I spent my day in 90 degree heat trying to sell my wares. Art festivals take a lot of energy. I’m tired and want to go to bed, but I still wanted to write something. It would be a shame to skip a day this early in the month.
So, here we go.
Hannah leapt the over the last few steps and nearly crashed into the stairwell door. The old woman hadn’t lost a step behind her.
Out in the hall, Hannah dashed by a security guard. He held a screaming, thrashing patient. Hannah didn’t look to see who the patient might be. She kept running. The end of the hall was a few feet away when something, someone, hurtled into her, knocking her to the floor.
She lashed out. Her lockpick made contact, and the hands on her let go. She didn’t look. She scrambled to her feet. She was determined to do what the old woman had told her to.
She recognized the voice. She dashed to a stop at the doorway and looked back. Nate, badly beaten and holding a hand to his arm, stared after her. “Hannah,” he said. “What the hell are you doing?”
Hannah stared back at him. “Nate?”
Too late, she saw the old woman.
The old woman came up behind him and kicked him in the back of his knee. Already injured and standing lopsided, he fell to the floor.
The knife glinted in the old woman’s hand.
“Wait!” Hannah shouted. “He’s my friend.”
The old woman paused. She looked down at the boy. He looked confused and he looked scared, but he made no move to get up or get away.
The old woman put her knife down. “You have stupid friends,” she said. “Now keep running.”