Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 71 - What He Left Behind

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART FOUR :: Leave The Front Line Behind

Chapter 71 - What He Left Behind

Voices and sounds seemed to assault Ally from every direction, their harsh tones mixing together until they were no more than a clamor inside her mind. The constant string of blaring sound seemed to run through her mind in a rampage, swirling around memories and thoughts as if in a death spin before they attacked, crushing down the revolting recollections who dared an escape attempt. Her body lay limp as her brain dealt with its inner turmoil, not responding to her pleas for help against the gory images that were flashing across the inside of her eyelids. The vibrant red overtone of them contrasted from the deep ebony that had staked its claim but was no better of an outcome.

The images grew bolder, the forces working to restrain them weakening as they became more of short movie clips than pictures, their characters moving until they were once again suffocated. The moon glinting off of silver as an Indonesian Sai knife sliced through the night, the effect almost blinding as it raced towards her with no indication of stopping. Then the same silver throwing knife was suddenly burying itself to the hilt in her shoulder. A blinding white took over and flames erupted over her vision as if something inside her mind had snapped and exploded into a furious display of red-hot fire power.

Ally's muscles were tensed and pulled taut but still, she did not move. She couldn't move, almost as if someone was keeping her subdued and powerless. As everything finally began to sharpen, the first thing that became apparent to her was pain, excruciating pain that seemed to overshadow everything else. Her head pounded as if held under water with thousands of gallons pressing in on it all at once.

Gritting her teeth, Ally turned her head to the side and a silent, tormented groan escaped her lips as black dots flashed across the brilliant white. Agonizing pain sliced through her like a bolt of lightning, beginning at the base of her head and running down her spine until it leaked into her veins and spread throughout her body.

The flashes came faster then, the clips sharper and more detailed, playing as if a fragmented movie that had been turned up to its highest speed. A black leather jacket flashed past her view like a raven spreading its feathers to swipe past a camera in a rapid dive. Blood pooled across a cracked, concrete sidewalk and spread throughout the crevices to create a display of entangling crimson branches and vines as a fire raged, forgotten in the background. Abruptly, the scene flickered before it was replaced altogether by the inside of a car and a forest of flying branches. The wood splintered before her eyes, impaling a sheet of glass and sending it shattering into millions of shards. Ally watched, helpless, as a large, jagged fragment of glass plummeted from the broken windshield and just barely missed her temple when it impaled her forehead.

Her mouth flew open as she choked, desperately trying to take in oxygen as her mind attempted to deal with the blinding pain and panic, thus disregarding her breathing and leaving her sputtering at the feeling of suffocation rising thick in her chest. Her hands instinctively attempted to fly up to clutch her chest but she found them held down by deadweight and locked in place.

Gasping on a sudden influx of oxygen as her body finally adjusted to the pain rocketing through her, her eyes shot open. Blinding lights assaulted her vision and she panicked, her head tossing from side-to-side despite the pain as she frantically struggled to figure out where she was. Ally found that bleached, white walls surrounded her on all sides as her eyes hastily swept the area. A green cloth-lined instrument tray rested on a stainless steel stand beside the small, hard cot she was laying on. Needles, gauze, and bandages were spread across the tinted fabric. A heart monitor was placed strategically beside the head of the bed and plastic tubes were emerging from various places on her body and running to a central drip that seemed to be inserting both oxygen and drugs into her blood. Her eyes then caught the sight of two fully uniformed police officers sitting in chairs on either side of the door opposite of the bed. They each had a gun strapped to the dark belts clasped around their hips and were flipping through individual files protected by manila folders, slumped lazily in the chairs as if bored.