Page 4 of Hunt Me

An unknown man appeared out of nowhere, his expression one of horror. He wasn’t an enemy soldier, but one of the guests. “No, this can’t happen.”

“Whoever the fuck you are, get the hell back,” I instructed, leveling the gun in his direction. “Take him.”

“You don’t understand. That’s my daughter!” he yelled, struggling even though there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get free. Something didn’t feel right about this.

Two soldiers grabbed his arms, pulling him backward. There was a chance he was nothing but a ploy, a counterattack in the works.

I took a deep breath, calculating the time I had left as I scanned the entire area.

“Listen to me, Mikhail. We need to get the fuck out of here,” Sergio told me. “We can’t save them all.”

Pop! Pop!

Boom!

“Not if there’s a child. I won’t be a baby killer. Not today. Not any day.”

The crackle of explosives popped from all directions.

Another sound. The man was still yelling. “Shut him up!” I took a few steps toward the building housing the bodies, another flashcatching my attention. There she was. Fuck. The child giggled as she ran, her long hair floating behind her in a long, dark trail.

There was no time left, the imaginary ticking of the bombs echoing in my mind. She turned and stopped, her face registering horror that some big, bad wolf was hunting her in the darkness. Her little mouth twisted as she yelled for her mommy. I could see the tears glistening on her cheeks as I advanced.

“Mommy!”

With only one arm, I scooped her up, racing away from the buildings.

And with every step, I counted down the remaining seconds.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Boom!

The force pitched us forward by several feet, slamming us into the ground. Anguish tore through me like white-hot lightning, the horrible echo of the blast ringing in my ears. Yet I could hear her crying, her little body molded so tightly against mine.

All time seemed to stop, the air around me sucked into a vacuum. Suddenly, the pain vanished and I was cold. So cold.

Muffled voices called from behind, footsteps vibrating the earth.

Her crying continued.

She was alive. Thank God, the little girl was alive.

I rolled over, protecting every inch of the girl as the blast tossed scraps of building material and metal against my back. I refused to move, holding the little girl while she wailed and squirmed.

At least she was alive.

As the roar died down, soldiers rushed closer and I could hear the mother’s sharp cry of thank you.

“You saved her. You saved my little baby.”