If You Give Me a Chance

Garrow was almost out of knives, and they were backed into a corner. There was a way out - there had to be a way out.

Austin was out of ammo. The string of words that spilled from her lips would have made the Principalities have heart attacks - if they had hearts.

“What the hell do we do now?” she yelled.

“Find an emergency exit!” Garrow said. He reached for the sheaths at his calves, spun the knives, waiting for on the fools to pop up and take a hit.

“The only emergency exit is in the arms of the Grim Reaper!” Austin said.

“There was a legend,” The Wordsmith began.

Garrow glanced over his shoulder.

The Wordsmith unbuttoned his cardigan with swift hands. “I heard it once, from the Elders, and then searched for it when they left me alone in the vault later that day. There’s a tunnel that leads from here to the Vault and then below the lake.”

Garrow’s eyes narrowed. “What the --? No. Keep your shirt on, kid.”

The Wordsmith cast the cardigan aside, unknotted the tie, started in on the buttons of his shirt. “I can find it if you give me a chance. Austin, come trigger me.”

She blinked, darted a nervous glance at Garrow. “What?”

The Wordsmith’s gesture was impatient. “Come on! He’s only got two knives left.”

Austin hesitated once more, then slid up beside him, pressed a hand to his chest. Whispered in his ear. Garrow bit down on his lip to keep from crying out when he saw the kid’s eyes go blank, then dead, and then the words came, spilling and tripping over each other as if trying to rip themselves out of skin.

And then they were clear, three sentences, exact directions.

The Wordsmith said, “Go.”

And collapsed.

(300 words)