Dark as the Night

32

Author's note: This chapter is a little intense. When I read it to my kid, she asked me to stop acting Odessa's part because it was too realistic and bothered her. Granted, she's 9, but it made me realize that I should warn you ahead of time that it might be a little upsetting to some people.

Please comment and let me know what you think! Too much emotion? Too little? Baby bear just right?
(｡･ω･｡)

-Evie

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"Want me to bake some of the pre-sliced gingerbread dough that's in the freezer? It might help settle your stomach," she said, already heading to the countertop oven to turn it on.

Her mother shook her head and smiled weakly. "No thank you, sweetie. I'll just have some peppermint tea."

She turned the oven back off and heated the kettle for tea. She opened the cabinet filled with rows of jars of dried herbs but before she could reach for the one labeled 'peppermint,' a pounding on the front door stopped her. "Neil?" she called out as she poked her head out of the kitchen. Her mother began to stand and she waved her back down. "I'll help him," she said.

Just as she stepped into the small cabin's front room, the door was kicked open with the loud crack of splintering wood. She jumped back with a shriek of fright and stared at the man silhouetted in the doorway. Her mind registered two things: MK 23. Not Neil.

"You," he said, aiming at her, "come now."

She tensed and crouched slightly. Her mind emptied of everything but the man and the distance between them. Without taking her eyes off of him, she did split-second calculations on the gun's speed and power, how long it would take her to reach him, and how many potential weapons she could grab on the way. Ceramic vase on the mantle. Antlers above that. Glass candle holders. Picture frame with sharp corners. Coffee mug. Iron poker by the fireplace. Rifle next to it – too close quarters. Hunting knife attached to the underside of the mantle.

She decided to grab the mug with one hand and the knife with the other for a combination of smash and slice. She prepared to roll to the ground. But the man caught the slight hunch of her shoulders and fired, narrowly missing her as she dropped. She heard the muffled zing of the silencer, felt the bullet whizz past her head, and the sting of the hard floor hitting her shoulder as she tucked her head in and rolled to her left. There was a crash as the bullet hit something in the kitchen behind her.

She jumped up next to the fireplace and managed to grab only the knife before twisting and dodging to the right as he fired another shot. The bullet made a loud, cracking ping as it ricocheted off the stone next to where she had been less than a second before. She started to lunge toward him. He turned toward her again, and squeezed the trigger. Another zing. A blur. A wet thump, a spray of blood hitting her face, a sharp sting on her shoulder, and then being knocked to the ground by something slamming into her.

"NO!" growled through the doorway. The man was tackled to the ground, his gun sliding across the floor toward the couch. The empty couch. "Odessa!" the second man shouted, his voice raw and terrified. "I... you... no... -ter what!" he screamed, slamming the first man's head into the floor. They began to fight, pushing and yelling at each other.

She couldn't hear what they said. Her ears rang and hummed. Blood. Dripping down her arm. On her lap. Soaking through her shirt and jeans. Hot, wet, sticky, on her stomach and between her legs, puddling on the floor below her. She struggled against the weight and sat up, pain in her arm making it buckle. The wetness making her slip. Blood. So much blood. Hair matted and sticky with it, draped across her. She looked down at all the blood, at the hair, at... at...

"MOM!" she shrieked. "No no no no no... Oh god, no no no! Mom..." she leaned over the sticky, messy head and turned it to the side to look at the face. The eyes were empty, frozen wide with fear, the mouth set firm in anger. "Mom, mom, mom, no no no..." she chanted, rocking back and forth, cradling the head and the hair and the blood and the brains to her.

Tears streamed down her face and she let out one choked sob before turning her red, aching eyes to the man in front of her, now standing and staring at them with a face closed and shuttered of emotion. He held the gun to his side. "You are going to die," she rasped, then took a breath and began to stand, setting her mother's body gently to the side. "I am going to kill you."

"-trid!" The buzzing in her ears began to clear as another man ran in the doorway then stopped. "Oh god, Odessa. Oh fuck. Oh fucking god," he whispered. Then he turned to the man standing just inside, and with a devastated scream, smashed the butt of the rifle he was holding into his neck and rushed to her. Grabbing her hand, he pulled. "We're leaving. Now. We have to go."

"But...!" she tried to protest and pull away, but he had her arm and there was so much blood and so much pain and anger and she couldn't stop, couldn't leave, couldn't refuse. "Mom!" she cried out again, brokenly.

"We have to go now," he repeated, and he dragged her out the door and away from the carnage.

She looked behind her at the man, now getting back to his feet. "I will kill you..." she said again, quietly, deadly, but she knew it carried. She knew he heard her.