Flash Fiction #1: Tracker Ambush
Amos Morgan stumbled, almost losing his footing on the sidewalk’s cracked and uneven surface. His shoulder connected with bruising force against the brick wall of an abandoned tenement, wringing an involuntary gasp from his lungs.
He regained his balance and leaned against the rough bricks, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
The full moon painted the City’s deserted streets with an eerie phosphorescence. Amos strained to listen above his heavy panting. He held his breath, reducing the noise to a pounding heartbeat in his ears.
Nothing. If Trackers were closing in, they were in stealth mode.
He exhaled slowly and stepped into the middle of the street, scanning his back trail. The City betrayed none of its secrets, empty buildings and rusting hulks of long-abandoned cars the only witnesses to his presence.
In the near distance — nine or ten blocks away, he estimated — a thick tendril of smoke snaked its way skyward. The site of the Tracker ambush. A false peace had settled over the site: no new explosions, no shouts of alarm, no sign of the Trackers’ red-ringed scanning eyes.
Mateo Reyes. Amos turned the Dissident’s name over in his mind. Even unspoken, it left a sour taste in his mouth. What that his plan all along — lure us into the open so Trackers could finish us off?
He positioned himself in the center of boulevard, his stance that of a gunslinger — hands on hips, head held high, defiant. He’d lost sight of the other Runners during the chaos of the ambush. They’d scattered in all directions, sought refuge in any number of hidey-holes in the City’s porous underground.
Hidden in plain sight.
A chill breeze — a subtle harbinger of winter’s relentless advance — swept over the street, driving dust and grit into his face. He welcomed the abrasive scouring. It kept him sharp, alert. He scowled at unseen adversaries and renewed his vow of vengeance.
The Hoarders would pay for his brother’s murder.
And if Mateo betrayed us … Amos’s hands curled into fists.
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