Inertia- Feed back welcome!(coarse language- mild)

[**Liz**]

ONE

" Tara! Tara c'mon, c'mon!..."
" Over here! They're in here!" Ellen looked behind her in horror as the door handle jiggled and twisted in vain. The key sat heavily in her pocket.
They were locked in.
" Tara, get your fat ass down here!" She reached up and tugged the girl down. Tara groaned but didn't get up. " f**k..." She was still out from the narcotics. Alright, alright Ellen don't panic.
" Uh lets see... door's locked," still. Thank god. She looked out the window. " Too high." The closet?
There was a small trap door that led to the basement, which led to the cellar and the tornado shelter... with stairs that led to the edge of the backyard, a good deal away from the home.
She looked to Tara and sighed in frustration-
A large dimmed thud thrust the door forward an inch or so. Ellen panicked.
" Oh my god-oh my god-oh my god..." What am I going to do? She knelt down and tugged on Tara's hooded sweater.
" Uhm... what? whatsh wrong...?"
Ellen laughed giddily.
" Tara-Tara-Tara you are not-not going to believe what is happening, explain later, we gotta get a move on."
" But-"
" Now!"
Tara blinked slowly, staring up at Ellen. Her brain was still foggy with the last of the narcotics drug the hospital had provided for her, she had taken them an hour ago, so her thought process was almost... not there.
Ellen shook her hands rapidly by her side, shifting her weight nervously, to relieve her damming adrenaline.
Tara nodded slowly, finally deciding to blindly trust Ellen, for once.
Ellen took no time to pull Tara to her feet (which were wobbly and un-reliable), dragging her to closet and shoving her down the trap door.
Tara landed on her hands an knees, surprised to be there, as if she'd already forgotten the earlier conversation.
"Elle-?"
Ellen was already closing the door behind her, locking it, and dragging Tara down the crawlspace (ironically tall enough for both to stand comfortably)-



The door snapped off it's hinges. It fell, dead, at an odd angle creaking with protest as the thugs filed through. They sniffed and searched like a pack of bloodhounds, with the man on his pure bread black stallion, following in close behind
Shade looked around wildly, while his accomplices checked the beds, the bathroom, the drawers ( most likely for their own pleasure, but Shade didn't mind as they pocketed a few sensitive items) and then the closet.
Shade peered in the main hidning areas; bathroom, under the bed, and the closet-
But it was just a closet.
He slammed his open fists into the wall, his frustration rising.
" Where ARE THEY?" He snarled, stomping out-
It made a hollow sound-
He stomped down harder-
Another hollow sound.
Of course!
" Ah ha!"
He bent over, pulling at the deep crack on the floor. No avail. No matter. His dark black hair swung wildly as he turned on his men,
" FIND THEM!"


In the darkness Ellen could only see the walls around her, and that was forcibly by imagination.
It was a good two to three hundred meters from the closet to the pantry, from the pantry to the shelter, and Tara was not faring well.
She stumbled and faltered, mumbling something under her breath, arguing with herself, and then begging an invisible force for forgiveness.
She wailed and cried, shaking uncontrollably.
" Don't do it, don't-please!" she cried (between heaving sobs).
Ellen reached over and pulled her closer, whispering in a strained hush,
" Tara, don't do what hun'? Come on, we're almost there."
Lie.
Tara knew how far it was. She leaned heavily on Ellen for support, as she did not have time to reach for her cane before she was thrown into the abyss.
Her shattered ankle pained her greatly, although the narcotics were helping to dull the pain, Tara knew she'd pay for this little journey later on.
Three quarters of the hour later they were through the shelter and into the un-spoken for land that bridged their home on the beach to the rest of the town.
That was a good walk on its own-
Beep.
Ellen looked around. What the hell?
Buzzz!
Suddenly a small tune sang from the inside of Tara's jacket; Somehow, in the confusion, Tara had managed to steal her cell phone.
Genius! Ellen thought.
She reached into her friends pocket (feeling a bit awkward) and answered the phone.
" Hello?" A short, confused pause.
" Tara?"
Ellen smiled.
" No genius, it's Ellen."
The man on the other end exhaled deeply.
" I was going to say..." He trailed off, Ellen frowned.
" What do you want?"
" Well, I called home and no one answered. Where are you? Is Tara there with you?"
" You have your car?"
"Yeah." Ellen gathered Tara up from the stump on which she rested her ankle and began hobbling toward the gas station down the road. "Ellen, why do you need my ca-?"
" Meet us at the Den."

