Fiction Friday #136
A text message pops up on your character’s phone in the middle of the night. It reads “you have 30 days left to live. Use them wisely.”
Gunfire cracked and popped throughout the warehouse, pinging off the empty walls. Dust explosions puffed up intermittently, obscuring Jack’s view, and his breathing, and he rolled behind a large crate, flicking the safety of his gun back on.
Silence. A bird cawed and took off in a kerfuffle at the other end of the building, but then nothing. Jack took a deep breath, quietly letting it out through between clenched teeth. There was movement from the others, the ones following him. He could hear their shuffling, hear them reloading their guns. But he was too intent on following the path of the bird, trying to find the quickest, and quietest way out.
The crates packed up just to his left reached nearly to the ceiling, and then just above that, he could leverage himself up onto the gangway that ran across the roofline. If he could up there without them noticing him, then he could follow the gangway all the way across to the manhole and out through the roof, and they wouldn’t even know he’d disappeared.
Holstering his gun, Jack tried to judge the height of the first crate. Once he was on top of that one, the rest would be easy, but this first crate was the challenge.
“Beep beep” Jack’s mobile phone message tone reverberated throughout the empty building.
“Shit!” Jack pulled out his gun again, flicking the safety as a volley of shots were directed towards him. Shards of wood, breaking off from the crates protecting him, were suddenly just as dangerous as the bullets. Shading his face with his forearm, Jack flinched as a splinter embedded itself in his thigh, and he lunged for the safety of another crate.
Releasing the empty clip, and reloading another one, Jack pulled out his phone. Tapping the screen, he pulled up the message.
“You have 30 days to live. Use it wisely.” Jack scrolled down to check the sender, but he didn’t recognise the number.
“Fuck, 30 days? I’ll be lucky if I get through today,” he whispered to himself. Quickly glancing around the corner of the crate to target the others, Jack shoved his phone back in his pocket. He glanced over at the crate which was the first step to his escape. If he could get across to it, he could still get out of here. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Jack stood up, firing, and ran towards the crate. Taking a giant leap, Jack grasped the top of the crate and swung himself up, flattening himself against the top as the barrage of machine gun fire was again aimed towards him. Scrambling around towards the wall, Jack hurriedly started to climb, keeping the gangway clearly in his sight.
Reaching the gangway, still with gunfire following him, he flung himself up and over. Only metres away from the manhole leading to the roof, Jack stood to his full height, and sprinted, flinching away from each bullet that grazed past him, but keeping his goal in mind. Risking a quick glance behind him, he noticed the others beginning the ascent up the crates, following his own escape route. Reaching the manhole, Jack turned and fired several shots at his attackers, slowing them down as they ducked for cover. Taking one last look, and memorising several of his attackers faces, Jack reached up, grasping the edges of the manhole. Pulling himself up through it, he took a gulp of fresh breath, before vanishing up onto the roof, and out into the night.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“What the hell do you mean, you can’t track it? It shows the bloody number?” Jack threw his hands up in the air, furious.
“Jack, calm down. They’re working on it, it’s just going to take a bit of time.” Jack’s superior, Robert Lampole, sat down at his desk, placing his hands tightly across his stomach. His heart was pumping away madly, the tension in the room was palpable, and Robert was beginning to get hot. He flicked on the little desk fan, and aimed it directly at his face.
“Robert, this is ridiculous. That text message nearly got me killed, only to tell me that that’s exactly what is going to happen in 30 days time. After the last week, I can’t deal with anymore. I’ve been shot at, arrested, blown up – twice – had my car rammed from every direction, my boat was sunk and my motorbike got run over. I’ve had a train come off it’s tracks at me, I’ve had a helicopter fall out of the sky on me, and yesterday morning the milk I put into my coffee burnt all the way through not only the bottom of the mug, but also my benchtop.”
“When was the use-by date of the milk?” Robert asked.
Jack narrowed his eyes at his boss. “The milk wasn’t off, it was full of acid.”
Robert sighed. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hand tiredly across his face.
“Jack, I’m sorry. I know it’s been a tough week, but we’ve got everyone working on it. We will find out who’s after you soon enough.”
“Robert, I know you guys are working on it. But at the moment, soon enough isn’t going to be good enough. My life is on the line, here, and I’m getting tired of having to sleep with my gun underneath my pillow. I nearly shot the dog last night, coz she rolled over into me. I need to get away.”
“Jack. I can understand that you’re a little stressed out right now. But we can’t run the risk of having you out of contact. If something happens, and we can’t get hold of you, well…”
“I think that’s Jack’s point, Robert,” Rebecca Truscott was standing at the entrance of Robert’s office.
Rebecca Truscott was altogether the most attractive woman on the face of the earth. Today, she was wearing blood red stilettos, unnecessarily extending her already very long legs. Her black pin stripe suit was elegantly cut to the current fashion, and aforementioned legs disappeared seductively underneath the very short skirt. Her crisp white blouse was buttoned to ensure enough cleavage was showing, and the white pearls she wore around her neck dangled enticingly between her breasts.
“Rebecca,” Robert slowly stood up to shake hands with the striking woman at his door. “What brings you down here?”
“T.O.T sent me down. Apparently there’s an issue with a text message?” Rebecca looked across at Jack, before turning her full attention to Robert. Striding to the middle of the room, Rebecca sat down on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs at the ankles.
“T.O.T? I don’t think that’s really necessary, Rebecca.” Robert shut the office door and went back to his seat. Having to look up at Rebecca was far easier on his heart than having to look down at her. “We’ve got it under control.”
Rebecca cocked her head towards Robert, and leaned forward, just enough to set the pearls to swinging. “It doesn’t really matter what you think, Robert,” she replied, her voice dripping with honey. “The directors sent me down here to sort it out. Jack’s safety is of utmost importance. Until we can determine exactly how to remove the chip in his brain, we can’t afford to let anything happen to him.” She turned to Jack, her long blonde hair floating after her. Standing up, she grasped Jack’s chin in her fingertips, and looked deep into his eyes.
“If Jack needs a holiday, then a holiday Jack will have.” Rebecca smiled at him and turned back to Robert. “We’ve already got it under control.” She dropped a folder onto Robert’s desk, Jack’s name clearly printed across the front of it. She winked at Jack, and then turned to leave. At the door, though, she turned back. “Oh, and Robert, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Robert sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Jack slumped down in the chair in the corner of the room. He looked across at Robert and laughed.
“So, boss, where am I going?”