Have I started to spark some interest
in my book Ten Days? I thought for this
blog, I’d provide a sample:
Sam carefully slid out from underneath the rubble and righted herself to
a crouching position. Stealthily, she then moved into the shadows of the landscape.
Her progress was painstakingly slow. She knew she not only had to stay out of
the line of sight of any patrols, but had to be cautious of her footing.
Stepping on a branch or tripping over something might draw unwelcome attention.
Sam reached Steward Street. She knew she needed to find shelter
somewhere. Staying in or around the Square, which seemed to be a hub of Enemy
activity, just wasn’t safe. The street was pockmarked with craters from the
explosion of various military ordnance used by both the defenders and the
invaders. She decided to cross the street, hoping to find somewhere to hide
until she could decide what to do next. Large and small chunks of concrete
littered the road. Sam felt exposed as she worked her way around the potholes
and concrete.
As
she progressed to the other side of the street, she couldn’t help but think how
things had changed in twenty-four hours. Last night, the Square had been a
center of culture and beauty. Tonight, the same area was ugly, in ruins, and a
place of indescribable terror. Where there had been gentleness, there was now
brutality. Music had given way to screams and torture.
Finally,
Sam made it across Steward Street, to the south side of the Annex. She was
grateful that the floodlights on the Annex and the streetlights weren’t
working. They would have made her an excellent target as she made her crossing.
The darkness provided her with additional cover.
It
appeared that the Annex was undamaged, but blown-up military equipment and
other rubble offered an effective screen between her and the Enemy on the
Square. A truck of some sort lay on its side, a black, hulking, twisted mass.
Scattered around the truck was debris from the looting: tossed papers from file
cabinets, broken furniture, and dead bodies.
The
bonfires from the Square provided uneven light as Sam carefully picked her way
through the mess; her goal was to make it to the east entrance of the Annex. It
was while working her way through the bodies that she felt something grab at
her ankle. It was a human hand, weakly tugging at her. She had to suppress a
scream.
Sam
had to quickly decide to either move rapidly from the spot or investigate. She
had no way of knowing if the hand belonged to a civilian, a defending soldier,
or the Enemy. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she chose to investigate.
Bending down in the dim, flickering light, she saw a young soldier lying on his
back, eyes fixed on her, blood matting his hair and covering his uniform.
In
a weak voice, he pleaded, “Don’t…don’t let…them…take me…alive.” His breathing
was labored. What was Sam to do? She couldn’t see herself leaving him, but also
couldn’t possibly grant him his wish.
At
the point of exhaustion and in pain herself, she lowered herself to sit next to
him, gently couching his head and shoulders in her lap. He wheezed, breath now
coming in short, uneven gasps. Sam was certain he could only have but a few
minutes more, at best.
“Thank…you,”
was all he could manage to say.
“What’s
your name, soldier?”
“Pri…pri…private…Nic…Nic
Longacre. Tell…my…parents…I...wasn’t captured…” He let out a gasp and was gone.
There
was no time to mourn the young patriot, or even process what had happened. Sam
would have to deal with it later. She eased his head to the ground, wiped dirt
from his face and tears from her eyes. Getting up, she continued her movement
along the south wall of the Annex.
She
was almost to the intersection when she heard the sounds of at least two sets
of hobnailed boots hitting the pavement. The sound of the boots had almost been
muffled by the noise coming from the Square, but apparently her senses were
heightened by the stark fear she was experiencing.
Quickly
she ducked behind some rubble, hoping her pounding heart and labored breathing
wouldn’t give her away. Two Enemy soldiers dressed in their black combat
uniforms stopped at the corner. They had some sort of rifles slung over their
backs. One offered the other a cigarette and they both lit up. After a brief
conversation Sam couldn’t hear clearly, they turned left on Steward Street,
away from her hiding place.
After
waiting a couple of minutes to make sure the men would not double back, Sam
moved to the street corner. She scanned the side street for Enemy troops and saw
some of them pillaging a house a couple of blocks away. The noise from the
Square and the ranting of these men as they fought over some spoils covered her
footfalls as she ran to the side entrance. The entire time, she kept saying to
herself, “Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, please be unlocked.”
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