Young Guns: Escape Part 1

“Do you see him?” Crosshair heard, but her attention was focused on the image through the scope. The butt of the rifle rested firmly in the crevice between her underarm and breast. She gripped the trigger lightly as she focused on the target, ready to take the shot if need be. She had her shoulder-length, black hair in a tight ponytail to eliminate rouge strands from falling in front of her aquamarine eyes.

In the dark of night, her black leotard seemed to make her ‘invisible’ to unsuspecting travelers. And in the woods of the suburban and homey Rightdale, invisibility was exactly what Crosshair needed. The belt hung loose enough that she wasn’t troubled by the weight of the equipment, but tight enough that if unlatched, she would immediately know.

“I’ve got him.” She responded with a pinch of irritation in her voice. It might have been because she enjoyed performing her missions solo, or because her concentration was interrupted. She had the muzzle pointed to the second story window of the russet house.

“I know what you’re thinking.” The voice behind her was warm, but distant all the while. He seemed to be playing toward her sentimental side.

“That he’s not worth our time?” She continued to frown through the scope, a figure in her sights; a boy, in fact. From what she saw, he was her age, and quite innocent at that, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“The change will begin very soon. You know as well as I do that we need to be ready.” The voice drifted into her ears, calm and soothing, but it didn’t matter.

“We don’t need another one getting in the way.” Crosshair put a bit of pressure on the trigger, the boy would never know what hit him. Then, as she was about to press the trigger, a gloved hand lightly gripped her arm, pulling it and the rifle down. The seventeen year-old let her frown sink into a scowl as she turned her gaze to her hooded accomplice. Well, ‘accomplice’ was completely inaccurate. The six-foot shadow was more of a father to her than she could ever say about her own father… that is if she knew her real father.

“Don’t let uncertainty cloud your mind. He will have a role to play just like you and I.” His auburn eyes reached into hers, looking to see her thoughts; her dreams. A relaxing wave of calm washed over her, and she knew exactly what he was doing. The girl immediately turned away, kneeling toward her small duffle bag.

“Don’t.” She began to disassemble the rifle, securing the pieces in the bag. Crosshair blushed as her thoughts went to what he might have seen.

“Your nightmares-“The concern in his voice rose. She felt him right behind her now, his piercing eyes on her back.

“They’re fine, Midnight.” Zipping the bag, she slung it over her shoulder. Looking back toward the house, the distance became apparent without the scope, but the boy’s silhouette remained in the window, “Besides, you wanted to show him to me. I saw him. Can we go?”

The hood of Midnight’s tattered trench coat came down just above his eyes, untied to show his white dress shirt and black, leather pants. His pallid skin sagged just a little over his cheekbones, and deep creases led away from his quiet eyes. He slowly waved his arm toward the house, “You will see. He will blossom from the change, and you will see.”

Crosshair turned, gripped the strap of the duffle bag. She scoffed as she ventured deeper into the woods, her feet crushing the dead foliage, “Whatever, but if gets out of control, I’ll kill him myself.”

Given her past, Midnight couldn’t blame her for being so jaded, but he also couldn’t help but cringe at her disconnected nature. Watching her disappear into the black, he would catch up with her later. At the moment, he shifted his gaze back to the house. The light of the bedroom was off, joining the rest of the house in a quiet slumber. The man let a tiny smirk grace his mug, and then drifted into the night along with his hopes for what was to come.

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Angel sat in Algebra class counting the minutes until class was over. He’d spent the last forty-five minutes lost in his head. So much to comprehend; so much to decipher, but how could he? There wasn’t enough information to go on.

Last night was even more vivid; the dream he had trumped the one he had last week, but what did it all mean? As he doodled in his notebook, he recalled a girl. He had to run down a long corridor filled with people that ran in the opposite direction. At the end of his path were two double doors. When he reached then, the doors opened and there she was. She stared at him for a moment, raising her arm. In her hand was a pistol, and it pointed at him as he looked down the barrel. Unfortunately, that is when he awoke for school in the morning.

