Assassin

She lay still, propped on her elbows in the mud. Alert grey eyes swept across the valley, noting every tiny movement. A car trundled by on the farm track below, but provoked no reaction from the strange woman. Her clothes were soaked and coated in dirt, barely distinguishable from the mud around her. The pale oval of her face was covered in army style camouflage. A beetle scuttled across the earth in front of her. Its life was snuffed out as she ground it under one strong, curiously long nailed finger. Another car appeared on the track below. She reached for the rifle beside her, cold fingers clutching like a child with a favourite toy.

The rain poured down incessantly, blurring the sky into one unending wash of dull grey. The decrepit house lay in the valley, rain lashing against cracked windows and age worn stone. Outbuildings squatted at odd angles around the ruin, the wall hardly noticeable against the increasingly ground. Water ran in torrents down the valley sides, all manner of materials caught in the rushing flow. A lone tree stood at the side of the battered door, like an ancient sentinel. Waiting…

The door swung open on the driver’s side of the car and a booted foot appeared, followed by a denim clad leg. A shrill squeak rent the air as old and rusted metal ground against itself. Paint was peeling from the mud splattered sides, dirt caked on the body from years of neglect. A hand extended out of the door, felt the rain, snapped back into the dryness of the interior. The denim disappeared, swiftly followed by the no longer shiny boot. The woman on the hill frowned as the door shrieked shut and the engine grumbled into life. Strange. Maybe a little longer. Or not. The car began to struggle forwards down the now thoroughly waterlogged track, puddles barely splashing as it stuttered on. Then it stopped. The peeling grey door opened once again and a pair of black booted feet and denim clad legs swung out of the aperture. A torso followed close behind, then a brown haired head. The stranger pushed the door shut, the thud echoing around the valley. The watching woman tensed involuntarily as the newcomer looked towards her vantage point, seemingly staring straight at her.

Pale fingers tightened around the weapon, freezing skin on colder metal. The figure below shrugged and turned towards the house. The storm raged on, the constant downpour plastering the mass of brown hair to the stranger’s head. The new arrival trudged forward to the wrecked door, sidestepping deep puddles which had formed in the hundreds of potholes. Mud squelched underfoot and splashed onto the boots, dampness gradually creeping up the denim. On the ridge, the woman moved into position. Her foot knocked a stone. It fell down the slope, landing with a splash in a puddle. The stranger looked up in shock. Her eyes grew wide, but the rifle had already fired. The slug hit before the sound had begun to echo. The girl fell to the ground, her head resting in a pool of mud and blood.

The woman on the ridge stood calmly and opened the long case by her side. Fitting the rifle into the moulded foam, she wiped the camouflage from her face, revealing the clear complexion beneath. She didn’t need to check her victim to know she was dead. She closed the case with a loud snap, but it didn’t bother her cold mind; there was no one to hear it. No one alive anyway. Tucking the case under her arm, she made her way down the hill, long dark hair cascading down her back, shiny with moisture. She strolled casually across the valley. Entering the trees on the other slope, she melted into the darkness.