I cut my hands on the razor wire as I scrambled across the river on the rusty pipe leading to the other bank. It wasn't a long crossing, but there were now a couple of angry looking dogs where I'd been moments earlier, so there was only one direction available.As I slithered on loose stones and found higher ground, I could see two people walking along the tow path opposite. At first it looked as if they were exercising the dogs, but within seconds I could see the flash of some high-tech equipment.
Then the earth behind me rattled and smoked as I heard the delayed mechanical chatter of a weapon. They'd spotted me and broken cover. I was too quick for them and found the Suzuki bike where I'd expected. I flipped on the crash helmet, gunned the engine and bumped out of the rough ground before they had a chance to follow.
I expect my hands will be in a worse state than this derelict storyline, by the time I've attempted this year's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which starts in a few days.
Oh well.
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