Thrillers aren’t my thing. I’m a kinder, gentler, kind of gal *lol* When asked to write a thriller, I swallowed hard … and gave it my best try. To my amazement, “Egg Thief” was purchased for an upcoming Fiction River anthology, edited by the amazing Kevin J. Anderson *happy dancing*
Here’s the opening to “Egg Thief” — my version of a thriller 😀
A mixture of terror and elation spur me down the steep, rocky slope. The harsh, cold wind buffets me, making it had to keep my leather-booted feet beneath me.
I can’t slow down. Can’t fall. If I so much as pause…she might come back, might realize what I’ve done. If she catches me on this unprotected slope, she’ll roast me alive.
The backpack bounces against my shoulders, its warm, reassuring weight throwing off my balance. I’ve done it! I slipped into her lair, stole an egg, and made it back to the cold, fresh air of the mountainside.
I’ve got to keep moving, got to make it to the forest. She won’t be able to find me once I reach the trees’ thick canopy.
I pant, cold air numbing nose and cheeks and making my lungs ache. But the precious egg in my pack, the one I risked everything to steal, is safe and warm, protected by a nest of soft woolen blankets.
The ground beneath my feet levels, turning from rock to coarse, low grass and sedge. Tree line is within sight, its stunted larch and fir trees twisted by the constant fierce, cold wind that whistles past my ears and makes my eyes water.
I’m going to make it. Those scraggly trees aren’t much, but they’re my only hope. The first cover on this wind-swept mountainside. Just a little way beyond the tree line, the proper forest begins. Tall spruce, firs, and aspen with sufficient canopy to shield a fleeing man from even a dragon’s sharp vision.
The worst is behind me. Once I gain the forest, I’ll be safe.
Terror loosens its grip on my heart and exultation bubbles through my core. A near-hysterical giggle forces its way past my chapped lips. Truly, I’ve done it. The jade-green egg with dark blue mottling is mine. A prize beyond measure. And not just because of the gold I will demand. My reputation will be made once I return to the city with a dragon egg in my pack.
I savor the fruits of my stealth. All that remains is to reach the safety of the forest.
A shadow passes overhead, and I stumble, my foot snagging on a tangled mass of sedge. I catch my balance and glance up at the clear blue, cloudless sky. My breath seizes and my heart plummets.
A dragon wheels in the sky.
She has returned, recognized her loss, and hunted me.
My pulse thunders, beating twice its normal tattoo. Blood sings in my veins, throbs at my temples, tingles in my fingertips. A burst of energy propels me down the slope. I must reach those trees.
With a screech of indignation, the dragon plummets to earth, landing between me and the trees. The backwash from her wings knocks me off my feet. I twist as I fall, keeping the packed egg safe, but sustaining a nasty jolt to my shoulder and wrenching a knee.
I gain my feet and crouch, ready to run, but where?
The dragon, a solid mass of muscle and anger, easily as big as my two-room hut, unfurls her wings and hisses. Her long, snake-like tongue lashes the air between us.
Dragon stink fills my nostrils, a noxious mix of sulfur, rotting meat and blood that solidifies the terror freezing my heart and paralyzing my thoughts. Pain throbs in shoulder and knee, darkening the edges of my vision. Bitter, poisonous bile gags me.
All is lost.
No way forward. Not past a hulking beast whose wings blot out the scraggly trees beyond.
No way back. Not across a barren slope of alpine tundra.
Death stares at me with malignant satisfaction.
