A choked scream gurgles from his open mouth before I yank the metal from his skin.Hot liquid sprays over my face and I jump to the floor.I swallow down a gag as blood pumps from his body, squirting across the room with each beat of his heart.He crumples to his knees, a pool of red forming around him.The tang of copper fills the room, so thick that I can taste it on my tongue.With a muted thunk, he falls to the floor, forcing a spray of blood to erupt from beneath him and splash onto my toes.
My bare feet slide against the blood-soaked concrete as I step over his body.Through the doorway, I see another man.He lays on the ground just beyond it, his hand pressed against a leaking wound on his forehead.I surge forward, tossing my body into the air.The breath wheezes out of him as I collide with his stomach.His eyes flit to the bloodied Christmas ornament in my hand, emotion flashing across his face.His lips quiver and my own twitch, the edges tilting upward.
“None of you will ever touch me again,” I assert.
I slam my hand down, jamming the metal star into his groin.A ragged scream jumps from his open mouth, the sound of his pain reverberating against the concrete walls.Flinging my hand back, I jerk my festive weapon from his body.I pinch my mouth shut as blood spurts from his wound, coating my face and arms.It sprays against the walls, making the room look like a scene from a horror movie.Wiping my face with the bottom of my shirt, I move to step around him.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” I tell his shuddering body.
Lifting my eyes, I look at the staircase ahead of me and tighten my grip on the tree topper.I try to ignore the fear that claws at my insides, cramping my stomach and making my lungs feel too tight.Sucking in a shaky breath, I imagine myself as a brave woman.A woman like Elodie, like Olivia, like all of the women whose stories have filled me with hope.The Christmas decoration in my palm becomes a sword, sharp and unyielding.The ragged t-shirt clinging to my body becomes the armor I wear into battle.
“You cannot stop,” I remind myself.“You have to keep moving.You have to get out.”
I place my foot on the bottom stair and immediately jerk it back as a thunderous sound booms through the stairwell.The ceiling quivers, sending chunks of dirt and plaster into the air.They rain down on me, embedding into my hair and sticking to my blood-soaked skin.
Pop, pop, pop.
I dive behind the door as the sound of gunfire peppers the air.Above my head, men scream.Their shouts leach through the walls, slamming into me and making my heart stutter.
“Maybe I’ll just wait here for a bit.”
