The Wild Ones

First place winner of the september crime competition. Peter and Mary, just two people out of the millions that dwell in an overpopulated, overly controlled city. Forced daily to escape arrest just for the crime of wanting to be free. When a city is dying, from pollution and drought, why fight to stay alive when everyone and everything wants you dead? The stubbornness of mankind is our greatest weakness, and our most powerful asset.

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7. Rescue Part 2

"Even gods can bleed," I wonder what he meant by that, Peter thought as he moved through the endless ventillation shafts, a horde of escapees following him closely behind. Is that what the Empyrean wanted him for? Was that his information? If so then he must have trusted me a great deal in sharing it with me, I just wish I knew what it meant, maybe Dias Hurcuul will know.

Elsewhere close by, but not close enough, Mary was being escorted out from her cell. Weak and broken she failed to stand under her own power, she instead dripped along the pulsating walls like oil floating above old shores, while armed guards circled her, not assisting, but watching, possibly with a smile on their faces, safely hidden behind black Perspex masks. Her clothes were stained and ripped, and hung from her; a skeleton draped in antique cloth. No thoughts filled her head, just the desire to live and witness the gray sun once more, and Peter. Peter.

Mary. His thoughts returned once more to his primary objective, and a sudden drive pushed him further and faster on his already battered legs, far surpassing the speed and strength of the older escaping fugitives. Where are you?

Red pulsating lights came up through grated sections of the tunnels at given intervals, allowing Peter to look down and discern where he was and how far he needed to go. "Sector 1-3" he read, at least his hunch was correct, it was always correct, he was heading the right way. Harder he pushed, propelling his body along the tube with all his force. Another grate opened up ahead of him, "Sector 1-2." Mary!

The final grate was in sight but by now his body was starting to give up on him, he could feel the lactic acids build up in his muscles as aerobic respiration was failing and anaerobic was kicking in, filling his arms and legs with painful toxins. He would have been sick if he had any food in his stomach, instead he retched and dry heaved as he made it to the grate. His vision was blurring, his sweat was cold and unrelenting, but he had no choice. He checked his weapon, removed the grate and held it up, then, in a single moment, his training became more dominant than ever before, and he fell to the floor beneath, clutching the grate with one hand and his weapon in the other.

He fired four bullets as he fell, almost in slow motion, each bullet hit its target, all four black-clad policemen fell to the ground, their helmets obliterated, concave, and they thought no more. Peter landed hard, breaking his arm holding the grate, the sound of the break even audible to Mary, who failed to even comprehend where she was anymore. Even in the state she was in, her mind broken, she still mange the recognize the writhing face of pain that had falling from the sky.

"Peter!" She managed to cough out from her dry lungs, her mind filing with a sense of hope that she had presumed was all but lost, taken away from her by her captors, and kept for themselves. She fell to the floor in her hurry to reach him, dragging herself across the red hued floor they met once more.

"I found you," he managed as he held her, her body shaking and his still rigid from the toxins within him. He knew he could not stay there, he knew they had to move, he knew this, but his body failed to act, failed to function. This cant be the end, he thought, it can't end like this.

Shouts from above became distorted by his exhaustion, shaded bodies fell from the ventilation shafts, helpful hands gripped the pair and rose them up, bringing them back to life, back to reality and towards the exit and the waiting hovercar outside.

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