Well, here's the scene. It's not my best work, even with my attempts at polishing.
Quote:
Marshka threw herself back from around the corner, catching me and slamming us both against the wall. She pressed a solitary finger against her lips. Then I heard them. The Pure-bred. The elite. I squeezed my spine closer to the wall when they came into view, but knowing it would do no good if one happened to violate the discipline the Veninians required and glanced down this hall.
These were younger, about fourteen, if I had to guess. Orange line after orange line, four-abreast, they marched, their boots beating a steady rhythm. Each identical face was drawn in a seriousness far beyond their years. The only thing setting apart one clone from another was the occasional loose hair, or green collar for exceptional behavior. The two never went together.
Marshka and I dared not move, or the Pure's enhanced hearing would detect us. I stole a glance at Marshka. She watched the line with an expression matching that of the marchers. A tear trickled down her cheek. I blinked. She tilted her face towards me and I saw several tear strains. I dropped my head to my chest, feeling confused. The line marching past us was a carefully trained war machine, and needed to be treated as such if we were to survive. Yet they were scared, abused children.
My wrist vibrated. I bit my lower lip. Our protocols called for confirmation before a message transfer. But if it was deemed important enough, Caleb wouldn't wait for confirmation. His voice, however quiet, would catch the ears of the marchers. After several minutes, the communicator stopped vibrating. At least Caleb knew we were detained, and the rest of the agents could be informed.
When I felt the march could never end, the last row passed us. Suddenly I was aware of my locked knees and shoulders. Marshka already had her communicator to her mouth, and her other hand on her hip. “Blast, Caleb, wasn't this route clear tonight? We just had a complete contingent of Pures pass us.”
“It was.” Caleb's terse voice issued from Marshka's wrist. “And this is the edge of their territory. They're up to something. Forget your part for the mission. Christine and Alec are secure for the time being. I'll send Jandice and Alexis in your stead. Find out what the Pures are up to.”
“Jandice!” I exclaimed a bit to loudly. Marshka shot me a look.
“Confirmed,” she said. I only shook my head.
Is anyone else jealous at how movie makers get to use music to set a feel? We writers are stuck with words.
