Minotaur

Chapter 5

Michael woke up to the pain of a knife cutting through his skin. He screamed and scrambled away from where he took a nap. The daylight was fading, and laughter reverberated through the desert. For a second, he took a peek at the wound on his shoulder. He wished he hadn't looked. It was a full length wound, deeply etched into his body where a geyser of blood was already cascading down his arm.  

He looked around him, hoping to catch the person who did this. He saw two figures in front of him, he couldn't see well since the sun was quickly setting, and the fact that he was losing a lot of blood in a matter of seconds. "Who are you? Show yourself!" It was a huge challenge to not sound scared and hurt.  

Then came the reply in the form of laughter.  

He took one shaky step backwards. After three slow steps something shoved him from behind. He fell, face first into the sand, and it didn't feel good to have rough sand rubbed harshly against an open wound. There are three of them, he thought.  

He felt a foot upon his head, immobilizing him of any movement. "Watcha gonna do now Wingsworth?" It was an all-too-familiar voice. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who would walk the school hallways as if she were queen. A voice that you'd typically hear in stereotypical high school dramas were there are mean popular chicks. It was Katrina Magono.  

Michael laughed. The attackers were caught off guard. Katrina's foot loosened its grip against his head. Michael said, "You? Ha! I don't think so Katrina. You're just a popular chick, not someone who could actually win a fight! How stupid of you to stumble upon me in my sleep." Michael actually meant the insult. He could never imagine someone as dense as Katrina to instigate an attack. He assumed that the other two accomplices were nut heads, too.

Katrina recovered from her confusion and pressed her foot harder against Michael's neck, threatening to break it once he made a wrong move. "Well-well-well, faced with death and Michael's still a little stringy. Would you look at that, girls?"

The other two were girls! Michael had a bad feeling about who those two girls were, there were only two people who ever consorts with a she-witch like Katrina. One of the girls spoke, "Can we just kill him and get this over with, Kat? My face still feels horrible." Michael guessed right. The first who spoke up was Twinkle Dominguez. He didn't like his chances of discovering who the third one was.

"Quit your whining Twinkle, and just be grateful we saved you from the quadrangle. Kelly, honey, give me my claw blade, please. Let's finish him." 

No! Michael was doomed. Katrina and Twinkle might be airbags, Kelly was not. She was not as dumb as the other popular girls. She had an evil, shadowy mind of her own. He didn't like this.  

"Here's your claw Katrina. I suggest you start with his face, let him feel the pain."  

"You're right, Kelly. Let's get this started with." 

Michael didn't want his face to be ripped open. He did the most sensible thing panicked people in his kind of situation do, he screamed. "Help! Help!"  

Katrina pressed her foot even harder, Michael felt his windpipe crush against the rough, rocky sand. "Shouting ain't gonna help you, honey. Just shut up and let me kill you."  

Michael, in his moment of panic, remembered the metal cylinder he got from the launch room. He used his free hand to feel the metal in his pocket. After a few moments of careful search, her finally found the cylinder. He didn't know what it did, so he was still helpless. "Help me with him, girls," said Katrina, "Don't let him get away."  

Michael felt the other girls grip his arms. Twinkle was in-charge of his wounded arm. She clumsily yanked his arm, which in turn, sent thousands upon thousands of pain through Michael's body. Michael felt a tear escape from his eyes. This was it. He was going to die.