Shard

         They were in there now. Heavy footsteps crunched the shattered glass in the dining room. Dark figures she earlier dismissed materialized with the sound of a breaking window. No alarm rang, no safe room existed for escape. Her cell phone sat on the sofa, just past the muffled voices. They spoke in a hushed whisper, planning. Voices echoed from the television. An unintended alert that someone’s home. She jerked the microwave plug from the wall before it dinged. Popcorn continued popping. Her brain locked into a reboot, fighting a primal urge to run for the front door.

         Two sets of boots thudded onto the tile kitchen floor as the cabinet door under the sink shut. One pair walked toward the microwave; a blurred silhouette passed a crack in the cabinet door. Rubber soles skirted across the porcelain surface.
“Fresh popcorn in there, I smell it”, a voice whispered. She used a palm to hide her breathing, realizing the irony in her parents disconnecting the landline. “A useless bill”, her dad had said. “Since we always have a cell in our pockets.”

         Her phone buzzed.

         Footsteps trailed away.

         The television went silent.

         “You said they’d be gone tonight.” The second man said. He had a deeper voice. The low growl of a large man.

         “They are, must be their daughter.”

         “Here’s her phone. Find her. She’ll have to come with us.”

         They disappeared into the stillness of the house. She peeked out of the cabinet. I haven’t heard anything. They must be in the back now. An invisible rope tethered her in place. Time is cruel and plays its games. The exit was a quick sprint away. If spotted, no time to make it. Two men searched the house, narrowing in on her. Eventually, they’ll look in the cabinet. Her hiding spot would become a trap. It’s just a matter of time.

         She pressed the door open and crawled out.

         Boots thudded down the hallway, heavy, brisk steps. She made it to the dining room and pressed her body against the wall. They were in the kitchen again. “Look over there, she’s been in here the whole time.” Cabinet doors squeaked on their hinges as they slammed open. Tupperware bowls bounced on the floor. Dishes landed and shattered, containers of cleaning materials landed and rolled away. She slid down the wall and grasped a knife-like shard of glass from the window they broke.
The deep voice spoke, "Find the bitch! This is your screw-up.”

         The deadbolt and chain were engaged, no way out except the broken jagged window. Her broken breathing was getting harder to control. She held her breath and drew the glass across her body to stab anyone that walked through.
The linen closet in the hall opened. She hadn’t heard them move. The vacuum and mop bucket slammed against the wall. A man stepped around the corner; he froze when he saw her. She slammed the glass forward, sinking it into the soft tissue of his throat. It punctured, partially severing his windpipe. Blinding pain exploded in her hand. Hot, sticky fluid ran down her arm. Her fingers loosened, unable to grip the shard of glass. It fell from her maimed hand and landed on the carpet. She sprinted past the collapsing man and ran towards a large living room window that overlooked the backyard.

         A voice screamed behind her, “I found her!” A hand reached from the hallway, almost grabbing her. She closed the distance and hurled herself through the air, bursting her body through the windowpane. Glass cascaded around her. She struggled to her feet, her right hand useless. Small bits of glass crunched under her. The side door opened, and a tall, wide-shouldered man emerged. She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the wooden privacy fence. The man took chase, his feet pounded on the ground. She ran without looking back. His strides sounded like the hooves of a charging bull just inches behind her.
She bounded through the air again. The top of the fence landed in her armpits. Headlights turned into the driveway, her parents. She let out a guttural scream, almost tearing her vocal cords,

         “Dad! Help!” A hand grabbed her shirt, she drove her foot into the man’s chin.