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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 11/17/2011
THE FUGITIVE
By: Amelia
Fugitive. I whispered it quietly to myself, tasting it on my tongue like a piece of hard candy. I had never imagined that word applying to me before, but now, it seemed to be the only word that described me. Alexa Harlem, the fugitive. I whispered it quietly to myself as I stood in line at the convenience store checkout, heart hammering at an uneven, erratic pace. I pressed my lips together nervously and pulled my hood down lower over my eyes, feeling the lens of the security camera watching me; taking in the stolen coat and the tangled blonde hair that I had forgotten to dye.
âWill you stop doing that? Youâre drawing attention.â Riley growled from behind me, his voice a quiet hiss that only I could hear. If anyone else had spoken to me like that, I would have fired back a retort and told him exactly where he could shove his opinions, but Riley was different. We were two of a kind. We had escaped Darven Juvenile Center together and saved each other from capture, injury or death countless times over the last few weeks. Partners in crime. Somehow those words sounded just as bad as fugitive, though they described our relationship perfectly.
âI donât like this. Letâs get out of here. We ate this morning, we can go without food for one night,â I muttered. I turned towards the entrance and mentally calculated the steps between the door and where I stood. All of the food in the world wasnât worth being sent back to juvie.
âPut the gun down! You ainât getting any money!â came a sharp, terrified voice from the cashiersâ desk. People frantically backed away from the cash register, screaming and clutching at each other. I turned so quickly towards the cash register that I nearly tripped over my own feet. A handsome, black-haired man was holding a gun to the bald, bespectacled cashierâs head. Riley and I shared horrified looks. If any blood was spilt here, the police would soon be swarming the area, leaving us cornered. The town was tiny, with only one street leading out of the place. Donât shoot. I inwardly begged the armed man, who couldnât have been older than twenty five. Riley and I stood, rooted to the spot as terrified clients pushed past us, desperately trying to get to the door. My mind vaguely registered that I should be running with them, away from the man with the gun, not standing frozen in line, looking stupid.
âGet that gun outta my face! Iâm calling the pol-â The cashier was silenced by a gunshot. The killer hopped over the checkout counter, ignoring the three of us who hadnât run when heâd pulled the trigger.
âLetâs steal the food and go! Hopefully weâll be long gone when the cops get here,â I growled, tugging Riley forcefully towards the door. He stumbled after me, dropping several cans on the floor. He bent to retrieve them, cursing.
âLeave the cans! Letâs go!â I exclaimed. Riley straightened up.
âThere. Now we can steal some bikes and-â he broke off, frowning and staring at the flower basket dangling from the low ceiling. It was swaying and trembling.
âCome on, Riley. Who cares about the flower-â
Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling and the ground shook, sending everyone sprawling.
âWhat is that?â the killer shouted as the ground began to shake even more violently.
âWHAT THE HELL IS THAT?â
âEARTHQUAKE!â
******
âThereâs no way out. Weâre completely screwed,â Riley said, after checking the building for the third time. He lit himself a cigarette with practiced ease, though he was only sixteen, a year older than I was.
âYou must be joking!â the killer moaned, sinking to the ground with a single foul oath. The little red-haired girl standing by the door gasped. I pointed at the dead man behind the counter and glared furiously at the black-haired man.
âHe couldâve helped, but you killed him, so now weâre stuck here until someone digs us out. It could take days, weeks even!â I snarled. The murderer stopped counting the money heâd stolen from the cash register and looked up. With his black clothes, black hair, white skin and pale gray eyes, he made me think of an old-time photograph.
âWhy are you so hacked off? Youâre not the one getting put away for life after this. While you get to go home to your daddies and mummies, I spend my last minutes of freedom in here,â He snapped, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the non-perishable food aisle. I smiled ruefully. Rileyâs daddy had disowned him and my mummy was dead after I had pushed her down a flight of stairs.
âWell, at least the food hereâs good. Enjoy it while you can.â Riley tossed a bag of chips to the murderer, shamelessly cheerful. The man ripped open the bag with a kind of vindictive savagery.
âWe make a fine bunch, donât we?â a man with bloodshot eyes slurred from the counter on which he was sitting. I hadnât noticed him earlier and started slightly at the realisation that there were five, not four of us. âAn alcoholic, a murderer, a little girl and you two jailbirds.â Rileyâs blue eyes and my brown ones widened in unison at the manâs nonchalant, casual tone.
