Run

Run

1.
Tom ran, heart pounding, from the hired killer. The streets were silent and empty in the early hours of the morning. He escaped from the last one they sent only a week ago and already they had found him. The man who chased Tom must be a little more- or less- than human, he was just too fast. Tom’s long, uncut hair fell over his eyes and it was difficult to see in the dull morning light. His thighs cried out as if a fire burned in them, he could only go on so much longer. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the man was close now, the man ran with speed greater than any 100 metre Olympic gold medallist. While looking back Tom lost his balance, arms waving about comically, he came crashing down onto the pavement. Landing hard on his side, pain flared in his hip, adding to the steadily burning fire in his legs. He pulled himself up into a sitting position as the sprinting figure came closer. A terrible all too familiar, sharp pain slashed through Tom’s mind, everything went white as the pain in his head made the, moments ago, vicious ache in his legs and hips become just a mild itch in the background. Tom’s eyes were squeezed shut against the agony, his fist clenched hard enough so that his nails drew blood from his palms.
‘I’m sorry, kid.’ The half-human pursuer had caught up with him. There was a surprising, genuine regret in the voice. He supposed the man should feel bad; he was about to kill a sixteen year old boy. But Tom thought the reason for regret had more to do with the fact that this murderer-for-hire was obviously one of their experiments, and in that way he felt connected to Tom; maybe even more of a bond than he had ever felt to any person. Tom was, after all, their most successful experiment.
Even through the intense torture in his head, Tom could sense the man coming closer. He was not scared though, if there was one thing he had learned, it was that this familiar and horrific pain meant the man in front of him now was in much more danger than Tom was.
Strong fingers touched his neck.
No, I’m sorry, Tom thought. The man began to scream.
   
2.
Will awoke to the melodic singing of the birds outside. He rolled onto his left side to face the love of his life, his wife, Laura. She was on her right hip, facing him, fast asleep. Golden rays of sunshine flowed through the parted curtains, and tiny specks of dust shone where the light splashed them, floating weightless in the air. One of the smooth beams of sunlight landed on Laura’s face, making her look like an angel. The light sprinkled her smooth, tanned skin all the way down to her bare shoulder, where the cover was hanging loosely. Her long brown hair lay all around her, sliding down her fragile neck, framing her beautiful face. He could have laid there forever gazing at his sleeping beauty. He truly loved her. He ran his fingers down the side of her face with a grace and gentleness he could only conjure here, at home, with her. Feeling Laura’s softness, he rested his hand on her cheek and smoothed his thumb over her full lips. Her eyes opened. Pure brown eyes, staring into them he felt like he was losing himself in their endless, perfect darkness. When Laura realised she was no longer dreaming a smile touched her face, he felt her lips move under his thumb. He wanted to kiss her. She bit down on his thumb playfully- and- as if reading his mind, she leaned over to kiss him. Her lips met his, and he thought once more that he could have stayed like this forever.
‘Yu-uck. Mum, dad. Stop it.’
Will, laughing, looked over at the second love of his life, his five-year old daughter.
‘Emily, what are you doing up so early?’ he said.
‘Actually it’s seven oh clock and that’s the time Misses Peters says we should get up.’ she said, proud of her newfound punctuality, and climbed up onto the bed.
‘It’s ten past seven, actually,’ Laura said smiling, and pulled her daughter into her arms.
‘It’s ten past seven now, but I got up at seven oh clock just like Misses Peters says to.’ 
Will had to laugh at her clever retort.
‘Well err- good point,’ Laura laughed as well.
‘Daddy?’ Emily put on her cutest, can-I-have-that-daddy voice.
‘Yeah, honey.’
‘Can we go to the zoo today, daddy?’ she asked. ‘Because you said we could, yep-yep you did. You said last week that we could go and see all the animals. The tigers and the lions and the err- the err-‘
‘Elephants?’ he tried.
‘Yep-yep, the elephants. They’re my favourite in the whole world.’
Ever since watching a children’s dinosaur film “yep-yep” had become her new favourite saying.
‘What about polar bears?’ Laura asked. ‘They’re my favourite in the whole world.’
‘Oh... I forgot them,’ she furrowed her brow trying to decide which her favourite was, ‘no, polar bears are nice, but elephants use their noses-’
‘-Trunks.’ Will said.
‘Yep-yep, trunks, they use their trunks to eat the carrots out of my hand, so they’re my favourite in the whole world.’
‘Well I didn’t think of that.’ Laura said smiling. ‘I’ll have to really think about who my favourite is.’
‘Well... can we?’ Emily said turning to face him.
When she was so close to her mother the resemblance was striking; her long, brown hair seemed to match Laura’s strand for strand, and her face was exactly like Laura’s in all the pictures he had seen of her at that age. The only real difference was the eyes: they shone an arresting blue-grey – just like his.
‘Well...?’ she asked again, impatient.
‘Oh – the zoo, I don’t see why not,’ he got up from the bed, ‘who wants a bacon sandwich then?’ 

