Subject:  CHAPTER 3 |
Author:
Kitkat
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Date Posted: 05:43:09 12/05/01 Wed
In reply to:
Kitkat
's message, ""Enemy at the Gates" - short repost from "Come to Me, My Love"" on 11:47:12 12/02/01 Sun
Chapter 3
Shades of darkness toy with her senses until the darkness is complete. She reaches out in a blind and hollow effort to fend off the assault of unchecked nature as she trespasses across the forest floor. Thorny vines tear mercilessly at her legs, seeming to pull her toward some unforeseen oblivion, and she fights to banish nightmare images implanted from watching too many late-night monster flicks. A loud rustling on her right freezes her progress and reminds her that she is not alone in the darkness.
Standing rigid, she visualizes herself surrounded by dozens of nocturnal eyes, smug in their good fortune at finding such helpless prey. She feels the bile rising in her throat as she tries to shrink and become as invisible as her unseen adversaries. Her fear is now a paralyzing death ray, shot from the gun that her over-active imagination clutches to defend itself in the darkness. She realizes that her stillness has transformed itself from a pre-caution into a living state-of-being. Nikita stands frozen, unable to move.
Her heightened senses pick up a myriad of forest sounds and smells. One sound, however, distinguishes itself from all of the rest. Her paralysis forgotten she turns her head in an effort to verify a sound that suspiciously resembles human laughter.
Before she can make any further movement, a faint buzzing speeds past her head and explodes somewhere in the distant trees.
“Don’t move,” he commands and the underbrush rustles and breaks as he walks toward her.
Michael moves toward Nikita unerringly in the darkness, sure-footed and self-assured with his infrared night goggles. She hears him and stands unmoving, knowing that his bullet will find her instantly if she attempts to flee. She almost smiles at the complete irony of the situation. If he only knew how glad she is to be forced to go back to the sanctuary of the log cabin. Even facing his inevitable wrath and its consequences are preferable to traversing these dark, creature-filled woods.
Michael reaches her quickly. Taking her arm, he guides her out of the woods and into the moonlit clearing around the cabin. They walk without speaking, and her first feelings of immense relief at being rescued, are beginning to fade. Nikita can’t help wondering what will happen next. Numerous possibilities crowd themselves into her mind, each one more appalling than the last. Will she be drugged? Will she be shot? Will she be bound like a prisoner? Will she be disciplined like a recalcitrant slave? How will he punish her after his warning?
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