Johnson

Agent Johnson’s feet rhythmically pounded the pavement. She wouldn’t let him get away with this. Deep inside she knew this was the end of everything she knew, her job, her partner, the country she fought so hard for, she would have to run from it all but he had to pay. Her breath came in even, lean muscles burning with the exertion. Adrenaline blanking her mind as she saw his heel disappearing around the corner. She had caught up, he had to know. She slowed down and pulled her gun from its holster. Turning to clear the corner he slammed into her. Falling back to the concrete, her neck snapped back, her head slamming into the pavement. Stars blossomed across her vision. But Lissa trained this a million times and muscle has memory. Her arms went up to guard, her legs shifted underneath them, and she thrusted her hips up and sideways. Stryk was off balance, sliding sideways onto his shoulder. Her vision was still blurred, and she could taste the metallic tinge of blood in her mouth. She quickly rolled away from his body mass and gained her feet. But Stryk had seen where her gun had slid, and he didn’t waste time to gain his feet. He bear crawled and by the time her vision cleared, he was halfway there. She bolted toward him, the world moved in slow motion as his fingers gained the trigger. He rolled and she saw the barrel of the gun. She felt fire go through her shoulder as the bang thundered through her head. She stumbled and the second bang. It was like hot iron through her gut, that had turned into a fist as it blew out her back. As she collided with him, it was with minimal effort that he pushed her to the ground. He stood, staring down at her as blood pooled out onto the pavement. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was in shock. It didn’t hurt anymore but a bone chilling cold settled across her. He was talking but she couldn’t hear him. She tried to roll onto her hands and knees but crumpled into a fetal position. And her hands hit the cold metal handle on her thigh. She remembered the day Tim had given her the knife, 5 inches of 1095 steel sharpened to a razor edge, and they had joked. But she knew that day that she loved him. She knew and she would never be able to tell him. Stryk crouched over top of her, grabbing her left arm and pulling her up to stair in her face. Sound came rushing back, as he finished his rant, “Agent Johnson, you lose.” He grinned, and with every bit of adrenaline that still flooded her body, she slammed the knife hard into his neck. It entered in just to the side of his Adams apple. Continuing the motion, she slammed the handle backwards, so it pivoted in his neck. She knew she had succeeded when the arterial spray coated her hand. Severing both the carotid and jugular he would bleed out in seconds. His eyes were wide with shock. He fell away from her grabbing his throat. She turned away from him, lying back on the pavement. Sirens sounded, but she couldn’t tell how far away. The ground was slick with blood all around her and she was so cold. She didn’t know how many minutes past, but she could feel the foot falls on the ground, hear the rapid voices… and he found her.

He wrapped his arms around her, “MEDIC”. Looking her up and down, assessing the damage.

She coughed and shook her head, “Tim, I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t let him get away with it…”

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he was trying to put pressure on her gut wound. She found his hands, following up is arms. Her vision was going dark.

She reached for his cheek, “I love you” she exhaled and went still.