Splattered-Out, Ch. 1, pt. 2
He looked into the face of the homeless man. It was a gritty, unshaven face. He didn't trust him. Callus clenched his teeth and leaned in closely. He began to speak:
"Listen," he began, and just then -- a sharp crack, followed instantaneously by the shrill zing of a sniper's bullet whipping past, which exploded in the dust a few feet away.
The quick firing of synapses, the violent injection of adrenaline into his bloodstream -- a nanosecond of biology, and Callus was already in the air, springing instinctually towards cover, a pile of garbage on the sidewalk, throwing his body over the trash heap and landing with a ridiculously loud clatter on a pile of broken bottles, which attracted the attention of a nearby pack of feral dogs.
Another crack, this time from a different angle, the rifle's brittle noise left echoing against the street's crumbling concrete husks. A bullet slammed into a bottle mere inches from Callus's prone body, kicking pulverized glass into his face. An instant of trajectory calculation equated itself in Callus's mind, and, with alarming speed, he was up again, having pushed himself off the ground with such force that, as he rose to his feet, he grabbed his sidearm, executed a 180-degree turn, and triggered a well-targeted shot toward a silhouetted figure on a nearby roofline. A half-second for Callus's bullet to traverse the distance, and the figure, about 100 yards away, fell twisting backwards, the shot having taken off his right shoulder in an explosion of blood and tissue. In that momentary timespan, Callus was already running at full speed toward an adjacent alleyway, as another shot from the first sniper blasted the wall behind him.
All of this within the span of a few seconds.
Callus turned sharply into the darkened passageway and hurtled through the rotted garbage and strewn muck, cans clattering in his wake, his feet splashing through puddles of foul and unknown substance, and, as he looked towards the alley's exit, he saw his path obstructed by the pack of wild dogs he had roused moments earlier -- snarling, eyes glowing in the darkness. He knew that death lay behind him, and his nameless attackers would be charging into the passage at any second. His only hope was through these sinewy, rabies-infected beasts...
"Listen," he began, and just then -- a sharp crack, followed instantaneously by the shrill zing of a sniper's bullet whipping past, which exploded in the dust a few feet away.
The quick firing of synapses, the violent injection of adrenaline into his bloodstream -- a nanosecond of biology, and Callus was already in the air, springing instinctually towards cover, a pile of garbage on the sidewalk, throwing his body over the trash heap and landing with a ridiculously loud clatter on a pile of broken bottles, which attracted the attention of a nearby pack of feral dogs.
Another crack, this time from a different angle, the rifle's brittle noise left echoing against the street's crumbling concrete husks. A bullet slammed into a bottle mere inches from Callus's prone body, kicking pulverized glass into his face. An instant of trajectory calculation equated itself in Callus's mind, and, with alarming speed, he was up again, having pushed himself off the ground with such force that, as he rose to his feet, he grabbed his sidearm, executed a 180-degree turn, and triggered a well-targeted shot toward a silhouetted figure on a nearby roofline. A half-second for Callus's bullet to traverse the distance, and the figure, about 100 yards away, fell twisting backwards, the shot having taken off his right shoulder in an explosion of blood and tissue. In that momentary timespan, Callus was already running at full speed toward an adjacent alleyway, as another shot from the first sniper blasted the wall behind him.
All of this within the span of a few seconds.
Callus turned sharply into the darkened passageway and hurtled through the rotted garbage and strewn muck, cans clattering in his wake, his feet splashing through puddles of foul and unknown substance, and, as he looked towards the alley's exit, he saw his path obstructed by the pack of wild dogs he had roused moments earlier -- snarling, eyes glowing in the darkness. He knew that death lay behind him, and his nameless attackers would be charging into the passage at any second. His only hope was through these sinewy, rabies-infected beasts...
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posted by Jeweled Accumulation at 5:40 PM
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