No Rest for the Wicked (thinking about deleting idk)

No Rest for the Wicked

They came from the sea,

They came from the sky,

They came from the soil,

Where everyone lay dead.

From tree to bush to empty clearing I ran. Not that I knew anyone was following me. I concentrated on my legs, but not on what was up ahead. Stupid, I know. My 'greed for speed' had taken over. I felt like I had the ability to run up a mountain and come back down again in a single breath, as if it were merely a hill.

Of course, it was a bit more complicated than that. I would have to watch out for obstacles, like trees and rocks (which hurt A LOT) and, well, soldiers. People with machine guns, people with machines, people with the most dangerous, deadly weapons of the world.

I kept on running, and running, and tripping, and cursing, until it all became too much for me to handle. My foot got wedged into a pothole and I yelped as I stumbled forwards onto the ground. All the bushes had disappeared, and just when I had come back to my senses I realised I was in the middle of Targin Forest.

We didn't really know the name of the forest to begin with, though. Arriane, Fiona and I had kept on calling it 'the forest' all until Arriane thought the name was boring. Targin, she named it, after a very rotten and bruised mandarin she'd been holding in her palm. Trust Arriane, she can't help but make fun of this place, even though we were struggling. Food is scarce here, the scraps the soldiers threw out were our only hope. Unfortunately they were killing us, but at the same time keeping us alive. I wonder if they knew that.

I got back up, with grazes and scratches all over my elbows and knees. It was dark, the ground was cold, and the trees were so tall and skinny, they provided no cover if I needed it.

There and then, I heard something. A loud click, or spring. Coming from my left. Something stirred. I heard another click, from my right this time. A gun being loaded. That's what it was. But did knowing that help much? No. I was surrounded. By people I couldn't even see. I had nothing. No cover, no weapons... doomed.

They were approaching now, and I was the little piggy in the middle. I didn't really know what to do, I felt somewhat stupid. The frickin' pothole was the only thing with me. I could see the silhouette of the person on my left....

I pounced, and he fell to the ground. I could tell it was a 'he' because he was making these really low grunting noises. Girls don't make grunting noises. At least, not that I knew of. I got back up and ran behind, just as he was about to do the same thing I kicked him hard in the back, which made him stumble then fall again, into the pothole this time. I heard a crack, I assumed his ankle and he started howling after that. The rifle that he'd dropped lay right next to him and I reached out...

The person who had been on my right side came from behind and grabbed my shoulders. Before I knew it his rifle was strained against my throat, and I couldn't move any more.

 "That's why an army has at least two people," he pulled the rifle tighter and I swallowed. "So one can distract while the other attacks." I couldn't see his face, but he didn't seem to have an accent like all the others. I didn't say anything. Besides, how could I? My face was going from blue to purple. "Who are you?" He asked. "Why are you doing this? What's your problem? Do you speak Engli-"

 "I'm not a bloody russian spy, ok?" That one sentence took a lot of energy. He loosened his grip a little.

 "How do I know?" I couldn't tell whether he was being serious.

 "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Oi, oi, oi. There's enough torture in that already!"

 "Alright, alright," he stifled a snort of laughter. "That'll do." He let go, and I gasped for air. Who'd this guy think he was? He wasn't the enemy, but he still might be my enemy. He walked over to the guy in the pothole. It looked like he'd sprained his ankle. It also looked like a hot air balloon.

 I could finally see the right person's face now. He had brown hair, and hazel eyes. He was smiling, something I didn't happen to be doing very often. Obviously he found lefty's little tantrum amusing. Lefty had blond hair, they both seemed about the same age. 13-14 years.

 "If I tell you my name, you must tell me yours," said the brown-haired one. "On the count of 3. 1, 2, 3..."

 "Victoria."

 "Max."

 "What about his?" I gestured to the blond-haired one stuck with the sore ankle.

 "Oh, him? He's Bren. Shocking name, isn't it?"

 "Shut up." Bren got to his feet. He didn't look too happy. "How am I going to walk, thanks to her?" I really had no idea what to think of these people. He looked at me coldly, searching for something. As if I had something all over my face, which I didn't. There was a glint in his eye, which my brain immediately alerted, 'danger'. Max looked from Bren to me and seemed just as confused as I was.

I could feel a certain tension between us, I remained very still. Trust was a value I gave to three people only, and I was usually hesitant to trust anyone with his thumb resting on the trigger.

In a split second Bren fired 2 shots into the air. Stratled birds began to chirp and scuttle away in the treetops. He then positioned the rifle aiming it straight at me. Definitely not to be trusted. I got down on the ground and heard the familiar whizz of the bullet past my shoulders. It had missed me narrowly, and I knew that there was no hope of escape from where I was standing.  Max was yelling and shouting, trying to coax Bren into dropping the gun.

"If you shoot one more time, you'll attract the soldier's atention! She isn't worth it, STOP!"

 When the rifle pointed at me, one last final time, Max covered the muzzle.

 It was too late. Bren fired, and just after that, he'd realised what he'd done. Max screamed in agony,  buckets and buckets of blood were flowing from his hand. I stood there shaking, confused and unaware of my surroundings. He was whimpering like hell, I didn't know what to do. Slowly, I looked down at my black top. Blood had splattered all over it, and I could feel the vomit creeping up my throat. Bren dropped his rifle to the ground and immediately came to his aid.

 Bren grabbed out a pair of tweezers, and had found the bullet. It was right in the middle of his palm. He was pulling at it impatiently, digging through the bloody and damaged layers of skin. No matter what he tried, the bullet kept on slipping away.

 "Bren, I'll do it." I walked over to them both. I could see the wound more clearly now, and Bren didn't hesitate to step aside.

 It was all grey and red and disgusting, and was hard to focus. Luckily, I had a spare bandage in my pocket in case I tripped over. Technically I had, but that was no match for a bullet wound. I tried to grip the bullet with the tweezers, but without much success. I tried a second time, and I almost got it. Just a little bit more, and I can-

 "Hey Victoria, whatever your name is I don't care, something's coming." I perked my head up and tried to listen. There was nothing.

 "What do you mean? I don't hear anyone-"

 "It's not 'anyone'. Don't you hear that?" I tried harder this time.

 "Beeping. Something's beeping."

 "We need to get out of here, now." It was getting faster, louder, and more high-pitched now. A bomb. Max had crawled up in a ball by a tree. I ran over to him and quickly rapped the bandage around his hand.

 "Come on!" yelled Bren. He was already jogging, though I wasn't quite sure if it was in the right direction."There's no chance of your survival if you don't run!!"