M L Gammella’s Picture Choice: 1
Title: Tracing a Revolution
Trace stood on the edge of the building and looked down at her target. The tips of her black hair moved slightly as the air swirled gently around her. This high up, the wind should’ve been whipping around her, threatening to push her off the edge. It was like the world knew that change was about to happen.
She adjusted the orange case that hung from her shoulder, the small size of the case deceptive in its weight. The contents of the case were very light but were extremely fragile. The protective case made up most of the weight. If the chip inside broke or became damaged, then the whole mission, the years of training, the entire rebellion would be all for nothing.
Failure was not an option.
The Corporation’s goons circled around the base of the building, the lights from their vehicles glowing with warning. The rebellion knew better than to attack Corporation from the ground. That would be too obvious. An attack from above was why Trace was standing hundreds of feet in the air, her toes mere inches from the edge of the concrete building.
A nearby air-conditioning unit shut off, quiet pings filling the air as the unit cooled. Provided the temperature stayed somewhat the same over the next several hours, the unit would kick on in another fifteen minutes, run for ten minutes, then cycle all over again. The timing really didn’t matter to Trace, but the slow pinging of the unit would help her focus until it was time to strike.
With the sun overhead, Trace pulled out a spool of aramid floss from her pocket. The micro-thin but super strong fiber would carry her across the street far below to the Corporation’s building. And if she found trouble when she made it across, the fiber could be used to garrote someone quite effectively. She quickly patted her other unassuming looking weapons where they rested in the pockets of her cargo pants. It may look like she was completely defenseless, and anyone who assumed that would find out the truth rather quickly.
Trace attached the end of the floss to a line-fly, her term for the small projectile tool that would take the wire and attach it to any surface that the projectile struck. The tool resembled old-fashioned projectile weapons, and in a pinch, she could shoot one of the cartridges of the line-fly at someone. However, she had better weapons at her disposal than to use the line-fly like that.
With a smirk at the patrolling Corporation security officers circling below, Trace triggered the line-fly. A sibilant whirling sound was barely heard over the pings of the air-conditioner. The spool in her hand shook when the line-fly hit home and imbedded itself into the steel structure. She fastened her end of the wire to the air conditioning unit behind her and tugged on the wire just to be sure it was secure. Although the line-fly had never failed her, there was always a first time and she didn’t feel like being on the losing end of Murphy’s Law … especially not from 200 feet above the ground.
Satisfied, Trace clipped her runners to the barely there aramid floss and counted down, following the gentle pings behind her. This was her favorite part of any mission. It was the next best thing to flying. When her internal countdown zeroed out, corresponding with the last ping of the air-conditioning unit, she took a deep breath and jumped.
(Yes, I’m sure you are wondering if I am going to continue the serial ‘Another When’ – I have not forgotten it, the pictures just haven’t been calling to that story. I hope to pick it up again soon)
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M L Gammella lives in Ohio with her husband and their three pets. She is currently working on her first novel, a paranormal suspense based in Maine. Please follow her at @MLGammella and visit her website at Onward to the Written Word.