Cold Hearted -- Chapter 1

'Investigate the strange goings-on in the mountains,' they said. 'It'll be an adventure,' they said. 'Fun and exciting, and sure to get you a promotion!' They said.

I'll wring their necks when--no, if--I make it back. Even if I don't, I'll just settle for haunting them to and beyond their graves.

Another shot from a 45 cal. revolver lets out a deafening crack that pierces the cold night air. My back slams against the sheet metal wall of the dilapidated shack, dirt and pebbles spraying inches from my feet as the bullet slams into the ground.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" The low, menacing rumble of this maniacal woman's voice floats to my ears and sends shivers down my spine. I close my eyes, gripping the old pistol in my left hand tightly, trying not to think about the single bullet left in the chamber.

Boots crunch on gravel around the corner, crickets screeching their woes to the stars by the river that twisted through the valley thirty yards below the cliff this little settlement rested on. Jaysus, I hope I didn't panic and fall down the damned thing. I'd break my neck for certain; that river wasn't exactly known for being deep.

A few feet away from my not-very-impressive hiding place, the crunching of pebbles stops without much warning, and I hold my breath halfway through inhaling. Trying not to choke on the awkward mouthful of air, I swallow, eyes wide when I hear the hissing, dark laugh escape like a purr from her throat. The hammer of a gun is pulled back with a click, rotating the revolving chamber in such a terrifying way, my knees weaken.

I feel the tension spike in the air just before the gravel seems to screech as she lunges forward, diving around the corner. My legs are already moving, though, my lungs burning as I tear down the pathway towards the next closest shack. One shot cracks, and then another, a whistling sound popping and crackling by my right ear as a blurry spec passes by my head. The second shot hits the dirt between my legs, skimming the very edge of my black boots. I let out a scream, struggling to keep from stumbling. Gripping the pistol tightly in one hand, I grab the corner of a building made of splintered wood, rusty nails and sheet metal, and tattered canvas, throwing my body weight around the corner as another shot rings out.

She laughs again, obviously enjoying the game--for that's all it was to her, I could tell. She could've killed me ten minutes ago, the very second she saw me, but she's choosing not to--as she flips open the revolving chamber, shaking the used bullets to the ground. The ominous click, click, click of new bullets being loaded makes my stomach churn as make a mad dash for the log cabin nine yards to the left of this rickety old building. Leaping through a window, arms shielding my face as I shatter the glass window, I roll to the floor of the house painfully. Groaning, pushing my hands beneath me to lift myself off the ground, I check once more that the safety of the gun is on. It'd be just my luck that I survive this psychopath only to accidentally shoot myself.

Shuffling through the darkness of the room, I make my way to what appears to be another window covered by a sheet, pushing the fabric aside and flicking the latch up. Forcing the window open as quietly as I can--she doesn't know what side I'll exit out of, since there's probably covered windows on the other side as well--I slip over the rim of the window frame and hit the ground a bit too loudly. Wincing, I step swiftly and silently over the gravel, my hands finding the rough bark of a tree that rested between the cabin and the cave entrance to the north. What were they mining, exactly?

I press my back hard up against the wood of the tree, slowing my breathing and letting my eyes fall closed as I struggled to remember where I'd gone. The settlement was massive--a good two-hundred acres larger than the hundred-and-thirty we'd originally thought it was. I'd gotten maybe five acres in before she spotted me--well, in truth, she'd likely been following me for quite some time, but only then made her presence known--and drove me away from the place where I'd entered.

From there, I'd run continuously for ten minutes, only stopping to find cover from her bullets and wait for her to reload. She seemed to reload her gun loudly, using only the silver and copper-lined revolver though I had seen she carried at least seven other guns. I dreaded to think of what sort of person could find joy in a hunt such as this. And her eyes... dear Dea, I sincerely hope it was only my eyes playing tricks on me, but I swear the whites of her eyes had been black pits, the irises a vivid, glowing yellow, no pupils to be found till she lifted her gun to aim, where the blacks of the pupils seemed to consume her eyes altogether. No, I had to be imagining it in my obvious and understandable state of panic. Yeah. That sounds about right.

Mentally imagining the blurry landscape I'd travelled through, I decide it'd be nigh impossible to trace my steps and escape the way I came. Maybe she'd even ordered the wooden pike and barbed wire fence gate to be closed off. I needed to find a part of the wall closest to where I was now, scale it somehow, and make my way around the encampment from the outside. She wouldn't follow me out of her territory... right? She must be only a pawn. There was no way someone so apparently insane would be allowed by the citizens of this place--if there were any, as I had yet to see anyone--to lead. Right?

I suddenly become aware of the complete and utter lack of sound and freeze. Where did the crickets go? And I know I'd heard her laughing in the distance a few moments ago, the back of my mind shuddering at the sound.

Arms wrap around the tree, slender and surprisingly strong hands clasping about my waist, pulling me into the sandpaper bark. I scream as she chuckles--it's almost a seductive sort of sound, and I nearly vomit with fear--whispering, "Found you,"

Panic hurdles my vision into a blinding, flashing white, my stomach rolling heavily as I let my body become deadweight, trying to break her grip. She only laughs, a metallic scraping sound echoing from the joints of her fingers as she clenches tighter into my waist. I try to grab her hands and pry them off of me, squirming and kicking and, to be perfectly honest, blubbering when I can't get loose. "Please," I plead frantically, but she only snorts, her hands shifting as she releases me, only to whirl around the tree and snatch up my arms as I fall forwards in a desperate attempt to run. I kick her, flipping the safety off on my pistol as I aim it, stumbling backwards.

Oh, Dea, her eyes. Her bloody eyes! They're glowing such a vivid yellow, a pulsing illumination that goes completely dark as she lifts her revolver. She smiles, tanned face broken by a wicked white-toothed smile, metal designs melted into her teeth.

I pull the trigger as a horrified shriek escapes my gaping mouth, eyes shutting tightly as the kick of the gun throws the gun back into my face. I should've gripped the gun tighter... I should've stiffened my arms. Blood pours from my nose, a sharp pain piercing into my skull as my face throbs. I drop the useless weapon ad turn to run as blood spreads like a blooming flower over her dusty leather coat. I'd hit her shoulder, but she'd barely taken a step back, only grinning as she pulls the hammer back and tightens her grip on the trigger.

I look over my shoulder just as it fires, the black of her pupils becoming so large that it melds with the black of her sclera before quickly reducing itself into nothing but glowing yellow.

The bullet digs painfully into my left side and I fall forward, rolling several times as I scream, gripping my side. My brain feels the tilt in the landscape before my body registers it, and then I'm slipping, sliding, fingers scrabbling for purchase as gravity tugs me down the slope towards the cliff edge just to the right of the cave entrance.

My feet go over first, my eyes latching onto her horrified face as she drops her gun, lunging forward with her hand outstretched. "No!" She shouts, diving for me, but then my torso is over the edge and my hands fail to grip the ledge like my mind demanded. I see her short, tangled brown hair and panic-stricken face appear over the edge, becoming smaller and smaller as that horrible tugging sensation in my stomach pulls at me. I fall much too quickly, the rush of the wind taking my breath away as my body tilts midair so that I can see the water of the river rushing up to greet me.

I think I hear her shouting orders to someone--something about horses and medical kits--which makes little to no sense to me, even as I plummet. Why she couldn’t start caring about my health and safety before she shot me right off a cliff was a mystery I would ponder over in the afterlife bitterly.

It's my last thought as I twist my body, straightening my legs and crossing my arms over my chest as my lanky form slams into the surface of the water.