Right at this very moment, I know my life will never be the same again. The man's clutches upon my wrist tightens. His fingers dig my skin with jagged nails that threaten to pierce through my flesh. When I turn to face who it is, Gordon's dark eyes streak to mine. Gordon Fleet is just a new worker here, and I know nothing more about him than his name. I think I needn't to anyway. The fictitious possibility of being in good terms with him has already crumbled down right at this moment.

"You're a Holland," he growls. A menacing wolfish grin cracks along his lips.

I feel like a cornered prey.

"I'm Kiera!" I spit the words as I frantically swing my free lefthand fist to his bald head.

Gordon made a loud grunting noise as he goes toppling back and losing grip of my wrist. The stark ugly red lines that sprawl my skin stare back at me like heinous handiworks.

"Kiera!" Oliver dodges a few bodies that have given chase.

All my strength mounds a lump within my frantic nerves, and my mind is nothing more than a jumbled heap of thoughts. Fighting for the little courage I harbor, I start making my way out of the small cubicle where Gordon is beginning to get a hold of his bearings.

I am met with a tight hug as Oliver collides with me, our panicked breath mingles together with the loud thuds on our chests.

"You had me worried sick!" he crows; his eyes roam my sweat-stricken face, and we're awkwardly sliding side ways as he pulls me.

My eyes gaze back at him weakly, and my whole expression blanches out.

"The Hollands—we are being hunted now too." My voice is harrowed. "I'm done, Oliver."

"You're not," he quickly says, then he draws out a weird-looking device on his palm.

At first sight, it looks like a detonator, but instead of an explosion, all the lights go out as he presses a button, showering us all in bleak darkness with only the afternoon light from the outside to provide little illumination as it filters through the glasses of the exit doors far ahead.

I think this isn't a good idea.

People within the store quickly turns into a more chaotic frenzy.

"Two criminals together, eh? The world sure is becoming strange." The man I've talked to moments ago cackles on his position, his hands crossed out against his chest.

Oliver and I shoot him a bemused stare, then the man holds out his hands in the air.

"I'm not planning anything," he says, albeit I don't trust him at all.

It is dark within the store, and so I couldn't see clearly whether the man's smiling or not. And now the only illumination left is from the thick closing chrome doors outside the two layers of glass doors of the store.

Once that door slams shut, we're no doubt dead.

"Let's go!" Oliver pipes.

He pulls me along the tottered crowd without minding whoever we shove along the way, and we're already lost amidst the sea of people just in time when Gordon decides to chase us again.

The door . . . it's the only thing that matters now because it's either we make it or we die here together with the other wanted folks.

"Bon voyage! And good luck!" The man calls out from behind, and I'm starting to mentally question his sanity.

As the door inches closer and provides narrower passage, my hope unbearably falters. Two naïve individuals certainly don't stand a chance especially if the government itself is against them, but, it seems, since The Shearing has been enforced by all other countries worldwide, the world itself has already turned its back against us.

"This is crazy! We won't make it!" I holler.

With the frantic crowd slowing us down, we wouldn't possibly make it in time before the chrome door clamps shut, but Oliver doesn't even seem to be heeding what I'm saying.

"We will," he prods, determination radiates off his words.

A few people has tried to chase us, but, fortunately, the darkness has our backs as they end up either lost or tripped, or has ended up with the wrong person. Our eyes are firmly glued at the shutting door, several shoppers and a few employees make their way outside triumphantly, and if they've made it to safety, so will we.

We must.

"Holland! You are so dismissed for this!" Dalton's anguished cry blares off from a distance, and I have no time to even contemplate a word he says.

I didn't even care now. What's the essence of still having a job when you know you're two minutes away from your own doom? If I ever regret anything now, it's that I've forgotten my chattels in my locker.

"Thank heavens!!" I shout back as I let my sarcasm momentarily take over my actions, which I regret just as quickly.

"Hush it, Kiera!" Oliver yells.

Because of my response to Dalton, the other people aiming around gets a clue to where the wanted Kiera Holland is, and as I spare a glance behind, I can already see several people giving chase. Nonetheless my shoes are given a pair of wings as we barrel near the exit.

"I don't think we will make it," I crow at the top of my breath.

With our aching feet and unsteady gait, I don't think we'll have the chance to even get past the glass door. 

"We will!" Oliver blares.

When I try to spare him a gaze, both his eyes, which are burning in determination, are intently plastered at the only exit ahead.

This is crazy! I mentally scream.

"You've lost it, Oliver!" I snap.

"Close your eyes, Kiera," he simply says.

"What?"

"Just do as I say!!"

As my eyes flutter shut, I feel Oliver's hands wrench me toward him. It is forceful enough that I am hardly able to shriek.

"In the count of three we'll jump! Got it?" he snaps.

"What?!"

"Three!" This time, I am able to scream.

Albeit I know he kind of lost it already, along the way, I find myself surrendering to his force, and we end up jumping and crashing along the hard marble where acceleration sends us sliding forward. The screeching sound of scraping metals booms from either side, and I brace myself for my possible end. We skid further and a blast of light penetrates my eyelids, and comes the damp scent of the street. My whole back is on fire, and as I dare open my eyes, I become aware that our heads are between the two closing door, and we barely even have a second before we get our temples pulped for good.