âJailbirds?â Riley tried to laugh, but it came out tense, loud and fake.
âAlexa Harlem and Riley Collins. You two are famous!â the drunken man cried with a low, derisive snort of laughter. The criminal turned to us with new respect in his eyes.
âYou two are all over the newspapers! I mean, you canât watch the news for five seconds without seeing your faces on the TV screen! Iâm Sebastian by the way.â He hesitated before continuing, âWeâre doomed anyway so I guess I might as well tell you my real name. Sebastian Blattaria.â He spoke his name in a very pompous fashion, as if he were someone very important, not simply another gun-wielding lowlife.
âIâm Damian Calder.â The drunken man imitated Sebastian Blattariaâs arrogant tone, throwing his nose into the air. The storeâs only other occupant, a little redheaded girl, giggled quietly. We all turned to stare at her.
âBren- Brenna Lynch! Iâm Brenna Lynch,â she said, stumbling over her words and blushing. She looked maybe seven or eight years old. Her green eyes were wide and her lip was trembling. Poor thing, buried alive in a store with a bunch of a criminals and a creepy drunk guy. No wonder sheâs scared. I thought as I watched Sebastian spinning his gun in slow, lazy circles on the cheap laminate floor. Suddenly, I felt uneasy, as if I should be doing something, not just sitting there. I crossed my legs and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ears.
âI know thereâs probably no way out of here, but we should probably keep looking. I mean, we could bust a hole through the roof or somethingâŚâ I mumbled, trailing off and staring at the others expectantly. Damian sighed loudly.
âSheâs got a point. I mean, itâs not like weâve got anything better to do. We might as well try to dig ourselves out.â
******
Two hours and countless botched efforts later, five of us collapsed on the floor in defeat. Riley had ripped the security cameras from the wall and was smashing them aggressively to bits with his steel-toed boot, Brenna was crying, and Damian was on his third cigarette. Sebastian was sitting silently, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. Somehow his silence was more unnerving than Rileyâs fury.
âWashroom,â I muttered, dragging myself to my feet. Nobody even glanced upwards as I walked through the door at the far end of the store marked âLadiesâ. I locked the door behind me and sat down on the toilet. I spotted a patch of light dancing on the wall and frowned. My eyes slid to the opposite wall and I gasped. An unobstructed window. I jumped to my feet, climbed onto the toilet seat and peered through the semifrosted glass. I could see a forest, the perfect place for a fugitive to hide. How could Riley have overlooked this?
As I prepared to climb down, I noticed a note jammed underneath the crank that opened the window. I smoothed it out with my fingers.
Lexi,
This is my second time searching the place for an escape and I hope youâll find this in time. Thereâs no way I can fit through the window, but I hope youâll be able to. Donât smash it to get out. There are people in the front digging, theyâll hear you. Donât tell the others. They wonât be able to fit and theyâll cause a racket.
When you read this, donât come back to say goodbye, just go. Hereâs all the money I have. Ditch the coat, dye your hair, and stay hidden.
Bye, Riley
I finished the letter and pocketed it along with the money, both grateful and guilty, fighting the lump in my throat as I listened to the voices outside the bathroom. I could hear Rileyâs familiar cadence among them. He seemed to be telling Brenna a story. I couldnât help wishing I was close enough to hear, though Iâd probably heard the story already during that long night Riley and I had spent hidden in the storage compartment of a train, keeping each other awake and entertained with tales and stories of our lives before Darven Juvenile.
I cranked the bathroom window open and ripped it from its rusty hinges, placing it carefully in the sink. I threw my coat onto the ground and pushed my head and shoulders through the opening, grimacing as the broken hinges dug into my skin, drawing blood. I extricated myself from the bathroom and dragged myself to my feet using the convenience store roof.
