Template:Featured Articles/44-2018
 Emma wanted so much, so much, not to ever get up again, to lie there and embrace the pain, but she heard the guard behind her, turning on his heel, the slight ragged limp of where she’d smashed into his Achilles' tendon and she forced herself upwards and threw herself forward, catching the leg he was limping on with her outstretched hand and yanking backwards, forcing him to stumble and fall onto his knees. She followed him down, one arm locked around his neck, the other smashing her fist down as hard as she could into his head, aiming at his temple, a steady rain of blows even as he crawled forward, carrying her as he lurched towards the gun. In purest desperation, Emma dragged her arm tighter around his throat, trying to slow him, stop him, anything, but he was a tank, driven on by his own desperation. He sprawled forwards at the end, throwing himself forwards against her arm as he reached out and grasped the gun. He tried turning beneath Emma, wriggling like an eel to try and face her, but she took the opportunity to set her arm tighter, draw it more firmly against his windpipe, pulling as hard as she could. He began to turn purple, slowing, his other hand clutching at Emma’s arm, trying to get his breath. It was his last burst of strength that allowed him to flip over and slam himself down, smashing Emma’s back against the floor. She refused to let go, but he raced again, smashed down again with his considerable body weight and she felt her grip starting to loosen. He rose on one elbow again, a ragged gasp of air inwards and Emma braced herself for the next impact. She thought she was ready but when it came, it rattled her teeth inside her skull and her arm loosened further. She let her arm fall away, partially stunned and he staggered upwards, turning to face her, the gun swinging around and with all the strength left in her Emma struck out with her heel, driving it into the side of the knee she had attacked so many times. With a scream, the guard crumpled sideways, the gun falling from his grasp as he clutched at his knee. With the last strength left in her, Emma rose to one knee and threw herself forwards, grasping the gun, rolling, turning and firing almost in one movement, firing again and again even as the guard fell and breathed his last. It seemed hours, but it would have been no more than minutes before anyone in the room moved again. Slowly, against a world of pain, Emma raised her head, lurched slowly, inch by inch to her feet. She looked at Orehkov, still pinned to the wall, his mouth an open hole of silent terror and pain. She looked down again, at the gun in her hand, weighed thoughts for several moments in her head, then opened her fist and looked at the gun. "I didn’t want to kill him," she said, her voice raspy with effort. "I don’t need to kill you," she added to Orehkov. He was too far gone in terror to even hear her words and he shrank back as she approached him. For a moment he tugged against the letter opener but the pain stopped him and he froze as Emma lurched to his side. "I know brains," she rasped at him. "Which bits remember. I know where to hit you to make sure you don’t remember the last few hours. Lucky you," she said and turning the gun in her hands smashed it hard against his temple, knocking him cold with the blow. |
