8

Alice’s back was pressed against a cold marble gravestone, her chest rose and fell to the hammering rhythm of her heart. She was heaving mad. This was the main reason she hated wearing heels, those shits were unreliable in a fight, it places you at the receiving end of a reaper’s spear and she knew full well what that receiving end felt like. She hissed at the sight of the clipped heel.

Her right hand held her pistol upward towards her chest and the next unbuckled the shoes from her feet and kicked them away. She kept her head hanging low from the impudent copper and lead. The gunshots stopped suddenly and she froze. The heavy silence stretched to an eternity. Nothing put her on edge more than a silent enemy. A few seconds later, low chatter resonated from opposite sides of the graveyard. There it was, the recouping move that every striker had, if only they knew she was right under their noses. Her other hand found her ankle quickly and she twisted the knife upwards, ready for battle.