He wasn’t so sure that it was nothing anymore. He discussed the dreams with his father, but they always came to the conclusion that he was just stressed because he was graduating soon. Angel had no reason to doubt his dad, but there was something about the dreams that felt so real.

The bell signaled the end of the day. He snapped his notebook shut and rose from his desk with three things on his agenda; get some things from his locker, grab his bike, and go home. The same things happened every day and the routine was simple. Angel navigated the halls, paddling through a river of students who spoke of Supernatural and Glee.

He stopped in front of his locker, entering the combination, but as he entered the last number, a laugh caught his attention. He turned to see Eaton. He was a scrawny sophomore that just moved into town from somewhere in Oklahoma; that was what Angel had heard, anyway. Eaton was small for his age and quite standoffish. Angel tried to talk to him once or twice before, but the conversations never led anywhere. He was sure the kid was nice, but how could he know for sure?

Four taller, thicker boys cornered Eaton at his locker. They all sported matching jackets that showed the school mascot, and a baseball bat. The one that did the most talking went by the name of Derek Aster. Angel felt a tinge of irritation every time he saw the captain of the baseball team because he always seemed to want trouble where it wasn’t warranted.

Angel couldn’t quite hear what they were saying because of the passing crowd, but he could tell by Eaton’s sunken posture that they couldn’t possibly be exchanging witty banter. It was an all-too familiar sight; the bigger kids picking on the shy, smaller. Angel remembered how he was picked on, sharing Eaton’s culprit. Derek was his worse nightmare in elementary school until he fought back, that is.

He remembered those many years ago, how Derek pushed him around on the playground. Angel also recalled being fed up with the crap, and hurled a basketball directly into Derek’s nose. The thought was reassuring as he strolled over to the group.

“Hey Eaton.” Angel cleared his throat as he approached. Seeing the four of them turn, he immediately regretted coming over, but he couldn’t let Eaton be tortured. Maybe if he had a friend looking out for him, he’d be better off, “You wanna do something? I hear they’re playing a new horror movie downtown.”

Derek turned to face him, but scoffed as they made eye contact, “Get out of here, man.”

Eaton slowed raised his head and an eyebrow, cautiously stepping forward; his eyes still low. The boy edged between the jocks, Angel shot a smirk to them, mainly Derek. As he turned to go, he felt a hand grip his arm and pull him a bit. If anything, he never looked for a fight, but if Derek were asking for it again, he’d have to, “Watch yourself, Angel.”

Angel’s eyes didn’t falter as they pierced into Derek’s, but he felt a shock when they made contact. It seemed to course through his body like a static shock. As Angel pulled away, his stomach twisted into a knot. What the hell just happened?

He walked with Eaton toward the main entrance, maneuvering through the sea of obnoxious students until they were finally out. Angel looked back to the double doors of the brick building to see if Derek and his cronies followed, but still felt the sickness in his stomach. He still wasn’t sure what it was, but it might have something to do with today’s lunch choice. The pizza and fries probably didn’t go together well, and his stomach was trying to tell him about it, “Thank you.”

He turned his attention to Eaton, or at least that’s who he thought was talking. Eaton’s voice was so low and mousy. It was a wonder Angel heard anything at all, but still, it was nice to hear him speak. He smiled, “No problem. Derek is a bit of a character. It’s like he has to pee on everything- new kids included.”

“Yeah.” Eaton’s expression didn’t shift from the downtrodden one he sported at the moment. A silence hung between them, and Angel didn’t want to be rude, but there was something that bothered him about the way Eaton stared. It wasn’t a spacey look, but one of study, as if he was looking into Angel’s soul for something specific. He wasn’t sure what the boy was about, but he immediately became uncomfortable. He needed to get home anyway.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” He turned away, “Maybe we can hang out sometime.”

Halfway down the street, Angel turned to see if Eaton was still there. He hated the fact that his gut feeling was correct, and that the skinny boy stood their looking in his direction. Angel waved, but didn’t think it was smart to linger. The new kid might not have been very talkative, but his strangeness spoke paragraphs about him.

“Wow.” Angel said as he quickened his pace, anxious to get home.

Unlocking the front door to, Angel called out, “Dad?’

To be continued... Thanks for reading!