Prologue to my book “The Hunt”!!!!

Sunday, July 1,Paris, Texas, 12am

I hear the explosion from my room. Stumbling out of bed, I wander down the hall. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I freeze.

Fire.

The whole main floor is engulfed in flames. What have I done to deserve this? I run to the fire escape and race outside. All of a sudden, there are bullets. Everywhere I look I see muzzle flashes. Bullets fly by my head. One nicks my ear and I gasp. It didn’t so much as hurt than it did surprise me. I will my legs to go faster, even though I am already going so fast I feel as though I am flying. I hit the woods, out of breath. Stopping, I lean on a tree. While I am catching my breath, I ponder on the situation. Have I made someone mad? No. Do I owe anyone money? No. So, who is doing this? I subconsciously hear another gun go off.

Pop!

I cry out. Pain surges through my body. I feel something warm running down my arm. I swallow. I’m aghast to look at what it is, because I’m positive I already know. However, I need to see how bad it is. Assess the damage. Might as well get it over with. Cautiously, I turn to my left. Blood is pouring from my shoulder. My arm is covered in it, my shirt stained red.

Oh. My. God.

I hear footsteps behind me. Wiping tears from my eyes, I start running. I mentally sketch out the area. These woods lead out to the main road. A back road. My house is pretty well hidden, seeing as I am not very social. Therefore, considering I have no neighbors, and no one comes down this road, it is safe to say I’m going to die.

When I reach the road, I lean over the bushes and throw up. Weird thing is, I didn’t eat anything yesterday or today yet, so I don’t know what I had to give up. As I’m standing up, an arm goes around my neck, a gun pressed to my temple.

I freeze.

“I don’t want to kill you. However, if you try to fight me or don’t cooperate, then I will shoot you in the head.” Says a rough, low voice. Ok then. I can’t die. I’m only twenty three. And, I haven’t made it to Disney World yet. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.

“So. Quick question: do you consider yourself a good guy?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Lemme set you straight. ’Cause if you were a good guy, you wouldn’t have a freaking gun against a woman's head without a good reason. And, newsflash, there is never a good reason to kill someone.”

“But we do have a good reason.”

“Oh, and what would that be? Is it because I broke her best friend’s other friend’s heart in highschool? Huh? Is it because I’m prettier than your girlfriend? Tell me, big boy, what’s your good reason to kill someone? What is it?”

“You have a rare blood type. If you donated a pint of your blood, you’d get ten million dollars. We are runnin’ low on cash, and our business is going to fail. So, we need your blood.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me to donate?” He scoffs.

“You’d want the money for yourself.”

“If you know so much about me, you ought to know I’m not failing in life as you seemingly are. I’m a multi-billionaire. Heck, I could have given you ten million, plus a pint of blood. But, no, you and your snotty crew came here, blew up my house, and now you’re holding a gun to my head.”

“Are you mental?”

“No, the psychological part of me is perfectly fine. And, you’re not getting squat from me, ya bonehead.”

“Always heard rich girls were b-”

“Watch your profanity!”

“Whatever. We’ll just take it by force.”

“Ha! Good luck.” He’s taken aback by my bluntness. Temporarily weakened, I reach up and snap the wrist with the gun, the satisfying crunch of the bone audible. Then, I throw the guy my shoulder. He looks at me, his mouth agape, his face pale. I reach down and take the .45 from his hand.

“Thanks,” I say and walk away. I bite back my tears. Gotta play it tough. Just until he’s out of hearing range. I used my left arm to pull him over me and slam him on the ground. Fresh blood flows from the wound. Pain sears through my body. I walk down the road, trying to figure out what to do next. It would be nice if I knew how many assassins were left. My self-defense classes are really coming in handy. I’ll have to thank Brenda, my trainer. If I live long enough, that is...

I see movement from the corner of my eye and raise my arm to deflect the impact of a fist slamming against my face. Turning, I see a man. He’s about 5 foot 9 inches tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He’s mixed. American-hispanic. He looks like a mirror image of the other guy, who remains on the side of the road. I throw a punch meant to catch his jaw, but his hand closes around my fist. Then, he kicks me in the abdomen and I fall on my back. I get up, only to get punched in the face, my nose breaking. Rage takes over. I throw a lightning quick combo; jab, left hook, right cross, uppercut. He crumples to the ground, but I know he’s just unconscious. I fish his phone from his pocket and hide in the weeds. I dial 9-1-1, and listen to it ring. Come on. Hurry up! On the third ring, a woman picks up.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“Hi. I am being attacked. I need an ambulance and a lot of cops. I don’t know how many there are. They blew up my house. They shot me. Now, there’s a crazy man beating the crap outta me.”

“Are you in immediate danger?”

“No, it’s alright. No danger at all. Just a bunch of people with bombs and guns. Nothing to worry about. WHAT DO YOU THINK?! Of course I’m in immediate danger!”

“Ok, ma’am. I need you to calm down. Where are you?”

“I’m on wild-” My breath catches.

“Ma’am?”

“Hel-” He tightens his hold and I feel myself getting weak.

“We’re sending someone now.” And she hangs up.

“There won’t be any need for an ambulance or cops, ’cause you’ll be dead by the time they get here.” I reach up and pull at his arm. I need air. I kick backwards and he groans. I’m not a fan of cheap shots, but you gotta do what you gotta do. His arm loosens slightly and I take my elbow and swing it as hard as I can. My elbow connects with his jaw. I wiggle out of his grip. When I turn to face him, I’m greeted with his fist slamming into my temple. My vision goes black around the edges. Then, I’m falling. I hit the concrete and pain stabs my body like knives. He stands over me, grinning like the devil he is. Not a pretty sight. Blood fills his mouth, staining his teeth a crimson red.

“Thought you could get away that easy? Well, you’re not going anywhere. Ever.” Blood dribbles from his mouth and lands on me. His fists rain down on me, hitting every square inch of my body.

The gun.

I struggle, but finally get the .45 from my boot and pull the trigger. The sound is deafening. He falls, his brain, skull and blood splattering onto my body. I relax and try to breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The sirens blare, the lights flash. My vision is getting blurry as blood pours from every hole on my face.