3.
‘I’m sorry, kid.’
The hit man reached toward the boy in front of him, he had been instructed to choke the boy to death. Bringing him in alive was too dangerous and any other method but strangulation would reduce any information they could receive from an autopsy.  He didn’t want to kill this boy, but the mental blocks, the programming in him, did not allow him to refuse.
The boy seemed to be writhing in pain, so he was cautious as his fingers touched the boy’s throat. Suddenly the figure on the floor convulsed, with the convulsion came an invisible barrier that pushed his fingers back from the boy’s neck. The hit man tried to pull his hand back and found that he couldn’t move it at all; couldn’t move any part of his body. His outreached hand was being forced backwards, the unseen force made one of his fingers snap backwards at the main joint, he cried out in pain.
Blood streamed out from where the skin and muscle had torn; the dark redness flowed down his arm. His wild screams shattered the morning silence. The palm of his hand was facing the boy but his fingers were being pushed back towards himself, the unbroken fingers began to snap backwards. Blood sprayed from his mutilated fingers, but instead of falling to the floor as the laws of physics demanded it to, the blood stayed floating in the air. Big red droplets floated aimlessly as if they had forgotten who or what gravity was, they must have been held there by the same invisible power that was breaking his fingers. His fingers were now so unnaturally contorted that they faced him while his palm still faced the boy, blood ran down his arm in floods and yet more blood littered the air like lazy red raindrops. Through the mist of blood and haze of pain he could see the boy’s eyes open and look at him apologetically; he couldn’t help this anymore then the hit man could disobey an order.
The barrier or force or whatever it was seemed to tense up, like a spring being squeezed in, for a moment the most amazing feeling of weightlessness filled him, his feet rose an inch or two from the floor, he floated in the air with the blood. In awe, he stopped screaming, then, all of a sudden, a massive jolt hit him and he was launched violently through the air.
He must have flown about fifty feet into the air, because he was falling for at least a second before he landed on the car. He crashed through the windshield and felt his neck break on the steering wheel. Instantly the pain was gone, a strange calmness in its place.
He wondered insanely if the floating blood had flown back with him or dropped to the floor where it had been, or maybe it still floated there. This was his last coherent thought before his not entirely God-given life faded away.
         
4.

Will walked down the stairs and into his large kitchen, the large window allowed light to bounce off the white surfaces. He had put on some old jeans, but had remained topless; the day was already very hot. July had only just begun and it was already the hottest he could ever remember it being in England. A nice change.
In the tinted glass of the oven door he saw his reflection: short, brown hair, well-muscled body, he was twenty-eight but could pass for twenty-one. There was a spray of dark stubble on his face; he needed a shave.
He turned the grill on and took the frying pan out of a drawer.
‘What do my two ladies want for breakfast then?’ he called out as turned the gas on and lit the hob.
There was no answer. He set the frying pan down on the flame.
‘Hey! What do you want then?’ he had a bad feeling, something wasn’t right.
Still no answer.
Worried, he ran up the stairs. The bedroom door was closed. Will could hear voices coming from the other side... the voices weren’t his wife or daughters though.
He opened the door slowly not sure what to expect, the image of them dead sprawled out on the bed struck him. He imagined them lying there, pale skin covered dark red blood, glazed eyes staring at nothing.
But when the door opened they were just sitting on the bed watching GMTV. The mysterious voices were the presenters on the television; the volume was quite high so they couldn’t hear him asking from downstairs. His heart, which had been beating against his ribs like an imprisoned beast, relaxed a bit. He breathed a sigh of relief; he had really believed the worst was coming.
‘Are you okay?’ Laura said worriedly, ‘you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine.’ His voice trembled, ‘well then what do you want for breakfast then?’
The ominous feeling was beginning to fade.
He was shocked at how frightened he had been. And over what? Them not answering him, the noise from the TV. It wasn’t like him to be so paranoid. He shrugged and went back down the stairs.

5.
Tom wrenched his eyes open and looked up at the screaming figure above him. He wanted to scream as well but the pain in his head was so immense he could do nothing but sit there, he wanted to shut his eyes again but the sight was mesmerising. Blood floated around like you see in films set in space, but not only blood. Tom could see other things lift up off the street; an abandoned MacDonald’s Mcflurry with small slivers of melted ice cream peeking out, a car-flattened pigeon rose up as if given new life. 
Tom felt like a rusty piece of barbed wire had been slid into the gap between his brain and skull, suddenly it tightened. The man’s screams stopped as he levitated. The wire tightened even more. Then it snapped. Instantly the man flew upwards and away from Tom. At the same time the floating blood burst into such tiny fragments that all that was left was a red mist and both the abandoned Mcflurry and Lazarus pigeon exploded. Tom was sprayed with the blood, guts and ice cream. A sharp stinging in his face made him move his hand up. Yes, he could move, he rose up onto unsteady legs. The pain in Tom’s head was beginning to subside.
Adam! He had to find Adam; two of the hit men had gone after him.