[Birdie°]

Great action, there: remember, with fast-paces keep to shorter sentences. Describe things quickly as if the viewer's vision is blurred.
Lay off the caps lock, though. You don't use it a lot, but it's best to not use it at all.

" Uhm... what? whatsh wrong...?" Ellen laughed giddily. <---this last bit about Ellen is probably about Tara? I got stuck there.


" Hello?" A short, confused pause.
" Tara?" Ellen smiled. <--- If this isn't Ellen's line, don't put her actions there.
" No genius, it's Ellen." The man on the other end exhaled deeply. <--- Same thing. Not his line? Put him down a space.
" I was going to say..." He trailed off, Ellen frowned. <--- This works; even though it's not Ellen's line, you still know she's not the one talking.
" What do you want?"
" Well, I called home and no one answered. Where are you? Is Tara there with you?"
" You have your car?"
"Yeah." Ellen gathered Tara up from the stump on which she rested her ankle and began hobbling toward the gas station down the road. "Ellen-?" <---Same thing about the lines and characters and stuff.
However, I'm guessing "Ellen-?" is Tara speaking? If so, it needs a space. Don't have two character's speaking on the same paragraph, too confusing.
" Meet us at the Den."

[**Liz**]

He was sitting alone, cuddling a large bottle of imported Vodka, when he saw her.
She swaggerd into the dank bar with the confidence and finesse of an experienced escort, her eyes still bright and cold. This strange woman only just wore a long red over coat, and a pair of black leather boots, which left a lot to the imagination. And, when you are as hammered as Billy Fox, there was a lot to be imagined.
Some men left. The women ignored her completely if not for a few hateful glances, most of them just wanting to get on with their nightly duties, and those depended on their customers.
He stared straight ahead at the mirror behind the bar, suddenly sweating retchedly and shivering with fear as she approached him, sitting on the adjacent stool.
“ White wine.” She breathed.
The bar tender poured her the wine very carefully, his hands shaking as well as sweating because, unfortunately, he knew.
Billy knew, too.
He watched in the mirror as she nursed the large glass of wine, hanging his head with depression.
His wife;
dead.
Daughter; dead. Son; might as well be dead.
He had no one, so he supposed it would be okay if he was dead too.
This was a hellhole anyway, this place had gone to shits. Besides, he had a suitable replacement, not many people needed Billy anymore, not when Daxton Cray was there.
The woman was only a quarter of the way through, though. She looked ahead as well, ignoring him completely, casually, as if she didn't know.
He sighed heavily. God, just get it over with...
“ 'Nother Vodka, there, cheif.”
The bartender nodded, giving him the bottle but, in it, he found a small little pill.
Billy nodded his thanks, Good boy. The teen nodded back, then turned around and dissapeared into the cellar.
She was three quarters done.
In the reflection of the mirror he could see that the mindless sleepers had all left, all having been tipped off about the event about to take place.
His eyes, red and swollen, wandered away from the room to the woman beside him, then back. Instead of being aroused, he was delightfully disgusted.
One sip away.
Now would be a good time to swallow that pill. He put the muzzle of the bottle to his mouth and shot the Vodka down his burning throat with one massive swig, smacking his lips with satisfaction.
It would all be painless now. This was the way to go, a good sedation before the death blow.
But, it would still be death. Death is death, no matter which ever way you put it.
She placed the glass on the oaken island and stood.
“ Ready?” She fiddled with a small buckle under her coat.
“ You're a pregnant dog, Miranda. A sick sleeper!” He slurred.
She smiled in full.
“ You know thats not all true. I'm also psychopathic.”
“ And a comic, too, I suppose!” Slamming his bottle down hard on the island, he stood, his sides heaving with the effort. That was one nasty pill.
She looked down on him, nothing to be read in her expression, as she pulled on a small armored glove.
“ Well, what ever you want to think.” The glove kilnked as she adjusted the nails. He watched her rebelliously.
“ Last words? Read you your rights? Got a bible? Blah blah blah?”
“ Nothing.”
“ I figured.” Miranda spat disgustedly. “ Wine tasted a little off.”
And with one massive heave, she punctured the mans chest and with the backlash, pulled out his still beating heart.
He watched sadly, “ Thank god...” as Miranda cut the only thing holding the heart in place, one major artery.
She was gone before he had even hit the ground.