by Tara Watson
Even my eyes were cold. The sky blurred above, mottled with swollen clouds ready to release their burden. Branches of the trees swayed overhead, lulling me deeper into the softness of their fallen leaves. An ominous black blob soared across my field of vision and I exhaled the breath I'd been holding.
The cold spread through my limbs. Cold and peace. Shallow icy breaths escaped my frozen lips as I tried to focus on the bird. I couldn't, so I closed my eyes and waited.
They opened again when I felt the boot hit my thigh.
"You're wearing a vest." Fletcher's dove gray eyes glowered down at me. "Get up."
"Ow." I returned his glare and sat up. Pain seared through my shoulder where the bullet lodged deep in my vest.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
"That she wasn't wearing a vest." I nodded toward the shaking girl on the ground next to me. My eyes challenged him to argue. "He would have killed her."
The gunman lay still between two trees. One long strand of the moon shone on him like a spotlight, highlighting the silvery pool that flowed around his head.
I looked up to find the raven sitting on a low branch, beady black eyes fixed on the body.
It wasn't my turn. Yet.