Recruit

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

As I lie in bed I hear little bumps and creaks. They don't bother me. I know that the place has seen better years, it happens. I was never scared as a child, I could protect myself. My nightmares were all about my old man, until they weren't nightmares anymore. Dad was a solider, a damned good one, it happens to the best, but that don't make him being dead any less painful.

This old bed and breakfast I'm lying in hasn't seen an owner, or any proper occupants in ages. The cheap wall paper is tearing and peeling, the beds probably have tons of mites and bugs but beggars can't be choosers. Though foreclosure isn't bad for everyone, it's given me a place to stay for about a month. I've been on the run since dad died. At fourteen, it's not a great life but, it's fine for me. Just me my weapons and Baby Dixie. Baby Dixie is a six year old German Shepard. Dad's old bomb sniffing dog. They brought her to me, Dad already fought to keep custody of her when he got out, but he never did, so, she was mine. She knew; she knew he was gone, she knew what we were going to do. We were going to keep on running.

Now here we are, lying awake in a abandoned bed and breakfast not moving an inch because something, someone, made a single creaky footstep echo through the lonely, forgotten, walls. I slowly grip the slim single stack under my pillow tightly.

"Baby, armed?" I barely breath, she can smell, bomb sniffing is more than bomb-sniffing, I've retrained her so that only I can understand her signals, like yes and no, as well as other commands.

She slowly jumps off the bed and sniffs. Then after a tense moment, she puts her front right paw in the air, like most dogs would to shake. That means they're slightly armed, probably some teens with a knife or a bat, nothing lethal. I grab my gun, and silently roll to the far side of the bed, away from the door, close to the window. Aiming at the upper middle of the door, where a left shoulder should be grazed; I wait. Baby Dixie stands on the opposite side of the bed, tail unmoving, dragging the floor, one back leg in front of the other, ready to lunge at my command. Her ears turn, side, in front, one side one front, listening. I listen too, my hearing is unexplainably good. I heard them before Dixie but now I let her do all the ear work, I need to focus on assessing the possible attacker.

The door slowly creeks open and I cock a bullet into the chamber. A man, drunk, forty seven, marriage crumpling painfully fast because of him. Sometimes I can just see someone and know details like that about them. He starts to walk in but stops when he sees me. He's half dragging a struggling, drugged seven year old in a light pink mud stained nighty behind him. She looks so, fragile, so... terrified. My blood boils after it clicks in my head a fraction of a fraction of a second later.

"This rooms occupied asshole," I assert, growling through clenched teeth, never wavering my grip on the gun, that's moved its aim to right between his eyes. The only problem is I refuse to shoot, I can't let Baby go either this poor girls already messed up, I'm not letting her witness murder, or this man being mauled by a dog though I would classify him as more of a monster by what he has planned.

He nearly grunts and goes to move to another room. The girl complicates the situation drastically I need to get her away from him.

"Baby, go make a friend." I quietly command, she knows what I say, somehow we have a connection, a lot of things like that happen, I chose not to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

Baby Dixie instantly turns into a different dog. She nicely walks over to the child, nudges her and licks her hand sweetly. As she does this I grab my bow instead, if I have to use it, I don't want the flash and noise of my gun, it'll just scare her more. While Baby follows them down the hall, I move cover her. Cross stepping, to silently close the distance between us.