I close my eyes again and feel Oliver's hands abruptly force me upright just in time as I hear the two chrome doors slide shut in one metal screech. 

My breath is erratic, and I sweat profusely. Oliver's arms are wrapped around me still, and he too seems shaken from our daring escape.

We could've died, but we've made it.

As I open my eyes and welcome the blast of afternoon sunlight, I lift a palm on my neck to check if my head's still intact, and thankfully I turn out to be fine.

"I told you we'll make it," Oliver whispers, though barely audible in his ragged breathing.

Our temples are pressed together, and our arms snaked around each other. On a normal day we'd look more like a juvenile couple, but now, I feel like I just made it to safety with my older brother.

"I didn't know a physics genius can't count to three," I whisper back as a weak grin fights its way through my lips, and for a fleeting moment we break into faint chuckles.

I slowly back out a bit from Oliver, the cold air creeps back as we slide our arms off each other.

And that is when I notice the corpses.

It's all around us, limp and bloodied, sprawled and strewn out like scattered jigsaw pieces. Large gaping holes bleed a river from their perforated chests and head.

Heat and rash simultaneously erupt across my skin in grim realization.

Oliver swiftly tacks his hand on my mouth, muffling my supposed to be shriek in the process. When my gaze streaks behind him, I can see two towering individuals clad in dark silver-striped leather suites with large guns wedged upon their clutches. And everything becomes clear to me—it's the bloody handiwork of the population control agency—and all those who've attempted to flee were bullet-rammed by them; they're nothing but killer machines.

And once they spot us, I have no doubt we'll end up a muddled crimson pool of cadavers as well.

I lift my sweaty palms and slowly unfasten Oliver's hands off my now pressed lips.

"Don't scream," he deathly whispers.

I mutedly nod. I wont, my heart already does the scream.

"What do we do?" I creak.

The fetid metallic smell of blood hangs heavily on the air, and even my scrunched nose couldn't stop the smell. Oliver gazes from left and right, then sags.

"I think we can't get pass them without being spotted," he whispers.

The guards ahead have their backs against us for now, for they seem immersed on some kind of discussion with each other. There are many of them ahead, and I think running away halfcocked wouldn't be worth the risk.

"So what do we do?" I whisper back, worry pierces my voice.

Oliver sighs and frantically gazes on the bloodstained marble, then he quickly gazes back at me.

"You've been in a theater before?" he asks.

I look at him in a bemused stare, then Oliver points at the large dump truck perched ahead the throng of the population-control freaks.

"What are you trying to suggest?" I say as we crouch lower along the dead bodies.

My heart lurches faster as seconds tick to minutes, and I swear I'm going to have enough nightmares to keep me awake for a whole freaking month.

"I think they're going to put these dead bodies there."

"What about it?" His idea slowly takes form in my mind, albeit I refuse to comprehend. I'm afraid this has to be another sickened idea.

"We can pretend to be dead ti'll they get us into that truck. All we'll need is a good acting, and maybe we can formulate our next escape there," Oliver suggests.

"And how exactly can we act like a bloodied corpse? We're not even bleeding nor impaled with bullets."

"Look around you, Kiera, there are lots of blood," he says.

The moment I realize his plan, I suddenly wish we're stuck back inside, and now I don't even know whether to feel disgusted or terrified, probably both.

It seems taking our chances within the dark confines of the grocery would less likely cost us our lives, rather than blatantly pretend to be dead out here in front of a whole pack of mercenaries.

"There's no way I'm letting any filthy blood get over my skin," I whine.

Even just the thought of it kind of makes me want to cough my lungs out.

"Kiera, it's either we die or we live," Oliver prods in knitted teeth.

No matter how I want to wedge myself back within the grocery, I know I'm left with no other choice.

"I can't believe this," I silently grumble in contorted face as I lift up a bloodstained bullet shrapnel laid beside a lifeless body of a grocery worker.

I dare not look directly on the corpse's face, for I'm willed to bet a million this man would turn out to be someone I know. I press the tip of the blood-soaked shrapnel on my stomach, and let the blood deeply stain the light brown portion of my uniform ti'll I look like I was shot.

Then I spread some more blood around my stomach, my chest, and along my hands before I halfheartedly settle down the cold marble floor. Hope runs thin in my mind, and my heart continues to tumble loudly within my chest. Fear and disgust wrestles in my gut. I can't believe we're actually doing this.

You can do it, Byrne. I try to think.

"Okay, Kiera, remember this, never ever give a slight indication that you're alive once they start putting our bodies on the truck, alright?" Oliver says as he settles himself on the floor.

I know he's feeling equally dreadful as I am, but Oliver plays with it very well.

"Okay." And with that, I close my eyes and focus on my erratic heartbeat.

The astringent stench of blood threatens to mangle my nose, but I didn't dare cringe a fraction as the successive pounding of footsteps reach my ears. I hold my breath as I struggle to stay as limply and as stilly as possible.

