Not A Perfect World by Tarlan, Winnie, Anne Tolar, Angela Penfold, Wendy, Leslie

Reds, the tiny invaders that swarmed into a blood stream and rebuilt cells, turning their once tired structure into fresh building blocks, had invaded his skin dozens of times in the past. Each top up drew him back to the optimal state Gracie had helped him achieve, but as he'd learnt from Newmeyer, they didn't stay around forever. Like the bodies they repaired, the tiny organisms ran down after a time, tired themselves out until they were degraded beyond use. With the constant presence of Gracie in his life, Joe Keyes had been able to receive a steady supply, letting them drift into his body on a regular basis, but there was only so much life in them. It looked as though his last dose was reaching that state of disrepair where they wouldn't be able to knit together his damaged cells or seal off torn blood vessels.

A shirt, once worn to an easy fit and soft touch, stuck to his skin clammily. Sweat and blood mingled, pasting it to his flesh and staining it a vibrant pink. Under normal circumstances the marks on his clothing would now be the only sign that the body beneath had sustained damage, but today it wasn't so. Beneath the blue cotton, skin and flesh had been torn, shredded by the near miss of a bullet and peppered by the razor-sharp fragments of window glass that the bullet's buddies had sent his way. The pain was familiar, but at the same time unexpected in a way. It had been months since his brain had registered the reaction of the pain receptors in his body, the reds had seen to that.

Joe was worried about reaching the women and child he'd sworn to protect, but without the protection offered by the reds, he knew he'd have to pace his journey. He'd have to take care of his injuries himself if they hampered his progress and they were coming pretty close to that then. It wasn't a choice of looking pretty or continuing his rush towards the hills, it was a matter of whether he'd be able to go on at all.

"Sorry Monica." The words slipped from his lips, a fleeting apology to the woman he'd lied to on the phone. Gracie had provided with regular doses of the miracle that had straightened her twisted limbs and restored the vitality to her distorted body, but the last dose had been provided too far in the past now to do him any good, his body had run low on reds.

Truth was an important part of his marriage, one that had remained even when their separation and Joe's soul encompassing guilt had driven wedges into all the other aspects of their relationship. He'd broken that now though, but out of necessity. Monica possessed the same strict moral code that dwelt within him self. You didn't leave an injured partner behind, especially one that had taken your heart. This time Joe couldn't risk having her come back for him. There were Gracie and Helen in the equation now and an unarmed mother and child needed the care of the woman who had become one of their guardian angels far more than he did.

Hissing gently, Joe eased himself down onto a boulder. The trees lining the country road had offered instant protection when he'd made it to his feet but they made the going tough and his energy was rapidly being sapped as he fought his way through. There'd been no signs of a pursuer on his heels yet. He could've been wrong about the clear path behind him, but deep down in his gut where years of experience and his gritty instinct lay, he felt like he'd slipped away from them. Only one fireball had gone up, that from his own car, but there were other ways for a man to die in his vehicle, he just hoped that one of them had stolen the life of the man who'd discovered their location.

"God damn!" The words slipped from his lips in a ragged cry as his fingers sought out the damaged flesh.

Shuddery breaths followed, expanding then contracting his ribcage with ever-increasing speed. A sharp tug had the shredded shirt pulled away, but from the feel of the warm fluid trailing down his back, he knew he'd opened the wound again. Joe's intelligent eyes squinted against the agony rolling through the joint, but they continued to scan the woodland around him. Nothing to use to dress the wound, not even anything to clean it. Infection wasn't likely yet, but he didn't want to take any more risks than necessary with his life. They'd come too far from that. His good hand carefully removed the rest of his shirt. It had cost fifteen bucks from the local general store, easy come, and easy go. Gritting his jaw against the fiery pain he knew would flood through him, Joe began dabbing at the wound.

Blue skies overhead, the buzz of lazy bees through the short scrub that littered the trail up to the hills, tiny pink wildflowers dancing in the mild breeze, all objects of fascination for a small child. Not always so for the one determinedly making the exhausting journey away from what had been her home for the past four months. Gracie Rickman was a child who'd seen too much of what a less than perfect would could offer. Today her lips curved with joy at the movement of a small white butterfly across a bush, but her eyes stayed sober. She was young, but she wasn't stupid. She knew that the bad men who'd killed her father were back to try and find her and the people that were now her family.

Noticing the childs serious little face, Monica reached down and took her hand. For so long it had been her job to protect those who couldn't take care of themselves, but it had now become her life. She squeezed the tiny palm and flashed Gracie a soft smile as the child looked up at her. The weapons she carried were heavy, but they didn't weigh down her words. Gracie needed tenderness in her life now, not horror and pain.

"Pretty isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Gracie giggled softly. Her laughter wasn't free of burdens, but it bought lightness to the situation. "I like the way they fly."

Her daughter's mood didn't escape Helen, pasting her own smile in place over the lines of weariness that ringed her features, she reached down and offered her arms to Gracie.

"Would you like to fly Gracie? It's going to be a long walk for us now."

Gracie squinted up at her mother and politely shook her head. She was tired, but so were her mommy and Monica. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Monica asked, pausing for a moment to reposition the heavy bag on her shoulder.

"I'm sure," the child chirped back. "I can see all the flowers from down here."

Innocent words were shattered into silence as the deafening roar of an explosion filled the air. Ready for action, Monica pushed the Rickmans behind her, immediately placing herself in front of whatever threat was now at their backs. The scene in front of her had become like something drawn from Dante's Inferno and the seven levels of hell.

Flames had engulfed their homestead, devouring the dry wooden frame almost instantly. Black smoke billowed in the air, blown into ragged clouds by the mild breeze that had been so refreshing on her hot skin only seconds before. Now though Monica could only watch in horror as figures, clad in black military style uniforms swarmed around the front of the house, checking every square inch for the occupants they'd hoped would be there. Bile rose in her throat, but her fingers stayed steady, probing on her belt until they curled around the plastic of her cell phone. She had to tell Joe, had to warn him that soon the three women would have company.

A dull roar drifted on the breeze, almost fading into silence between the trees. The sound could have so easily escaped him, Joe's ears had been straining for any noise out of the ordinary though, and this was more than that. Letting the remains of the blood soaked shirt drift to the floor, Joe got to his feet. He'd still been a fair distance from home when he'd let the car rocket off of the road, but he was close enough to see the noxious smoke billow up over the trees and know instantly that his attempts to lead the hunters away from the homestead had failed. They'd found the place, and soon they'd find Monica and her charges, no matter how hard the three tried to hide. He had to get to them and fast. Joe checked the makeshift bandage that now swamped his lean shoulder once more and then took off at a full out run through the trees. He had to find his family.