Excerpt:
The
rain poured down, cold and icy, threatening to turn into snow. The
somber weather matched Galen's mood. He stepped out of the brightly-lit
restaurant into the dull dark. He pulled his coat up around his neck,
and hunched into it, his hands in his pocket.
He'd
gone to one of his favorite restaurants, an Indian place that specialized
in vegetarian dishes, hoping that would help him shake his gloom.
It was a small family-style place five blocks from his room, easy
walking distance. It wasn't noisy or pretentious, the lighting was
good, the service slow but relaxed and the food excellent. Usually
the smell of curry and other exotic spices sufficed to whet his appetite
the moment he walked in the door.
But
not tonight. He hadn't been hungry after all and so left most of
his meal untouched. The service, slower than usual, grated on his
already unsteady nerves, and the Christmas tree in the corner, so
out of place amidst the Indian decor, was an added irritant. He left
feeling even worse than when he arrived, to be greeted by the freezing
rain and the dark shadows of an overcast sky, punctuated occasionally
by a too-dim street light.
He sped up his pace, anxious to get home. Cold water matted his hair, soaking his face and dripping under his coat collar, adding to his misery. No one else was out in the inclement weather. Stores were closed, everything deserted. Not even a passing car broke Galen's solitary loneliness.
Then he rounded the corner to his block and noticed, drawn back in the shadow
of the building, several dark figures, faces hidden by scarves and pulled
down knit caps.
The
moment Galen saw them, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with
the weather. He hesitated, not certain if he should go forward to
his building or back the way he'd come.
" There
he is." The harsh male voice was muffled by a scarf.
That
was enough to spur Galen into action. His heart began to hammer with
fear. Quickly he backed up around the corner. The only thought that
occurred to him was that he might be able to run the four blocks
back to the restaurant and to safety.
Behind
him, as he ran, Galen heard pounding steps, squishing through the
puddles. Then he heard a shrill whistle. He glanced over his shoulder
at the men racing after him. He wished he could get more traction
on the wet sidewalk so he could speed up his pace, outdistance his
pursuers.
Suddenly, two men stepped out of an alley in front of him. They grabbed his arms,
holding him, cutting off further escape.
Galen
struggled wildly, trying to get out of their grasp. He managed to
get one wet wrist free momentarily. He struck an ineffective blow
at one of the men holding him. He heard a grunt and a guttural curse.
Then a powerful hand regripped his arm with painful force.
Someone
stepped out of the shadows--a giant of a man, looming over Galen.
Galen saw his eyes glistening in the dark, smelled his rotten breath.
The man lifted a massive fist. It blotted out the world as it came
toward Galen.
The vicious blow to Galen's jaw reverberated in his head, blinding him with pain. His senses reeled. Despite his fear, he sagged in his captors' hold, unable to continue the struggle to break free. The men pursuing him arrived.
' Let's talk about your machine, Hamilton,' one growled.
The circle began closing in.
Power Vector by
Gyla Beth Seal and January Taylor. Silk Label. Unionville, NY 1998