No Running

First Law

Do not join the crowd.

I broke the first law. I broke the first law of survival.
But how in the world can a person who says "stay alone" survive? Rachel exhaled heavily, leaning back against the thick tree in the dark woods. Blood on her cheek was dry and- ew, crusted- but she was alive.
Why am I here? Rachel looked at her solar-operated watch (a gift from her mother- it helped on long stakeouts and nights too quiet to think). More importantly, how long will I be here?
She went from hunter to hunted. Detective to prisoner. She had been trained the laws of survival in a worst- case- scenario. And the first rule Rachel had been drilled was to not team up with people unless she knew she could trust them- and that certainly was not everyone she had made a pact of survival with.
Rachel looked down at her sister, whose head was resting gently in her lap, and somehow asleep. Golden hair from her head was thrown over Rachel's knee, and Erika mumbled. Even though twenty-four year old Erika was a whole year ahead of her, Rachel was always the protective one. Erika was sweet and all too ready to put faith in any person who showed the slightest glimmer of decency. Her sister, she knew, was an adopted one who proudly called Paris, France home.
Erika? She's wonderful. I can trust her.
Rachel looked at the small fire that Jack Jekyll had built. That name is terrible. His parents must have hated him. Rachel rotated her ankles, trying to keep blood flowing in her legs. Jack's stick lanky figure could be seen by the light of the barely fire, and, like every time, Rachel was taken aback by the sheer height of the doctor. She'd met him a couple times, passed him when going to meet a witness in therapy or recovery. But she didn't know him very well. However, he seemed like a nice enough guy.
But he is a doctor. It'll be good to have one of those. Maybe he's decent. Maybe I can actually trust him.
"Are you cold?"
Rachel blinks away from the fire. "No. Thank you."
Margret Godwood nodded and slipped towards the fire. Margie was blithe. Slender. Tiny. Fair haired and skin. She's young. Maybe she's sixteen? Fifteen? Her brother, Arthur, stood by the fire, speaking in hushed tones to Jack. Like his sister, Arthur had a slender build and fair complexion. But NOT like his sister, his curly hair was smoothed down on his hair. Perhaps the rain had stuck it down.
The Godwoods. Art thieves.
Rachel pursed her lips to the side. Arthur Godwood (Lord Godwood, as he was commonly called in his homeland of England)  was a bit of a... Well... Rachel couldn't put her finger on it. She was only, after all, the detective who had been tracking down stolen van Goughs and Monets that the Godwoods stole.
Rachel stroked her sister's hair. Arthur looked back at her and gave an attractive grin that would make Cary Elwes ashamed.
She took that comment back mentally. No one could shame Cary Elwes. He was her favorite actor.
She was snapped out of thoughts of "The Princess Bride" when she heard a noise.
"Tic tic tic tic tic."
What the bloody...? Rachel sat up a bit, ignoring Erika stir.
Being a detective, as mentioned before, Rachel knew a lot of sounds. Sounds of a lock being picked, steps on stairs, or a bomb setting off.
Rachel shook Erika awake.
"Mm? What?" Erika mumbled.
Rachel began to shake her leg, simultaneously getting blood flowing in her legs and waking Erika in a start. "Bomb."
Erika shot up, pale green eyes wide. "Bomb?!"
Rachel took a tight hold of her sister's hand and rifle as she stood and marched towards the others. "We need to go. Now."
Arthur smiled. "Why ever so, my sweet?"
Rachel popped his head. "Bomb. Boom. Blow up. That thing Americans love to throw randomly in their movies."
"Ah." Arthur picked up his coat off the leafy ground. Jack grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder, quiet. Rachel supposed it carried supplies- medicine, syringes, whatever else doctors use.
Erika helped Margie put out the fire. "What now?"
Rachel was already running away. "Come on!"
Tic.
Tic.
Tic.