I stayed low, crouched almost double to avoid being seen. Goodbye, Riley, I thought, casting one last glance at the buried convenience store. I shifted my gaze to the forest. Many trees had been uprooted and there were huge cracks in the forest floor from the earthquake, but wasnât that what crime was all about; sacrifice and survival of the fittest? Riley had sacrificed and I had survived, or at least escaped. I was no longer a partner in crime, but I was still a fugitive. Alexa Harlem, the fugitiveâŚ
The Fugitive(Amelia)
THE FUGITIVE
By: Amelia
Fugitive. I whispered it quietly to myself, tasting it on my tongue like a piece of hard candy. I had never imagined that word applying to me before, but now, it seemed to be the only word that described me. Alexa Harlem, the fugitive. I whispered it quietly to myself as I stood in line at the convenience store checkout, heart hammering at an uneven, erratic pace. I pressed my lips together nervously and pulled my hood down lower over my eyes, feeling the lens of the security camera watching me; taking in the stolen coat and the tangled blonde hair that I had forgotten to dye.
âWill you stop doing that? Youâre drawing attention.â Riley growled from behind me, his voice a quiet hiss that only I could hear. If anyone else had spoken to me like that, I would have fired back a retort and told him exactly where he could shove his opinions, but Riley was different. We were two of a kind. We had escaped Darven Juvenile Center together and saved each other from capture, injury or death countless times over the last few weeks. Partners in crime. Somehow those words sounded just as bad as fugitive, though they described our relationship perfectly.
âI donât like this. Letâs get out of here. We ate this morning, we can go without food for one night,â I muttered. I turned towards the entrance and mentally calculated the steps between the door and where I stood. All of the food in the world wasnât worth being sent back to juvie.
âPut the gun down! You ainât getting any money!â came a sharp, terrified voice from the cashiersâ desk. People frantically backed away from the cash register, screaming and clutching at each other. I turned so quickly towards the cash register that I nearly tripped over my own feet. A handsome, black-haired man was holding a gun to the bald, bespectacled cashierâs head. Riley and I shared horrified looks. If any blood was spilt here, the police would soon be swarming the area, leaving us cornered. The town was tiny, with only one street leading out of the place. Donât shoot. I inwardly begged the armed man, who couldnât have been older than twenty five. Riley and I stood, rooted to the spot as terrified clients pushed past us, desperately trying to get to the door. My mind vaguely registered that I should be running with them, away from the man with the gun, not standing frozen in line, looking stupid.
âGet that gun outta my face! Iâm calling the pol-â The cashier was silenced by a gunshot. The killer hopped over the checkout counter, ignoring the three of us who hadnât run when heâd pulled the trigger.
âLetâs steal the food and go! Hopefully weâll be long gone when the cops get here,â I growled, tugging Riley forcefully towards the door. He stumbled after me, dropping several cans on the floor. He bent to retrieve them, cursing.
âLeave the cans! Letâs go!â I exclaimed. Riley straightened up.
âThere. Now we can steal some bikes and-â he broke off, frowning and staring at the flower basket dangling from the low ceiling. It was swaying and trembling.
âCome on, Riley. Who cares about the flower-â
Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling and the ground shook, sending everyone sprawling.
âWhat is that?â the killer shouted as the ground began to shake even more violently.
âWHAT THE HELL IS THAT?â
âEARTHQUAKE!â
******
âThereâs no way out. Weâre completely screwed,â Riley said, after checking the building for the third time. He lit himself a cigarette with practiced ease, though he was only sixteen, a year older than I was.
âYou must be joking!â the killer moaned, sinking to the ground with a single foul oath. The little red-haired girl standing by the door gasped. I pointed at the dead man behind the counter and glared furiously at the black-haired man.
âHe couldâve helped, but you killed him, so now weâre stuck here until someone digs us out. It could take days, weeks even!â I snarled. The murderer stopped counting the money heâd stolen from the cash register and looked up. With his black clothes, black hair, white skin and pale gray eyes, he made me think of an old-time photograph.
âWhy are you so hacked off? Youâre not the one getting put away for life after this. While you get to go home to your daddies and mummies, I spend my last minutes of freedom in here,â He snapped, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the non-perishable food aisle. I smiled ruefully. Rileyâs daddy had disowned him and my mummy was dead after I had pushed her down a flight of stairs.
âWell, at least the food hereâs good. Enjoy it while you can.â Riley tossed a bag of chips to the murderer, shamelessly cheerful. The man ripped open the bag with a kind of vindictive savagery.
âWe make a fine bunch, donât we?â a man with bloodshot eyes slurred from the counter on which he was sitting. I hadnât noticed him earlier and started slightly at the realisation that there were five, not four of us. âAn alcoholic, a murderer, a little girl and you two jailbirds.â Rileyâs blue eyes and my brown ones widened in unison at the manâs nonchalant, casual tone.
