyes, and a figure that, if she lost any more pounds, could be considered anorexic. Her eyes are wide, in shock from our bullets when they made contact with her flesh. I can feel Michael also walk closer to the body and hear his rugged breathing in my ear.

"I knew her.." he whispers. I glance at him curiously, then wistfully realizing he'd shot someone he was acquainted with. "She was a good friend of mine in college. Studied to be an agent. Never knew I would actually see her on the field," he continues. Memories fill his head; I can tell because he has this lost look in his eyes, the kind of look he has when recalling a memory. I look away from him, then at the woman. *What if that were Adriana?* my conscience questions. My vision starts to twist, forcing me to imagine its Adriana collapsed on the floor in front of me, dead and bleeding, instead of the woman who's actually there. I can't take it anymore, so I turn away, quickly shove my snipe bag, with my sniper, in a cabinet, and walk down the hallway, in the opposite direction of Michael and the dead body, in silence. I find a quiet room, filled with boxes, at the very end of the hallway. The floor is covered in packaging peanuts, and they crunch as I step through the room, finally settling on a box. I place my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, sighing aloud. *This is ridiculous.* my conscience blurts. *I'm on a mission, assigned to snipe someone when I wasn't even given a reason. Like, what? How could I possibly snipe her when I know if I do, so many people are gonna be upset, disappointed, horrified, depressed and so on? Even if I get the perfect opportunity to shoot, would I? I don't even know..* my conscience babbles. That's when I hear gunshots..