Fourth in the Timeline series |
Clara Lewis never expected to be back in the 1940s and Howard Stark never expected to have to help her get back...again. But with Howard branded a traitor Clara knows of only one person who can help her: Peggy Carter...
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Clara slunk back on board the Heartbreak and began unscrewing more of the crates. Before she left, she wanted to find one invention for herself. She new what Howard Stark was capable of doing. Perhaps the time machine tech was somewhere in here. She might be able to go home.
Before Clara could get any further in her investigation, a deathly cold hand gripped around her throat, its powerful grip lifting her off the floor. Clara grabbed at the fingers enclosed around her throat, gasping for air that would not reach her lungs. Her legs flailed drastically trying to reach the floor.
Clara could feel her vision fading. Soon she would be unconscious. Before she succumbed to sleep, Clara would have to do something. Without hesitating, she threw her head backwards which violently collided with the nose of her captor. The hand on her throat recoiled and Clara fell to the floor, gasping and gently massaging her throat. But she couldn't stay there for long.
Springing to her feet, ready to attack, Clara finally got a good look at who was hell bent on killing her. He was a beefy man. Enormous. If Clara let him, he would easily over power her. But he was all muscle and no brains. She could have the upper hand if she tried.
He swung a punch at her that narrowly missed Clara's head. She rolled out the way along the floor and scuttled behind a stack of crates. There had to be some god forsaken invention here to help her out. As the brute's head loomed above the tower of crates, Clara rolled back and sharply kicked the top crate right into the man's face. It shattered spectacularly, knocking him backwards, sending splinters everywhere. The brute screwed up his eyes which was all Clara needed.
She recoiled, ready to pounce like a spring. Whatever had been in the crate now lay in her arms. It looked to Clara like a heavy, metal canon. It was built like a gun, with a barrel and a trigger but the end was much, much larger. The thing crackled with electricity that coursed through Clara's arms, making her hair stand up on end. Howard really needed to work on this one.
Without giving him another moment to attack, Clara held the canon up and pulled the trigger. A ball of crackling electricity shot from the end and hit him smack in the chest. The man flew backwards, quite literally was sent flying. Clara scrambled to his feet as the man lay, dazed, on the floor. She scrambled to him, her hands clasping around a piece of broken pipe, and clobbered him around the head. He was taken care of for now, the SSR would be here soon to sort him out. If Clara wanted to avoid being arrested, she needed to leave- and fast.
Clara ran hastily down the boarding plank and looked twice over each shoulder before she left, making sure no one was following her. No one was. But what she didn't count on was how quickly the SSR would hurry to the harbour. Agent Sousa watched Clara as she slunk away from the boat. He squinted at her petite shadowy figure as she ran away from the scene of a crime. There was only one explanation in his mind: the Soviet spy.
