Edge Of Defiance
Edge Of Defiance
Sharon trudged upwards, the pine and rain-scented air of the woods heavy with damp, her injured hip screaming with each step. Behind her, Addicus had his gun trained on her, the river on the cliffside below a muffled roar. Her slow pace, sluggish by intent in spite of the pain, grated on his nerves.
"Move faster," he snapped, his voice cutting through the morning mist.
"Love to," Sharon shot back, sarcasm biting, "but no food for hours so this is my best speed. Deal with it."
"Why're you holding your hip?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
"Broke it, maybe," she said, wincing as a stabbing pain hit. "Car crash down the hill—hurts worse now."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Addicus said, a spark of concern in his voice. "We need to take a look at it."
“Your concern’s touching,” Sharon said, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine—ahh!” Pain surged, forcing her to clutch her hip tighter.
“Enough,” Addicus ordered. “Sit on that log. Let me look.”
Sharon hobbled to the moss-covered log, discomfort masking her intent. Addicus knelt, inspecting her waist, oblivious to her plan. “Where’s the pain?” he asked, hand hovering.
She pointed, drawing his attention. Where he confessed, her hand had closed around a jagged rock beside the log, its weight a promise of freedom.
"Here?" he asked, reaching her hip.
His touch fueled her rage. "Yes. right here!" she cried, slamming the rock into his temple. Addicus shouted, blood spouting, and collapsed, his gun dropping to the ground.
Sharon fought her way to her feet, adrenaline anesthetizing her pain, and ran. Addicus lunged, grasping her ankle. She fell hard, dirt grinding into her palms.
"Let go!" she screamed, kicking his face with her free leg. His grip slackened, and she scrambled to her feet, running uphill, the trees smearing in her terror.
Her path veered, not inland but to the rim of a precipice, the river hurling below, far, far beneath, its sound a thunderous deafening. She skidded to a halt, inches from the edge, her heart pounding like a punctuation—fear and thrill in one. No retreat but onward—or downward. She spun about, and there was Addicus, his gun lifted, his wound bleeding freely.
He fired into the air, the sound paralyzing her. "Why do you always run, Sharon?" he bellowed, holding his bleeding head.
"Why do you chase?" she retorted, stumbling backward, the edge of the cliff crumbling under her feet. The river beckoned, a perilous rescue compared to Addicus's prison.
"What are you doing?" he screamed. "Get back here!"
"I'd rather die," she snarled, bitterness searing her, taking another step forward into the void.
"Stop!" he shouted, a note of panic entering his voice, yet she stepped forward, defiance her only weapon.
.
.
.
Peter, Chris, and Jinx sprinted uphill, the incline of the forest sharp, boots slipping in mud. Peter was in the front, driven by Sharon's X's on trees, each one a pulse of hope. Chris maintained his speed, Jinx at his heels, SMG at the ready, the atmosphere thick with damp soil and desperation. Denver's neon was far away, the forest their battleground.
"Where is he taking her?" Chris gasped.
"Somewhere to hurt her again," Peter growled, seething with anger.
"Hurt her how?" Chris insisted, grabbing Peter's arm.
Peter's silence was heavy, his shame a weight. He could not face the truth—Addicus's rape of Sharon, his failure to save her. "He… raped her," he spat, looking down. "I was too late."
Chris's face crumpled, sorrow and anger mixed. "God, Peter," he said, hugging him. "We'll stop him. I swear."
Peter nodded, tearing off, when fresh footprints caught his notice—Sharon's and Addicus's, imprinted in the dirt. Jinx stooped, inspecting. "Recent," she said. "They're close."
A shot echoed through the stillness of the woods. Peter's heart froze, terror taking hold—Sharon, shot, bleeding.
"Sharon!" he cried out, seizing his gun, its single bullet a desperate chance, and took off in the direction of the report.
Chris and Jinx trailed behind, guns drawn, the cliff face rising before them. The woods appeared to close in, limbs grasping, as though protecting Addicus's evil. Peter's thoughts swirled—Sharon's courage, her love, her suffering. He'd stop this, regardless of the price.
Sharon stood at the cliff's edge, the river's spray moistening her face, her mind made up—jump or face Addicus. His gun glinted, his face a mix of fear and fury. "Sharon, no!" he yelled, stepping closer.