Stiletto

Abigail crashed through the overgrown vegetation, sprinting as fast as she could through the tropical jungle. With acrobatic grace, she deftly avoided everything from exposed roots to hanging vines, careful to maintain her speed without getting tripped up.

Behind her, gunshots rang out as the flora around her exploded, tree bark and vine fragments raining down on her.

These guys weren't kidding!

Abigail dodged their gunfire as she continued her mad dash, knowing that if she could just make it to the falls, she'd be safe... hopefully.

They were closing in on her. She heard their footsteps pounding the earth a short ways back, barreling through the jungle and steadily gaining on her. Abby occasionally heard the thump and anguished cry as one of them tripped over an exposed root or clothes-lined himself on a vine. Not that they were deterred. For every one of them that fell, two more could easily take his place.

The falls were her only hope.

She could hear the river getting louder.

She was almost there.

Abigail picked up her speed, just as a bullet whizzed by her ear. If she had been even an inch more to her right, it would have hit her in the head and been game over.

"ABBY!" She heard him roar from somewhere behind her.

She grinned as she ran, enjoying the little victory that lay in frustrating Malachi. For years he had been a thorn in her side; using his far superior resources to find the artifacts faster and more efficiently than she ever could on her own.

Then again, half the excitement for her was the search. Immersing herself in the local culture and mythology is what excited her about the job just as much, if not more, than the actual treasures she found. But for Malachi, it was always about the spoils. Unfortunately, he always added them to his personal collection, hiding them away from the rest of the world no better than if they had never been found in the first place. He would, of course, show them to private investors in order to fund his next excursion, but they were sealed off from the rest of the world, adding nothing to the world's collective knowledge of its own history.

Abigail frowned as she recalled the unpleasantness of losing artifact after artifact to Malachi, helpless as he carted them off and locked them away. She knew these artifacts belonged to the world, which is why she took great pleasure in the fact that the stiletto was tucked securely in her pack.

If only she could get out of the country with it!

She knew she would have to figure out a way to leave the country without Malachi's knowledge. He had connections at all the major airports and seaports, and was certain to know if she were to try to leave using any conventional means. It made her task infinitely more difficult, but more exciting at the same time. It wouldn't make nearly as great a story if she just climbed onto a 747 and took a first-class flight home after all she'd been through.

Of course, she first had to get out of her current predicament.

Malachi and his men were almost upon her. As she ran, she could hear their labored breathing behind her. One false step... one moment of hesitation and they would be upon her. The bullets were raining down on her now. It was a miracle she hadn't been hit yet. Thank god they were shooting blind through the dense foliage. The minute one of them got a clear shot, she'd be a goner.

Then she saw it... the shores of the river! Dark water careened over the rocky shores, creating a foamy spray that mirrored the larger white-water rapids that formed in the middle of the river.

Abigail cut a sharp right and continued to run along the shore where she was still concealed by the jungle. Her heart was pounding now, and she swept a lock of dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. She was in excellent physical shape, but running through the jungle was beginning to take its on toll. Her chest heaved; she felt like her lungs were going to explode.

Fifty yards to go.

The muscles in her legs were cramping up. She prayed there was enough left in her to make it to the edge before they completely knotted up on her.

Forty yards to go.

She cried out as a bullet grazed her, blazing a white-hot trail across the skin just below her rib cage. Her hand instinctively went to press on the wound, but she knew she couldn't check it. Taking her eyes off her path for even a fraction of a second would mean certain death at the hands of Malachi and his thugs.

Thirty yards to go.

Her heart was racing and her pulse was pounding. Abigail felt a fire tearing at her insides, burning her muscles as her body prepared to go into complete system failure and collapse.

Twenty yards to go.

Abigail's mind went to the stiletto in her bag. It was one of the first crude weapons made by the indigenous peoples of this country. It was dated at least five thousand years prior to what was commonly accepted as the earliest date of human civilization in the region. This artifact alone could open a whole new world of historical research in this part of the world. Or it could sit in Malachi's private safe. It was that thought that spurred her forward.

Ten yards to go.

She was at the brink now. She plowed forward, crashing through the last of the vegetation that stood between her and the ledge.

"Abby, don't do it!" Malachi called after her. "We can work something out."

For a split-second, she almost believed him. And it was certainly preferable to what she was thinking about doing. And after that split-second of hesitation, she winced as she felt the flesh of her shoulder tear. The sound of the gunshot reached her ears moments after the impact. She chastised herself for thinking he was capable of anything else. She knew she had no choice now.

Malachi's cries of protest disappeared against the deafening sound of the roaring falls as she threw herself off the ledge. She experienced that sickening feeling of being momentarily weightless before gravity kicked in and pulled her quickly down the five hundred foot drop into the river below.

Malachi ran to the edge and looked down just in time to see Abigail crash into the foamy rapids at the base of the falls. He waited for several seconds, but her body didn't surface. He scanned the river, searching for any sign of her.

Nothing.

He turned to his men.

"Find her. I don't care what it takes. Get that knife."


Abigail struggled to reach the shore. Her shoulder was killing her, making swimming with her left arm impossible. At least the worst of the rapids were over and she could slowly angle her way toward the rocky embankment downriver.

Hauling herself out of the water, Abigail allowed herself a few minutes to check her wounds. The graze on her torso was no more than a flesh wound, and her shoulder was a through-and-through. She'd live... and didn't have to immediately worry about infection.

Abigail tore the fabric of her tank top, from the bottom to just below her sternum. She tore it into a few thin strips and fashioned a makeshift sling for her arm. Once her arm was secured, Abigail started the trek back to the city.


Now, all she had to was get out of the country...


(1,282 words)