Time Doors Part 3
Aug. 29th, 2013 11:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seesblindIt has taken a day to find a house that was abandoned and suited their needs. Set slightly back from the street it was still intact, even if a number of the other houses on the streets weren’t so lucky. That means there aren’t too many prying eyes on the street, no one to notice their rag tag bunch taking up residence. Laying low is something that Riddick is good at, and right now it seems like the best policy.
It’s been almost a week and none of them have slept through a night. The sirens are always going off, and the shelter is crowded, dank and uncomfortable. The sirens start late that night, later than they had any other. It’s late enough that the decision to not go to the shelter is easily made, even if there’s fear in some of their eyes.
Luck is bullshit, Riddick knows. If there is any sort of fate or luck it’s against him. Tonight was no different. The first bomb hits just outside the house, the explosion shattering the glass in the windows and shaking them all. The second drops not even a full breath later, hitting the kitchen in the back. The third explosion is the gas, a ball of fire exploding down the hall.
“Get out,” he roars, slamming the door to the kitchen shut. It’s wood and won’t hold up to the fire for long, but it’s something. “Get out, now.”
They’re almost out when Fry’s foot catches and she falls. Riddick goes back without question, pulling her up and pushing her out the door ahead of him. The movement barely takes a second, but a second is all the already-stressed brick and timber of the house needed. There’s a booming snap, a crack that sounds as the roof tumbles downward. The front half of the house seems to crumple in on itself, burying Riddick along with it, fire licking up the wreck from behind. At least Fry got out, is the last thing he thinks before he’s knocked out. This time she wouldn’t die. Not because of him.
It’s been almost a week and none of them have slept through a night. The sirens are always going off, and the shelter is crowded, dank and uncomfortable. The sirens start late that night, later than they had any other. It’s late enough that the decision to not go to the shelter is easily made, even if there’s fear in some of their eyes.
Luck is bullshit, Riddick knows. If there is any sort of fate or luck it’s against him. Tonight was no different. The first bomb hits just outside the house, the explosion shattering the glass in the windows and shaking them all. The second drops not even a full breath later, hitting the kitchen in the back. The third explosion is the gas, a ball of fire exploding down the hall.
“Get out,” he roars, slamming the door to the kitchen shut. It’s wood and won’t hold up to the fire for long, but it’s something. “Get out, now.”
They’re almost out when Fry’s foot catches and she falls. Riddick goes back without question, pulling her up and pushing her out the door ahead of him. The movement barely takes a second, but a second is all the already-stressed brick and timber of the house needed. There’s a booming snap, a crack that sounds as the roof tumbles downward. The front half of the house seems to crumple in on itself, burying Riddick along with it, fire licking up the wreck from behind. At least Fry got out, is the last thing he thinks before he’s knocked out. This time she wouldn’t die. Not because of him.