âJailbirds?â Riley tried to laugh, but it came out tense, loud and fake.
âAlexa Harlem and Riley Collins. You two are famous!â the drunken man cried with a low, derisive snort of laughter. The criminal turned to us with new respect in his eyes.
âYou two are all over the newspapers! I mean, you canât watch the news for five seconds without seeing your faces on the TV screen! Iâm Sebastian by the way.â He hesitated before continuing, âWeâre doomed anyway so I guess I might as well tell you my real name. Sebastian Blattaria.â He spoke his name in a very pompous fashion, as if he were someone very important, not simply another gun-wielding lowlife.
âIâm Damian Calder.â The drunken man imitated Sebastian Blattariaâs arrogant tone, throwing his nose into the air. The storeâs only other occupant, a little redheaded girl, giggled quietly. We all turned to stare at her.
âBren- Brenna Lynch! Iâm Brenna Lynch,â she said, stumbling over her words and blushing. She looked maybe seven or eight years old. Her green eyes were wide and her lip was trembling. Poor thing, buried alive in a store with a bunch of a criminals and a creepy drunk guy. No wonder sheâs scared. I thought as I watched Sebastian spinning his gun in slow, lazy circles on the cheap laminate floor. Suddenly, I felt uneasy, as if I should be doing something, not just sitting there. I crossed my legs and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ears.
âI know thereâs probably no way out of here, but we should probably keep looking. I mean, we could bust a hole through the roof or somethingâŚâ I mumbled, trailing off and staring at the others expectantly. Damian sighed loudly.
âSheâs got a point. I mean, itâs not like weâve got anything better to do. We might as well try to dig ourselves out.â
******
Two hours and countless botched efforts later, five of us collapsed on the floor in defeat. Riley had ripped the security cameras from the wall and was smashing them aggressively to bits with his steel-toed boot, Brenna was crying, and Damian was on his third cigarette. Sebastian was sitting silently, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. Somehow his silence was more unnerving than Rileyâs fury.
âWashroom,â I muttered, dragging myself to my feet. Nobody even glanced upwards as I walked through the door at the far end of the store marked âLadiesâ. I locked the door behind me and sat down on the toilet. I spotted a patch of light dancing on the wall and frowned. My eyes slid to the opposite wall and I gasped. An unobstructed window. I jumped to my feet, climbed onto the toilet seat and peered through the semifrosted glass. I could see a forest, the perfect place for a fugitive to hide. How could Riley have overlooked this?
As I prepared to climb down, I noticed a note jammed underneath the crank that opened the window. I smoothed it out with my fingers.
Lexi,
This is my second time searching the place for an escape and I hope youâll find this in time. Thereâs no way I can fit through the window, but I hope youâll be able to. Donât smash it to get out. There are people in the front digging, theyâll hear you. Donât tell the others. They wonât be able to fit and theyâll cause a racket.
When you read this, donât come back to say goodbye, just go. Hereâs all the money I have. Ditch the coat, dye your hair, and stay hidden.
Bye, Riley
I finished the letter and pocketed it along with the money, both grateful and guilty, fighting the lump in my throat as I listened to the voices outside the bathroom. I could hear Rileyâs familiar cadence among them. He seemed to be telling Brenna a story. I couldnât help wishing I was close enough to hear, though Iâd probably heard the story already during that long night Riley and I had spent hidden in the storage compartment of a train, keeping each other awake and entertained with tales and stories of our lives before Darven Juvenile.
I cranked the bathroom window open and ripped it from its rusty hinges, placing it carefully in the sink. I threw my coat onto the ground and pushed my head and shoulders through the opening, grimacing as the broken hinges dug into my skin, drawing blood. I extricated myself from the bathroom and dragged myself to my feet using the convenience store roof.
I stayed low, crouched almost double to avoid being seen. Goodbye, Riley, I thought, casting one last glance at the buried convenience store. I shifted my gaze to the forest. Many trees had been uprooted and there were huge cracks in the forest floor from the earthquake, but wasnât that what crime was all about; sacrifice and survival of the fittest? Riley had sacrificed and I had survived, or at least escaped. I was no longer a partner in crime, but I was still a fugitive. Alexa Harlem, the fugitiveâŚ
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