"You think one of these rascals is included in the Kill Queue?" A male husky voice booms not far ahead of me, and the sound of the rifle butt smacking against the hard ground makes my heart lurch further into a run.

"Not our job, Steven, just make sure everyone of them are moved to the truck," another man answers the husky Steven.

"And the people inside?" Steven asks.

"I'm sure it would be for the population's good to get rid of them all," the other man answers, and I swear I've never felt fear like this before.

I'm certain that majority of the people within the store are innocent, yet these men are likely planning to kill them all in cold blood . . . just for the sake of controlling the sickened population. I thought The Shearing was supposed to be for control purposes, and now I realize I've been living to believe a lie.

I think they're about to kill in cold blood.

It's never a policy. The Shearing seems more like an excuse to kill if I am to be asked.

I feel two hands hastily haul my feet, then, not long enough, I'm already being dragged along the hard asphalt. Mistake terrifies me the most. I try to hold my breath as long as possible, and, right at this moment, I never thought being scared could feel so suffocating.

I feel like my head would get punctured any moment now, but I hold back every impending reaction in spite of the blooming pain. A hand snakes around my neck, and I stifle the urge to wince, then it lifts me before tossing me along the truck's steel-cold dumping bed.

I remain like that for several minutes, relishing the pain that roams my entire head and body. If we ever get out of here alive, I'd remember to have my head checked up. Several thuds and ruffled noises reach my ears as other bodies get dragged here. At least now my heart is able to slow down a bit, but it doesn't mean it's not fast-paced anymore. 

I silently offer a prayer for Oliver's safety.

"Is that all?" A male voice barks.

"Yeah." I heard another man answer.

"You should go now," the first one says.

"But I want to see the detonation!" The man responds. The word detonation hits me like a bus.

They really are planning to kill everyone.

I couldn't believe every word I'm hearing, and couldn't believe how I am living all this time in a world plagued with these monsters. I might as well have entered the gates of hell.

"Go now, man. Boss wants to identify the bodies as soon as possible. I'd be tailing behind you," the other man says, then a faint grumble reaches my ear before I hear the back gate of the dumping bed swing shut, and that's only the moment I am able to open my eyes again.

A pair of lifeless glassy eyes stares back at me, and I nearly shriek in shock. I quickly back away from the corpse in front of me. In spite of the cold dumping bed, heat crawls along my skin like bugs amok.

I hear the engine as it ignites, then the truck slowly revs, as it starts to move along the road. I right myself up and scan the scattered bodies.

"Oliver," I quietly call out.

A body sits upright beside the back gate. Oliver gazes at me with relief, and he's got no idea how equally relieved I am. As the vehicle gains further speed, we carefully and stealthily make our way to each other along the dead bodies amass.

"What's the plan now? How do we get out of here?" I ask.

It seems Oliver himself finds it hard to even think with our current situation. He rakes his hand through his matted brown locks, and his brows knit together, forming a line across his temple.

"Great. We're stuck." I start.

"We're not," he states as he stares at the passing treetops right above the ledges of the dumping bed, and I didn't miss the idea he's about to tell me.

"Don't tell me you want to jump off the speeding truck this time?" I say.

"What else can you suggest we do?" he shots back.

"I've heard the other man saying he's going to tail behind, I don't think jumping off would be the best idea," I say. 

"We don't have any other choice but to take that risk. Besides, the trees are so close that the probability of getting caught while jumping off is less," Oliver snaps.

I take the moment to decide whether or not I'm ready for this. We're about to risk ourselves jumping off, and Oliver plans to rely it all to probability, to maths. My messed up honey hair covers a fraction of my eyes.

"Well... I guess." I sag heavily in surrender.

Oliver places his left arm on my shoulder. I look at him worriedly.

"Trust me on this, Kiera."

So with a heavy heart, I nod halfheartedly.

We clamber up the metal ledge until we're perched at the top rim. At this point, I could stretch out my hand and easily grab unto the passing tree branches. My gaze flies at the large dark van that tails behind the truck. There's no indication that we've been spotted yet, so I guess we really have to make this quick. Right at this moment, I know my heart runs even faster than this truck we're on. 

"Uh, are you ready?" Oliver asks, his bright green eyes dart mine.

"As long as there's no counting this time," I say. A faint grin cracks along his lips.

"When I say go, we jump, okay?"

"Okay," I respond.

My palms clutch tightly on the ledge's metal rim despite of the fidgets as I brace myself. My heart threatens to skip a beat as the thought of the dark van invades my mind.

"Go!" Oliver hollers, and we both jump off from the ledge and onto the treetop that passes.

We're just in time as I reach aimlessly for the branches. Leaves and twigs collide with my face with their sharp edges until I finally manage to take grasp upon a protruding tree branch.

Then it snaps.

I come plummeting to the hard pavement with my butt being the first to connect with the cobblestones, then my head bumps hard on the ground. I would've passed out in searing pain, but as I hear the blaring honk from the dark van that's tailing behind the truck, I know there's no much time for it.

It's my cue to run.

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