Rachel - Interactive Story - scene 6

continued from scene 5

Rachel slowly extends her arm, holding the Glock parallel to the ground in a gesture of surrender. "I mean you no harm," she says, her voice steady despite the rifles trained on her. "I was only trying to save that man's life."

"On your knees! Now!" the soldier shouts his finger tight on the trigger. Rachel complies, lowering herself to the pavement as she places the pistol on the ground beside her.

Three soldiers approach with measured strides, weapons at the ready. The first is a woman, her dark hair cropped close, eyes narrowed on Rachel. To her right is a larger man, his frame filling out the uniform as he grips his rifle with calloused hands. The third soldier is leaner, almost wiry, but his gaze is no less intense as he watches Rachel's every move.

Bloody hell, this has gone tits up rather quickly. The last thing I want is to mix it up with the military lads, but being thrown in some makeshift brig is hardly ideal, either. There are too many civvies out here that need assistance, and I'll be damned if I let them become a zombie's next brunch just because some sergeant hasn't got his head out of his arse.

"Look, I'll go willingly to the FEMA camp with you," Rachel says, her tone and accent mirroring theirs. "But I need to check on my sick mother first. She can't be left alone."

The wiry soldier arches an eyebrow. "And where does your mother live?"

Rachel hesitates for the briefest of moments. "217 Maple Ridge Road. It's just a few blocks over." The lie rolls smoothly off her tongue, the product of years of training.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Scott clamoring into the back of the transport truck. A flicker of irritation sparks within her.

That ungrateful tosser doesn't even have the decency to put in a good word after I pulled his bacon out of the fire. Typical bloody civilian, only thinking about saving his own skin instead of returning the favor. Leave it to a knuckle-dragger like him to bugger off at the first chance while I'm stuck dealing with these overzealous sons of guns in uniform. Wanker probably soiled himself the second things went pear-shaped.

The crunch of boots on the pavement draws her attention back to the soldiers. A commanding figure strides towards them, his uniform adorned with sergeant's stripes. He stops before Rachel, his gaze cold, and assesses as he enters the scene.

With a quick motion, he kicks Rachel's pistol farther away, the weapon skittering across the asphalt. "You'll be lying down for transport," he growls. "On your stomach, hands behind your back. Any sudden moves, and you're dead. Understand?"

continue to scene 7