The Winners
Thrillers 2024
Category 11-13
Narrow Escape
The village was a remote maze of streets consisting of the narrow alleys where the houses met. The brick red roofs and plaster walls were splayed across the shark finned ridges of a towering mountain range like a vibrant spot of paint on a monotonous grey canvas. A narrow road curled and coiled downwards from the village, widening as it went. Within the Jeep, gripped firmly to the steering wheel, her knuckles whitened. She glanced in the rearview mirror; the black SUV was still on her tail, its headlights piercing like spears through the evening mist. The documents in her backpack held secrets that could topple governments, secrets for which people would kill. She flinched and sunk her head into the steering wheel as she heard rapid gunfire emerging from behind her. The village was coming into view, its labyrinthine alleys offering a potential refuge.
Taking the first chance she had she parked and rushed into a seemingly neglected looking house. As she dashed through the doorway a decade of dust filled the entrance. Shutting the door behind her she stumbled over to the window, through the grimy glass she could make out the SUV coming to stop in the street, she covered her mouth in horror as she watched two silhouettes climb out, she panicked, how was she going to escape unseen? Her eyes darted around the room in search of something, anything that could be of help to her. She paced around the room in desperation, then out of the corner of her eye she spied a coat rack hidden in the shadows, on the floor next to it lay a beige trench coat, and on top of it lay a short, brimmed hat made of worn, brown leather. Without a moment’s hesitation she pulled them on.
She crept out the house and strolled down the street, digging her head into her collar. Suddenly, from behind her a voice boomed in a commanding foreign accent “please turn around sir!” She broke into a run; she ducked around the corner wincing as the bullets struck the bricks behind her. Her thoughts drowned out the bullets until she arrived at one overwhelming conclusion, she was going to die! Then there was complete silence. Silence… no bullets being fired; they had run out! She could hear them cursing loudly.
She bolted down the street, weaving between the pedestrians and slipping between the buildings, she reached the town square, she squeezed through the bustling crowd, then she saw it, her ticket out of this mess, as the chopper descended the crowd backed away, heads glued up to the sky. She ducked low to avoid the spinning rotors and leapt into the helicopter, as the craft started its ascent one of the men from the SUV desperately clung to the sides, she released a mighty kick and he crumpled back down to the street, she handed the backpack over to her informant sitting opposite her, “good work agent, now for your next mission...”
Author: Mr. Bodhi Burman
Category 14-18
The Loop
As Detective Velia Price opened her eyes, she didn’t know what to expect. But she sure as the devil didn’t expect to find herself hanging, one-armed, from the branch of a tree crackling with flames.
Velia was known for her daring tricks and stunts. But, as she smelled the thick, wildfire smoke, and saw mammoth trees crumble to ashes, she had to admit she was in a bit of a predicament. Her arm ached as the fire danced, threatening to singe the ends of her skirt.
Right then, she thought, and let go of the branch.
Velia dropped to the ground and began crawling, trying to avoid the smoke. Her lungs burned anyway. Finally, after an eternity inching through ashen soil, Velia reached a small stream. She ran across it, until the fire became a distant orange glow. She stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath. Her mind began to clear, along with her vision and lungs.
She knew who she was. Detective Velia Price. Born in London, 1832. Sworn to dismantle the city’s criminal underworld. Velia just couldn’t remember how she had ended up in a burning forest.
She gave herself a pat down, taking stock of her arsenal: her trusted Webley Revolver, a knife, and a set of lock-picks. Feeling reassured, Velia set off to the outskirts of the woods, hoping to find answers.
A few minutes later, she stumbled across a cobbled path. Before she could take another step, Velia froze. Something had just moved through the trees.
She crouched down. Silence fell. Velia reached for her revolver and almost fired as the shadow inched closer, revealing the outline of a person. A woman came to stand atop the path, her back to Velia.
Criminal, she thought instinctively. That woman, clad in black was a criminal. One Velia was hunting for.
She burst out from the greenery; arms reaching in attempt to tackle the crook to the ground. But, just as her fingers grazed the criminal, the woman bolted. Cursing, Velia sprang up and began the chase.
She struggled to pump her legs faster, wind biting at her cheeks. Her chest heaved as she ducked under extended branches and jumped over twisted roots. Velia grinned. She never did feel more alive than when on the run.
The criminal had already reached the edge of the forest, where a stone village lay. To Velia’s surprise, the woman slowed down and began walking through the town. Keeping to the shadows, she stalked the criminal into a small building, up a winding staircase, and into a room.
A gloom had settled, plunging the world in darkness. Velia’s head began to throb, and she stumbled. A shadow stirred. Without thinking, Velia aimed her revolver, her hand shaking as her headache deepened. Her finger found the trigger.
All at once, light shone from the window, illuminating the figure. The woman’s form sharpened, revealing green eyes, ebony hair, and sand-kissed skin. Velia gasped as she stared at herself.
Those were her eyes, her hair, her skin. That was her face.
But Velia’s finger had already pushed the trigger. She cried out and cocked her gun to the side just before the bullet shot into the air.
The bullet grazed past the woman’s face, missing. Velia dropped her gun to the ground, her whole body trembling. The woman hadn’t moved an inch, as if frozen in time.
Velia’s vision swam, her thoughts a twist of knots. Suddenly, a deep voice rumbled in the air, coming from all sides.
My dear. A millennium you have been playing this game. And yet, never have you forced yourself to miss.
The words echoed through Velia. Memories drowned her. That woman hadn’t been a criminal. She was Velia’s twin sister, Luce. Perfect Luce, who always looked out for the street urchins and beggars, even when her own family was destitute. Velia had stepped in to save them from the streets. She had joined a gang. Robbed a bank.
Velia threw up. She remembered.
She was no detective. She was the criminal.
I always did find that curious. Convincing yourself you were a detective. I suppose you had to cope somehow. With your murder.
Velia felt her heart rip.
She remembered.
She remembered coming home, drunk on gold and liquor. She remembered waving her pistol as if it were a banner of victory. She remembered Luce, frowning. A gun firing.
Luce on the floor.
That had drawn Velia out of her drunken stupor. And then, she had shot herself. And now… “Who are you?” Velia repeated.
I’m God, and you’re dead. As punishment for your actions, you’re in the Loop. Forced to play, over and over, your worst memory. As is just.
Velia’s vision faded. She lost consciousness.
As Detective Velia Price opened her eyes, she didn’t know what to expect.
Author: Gemma Tabet
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