Wilhelmina Winters: Thirteen

Wil felt lucky. Instead of the potential danger her briefing had warned of, she had only to secure this classified document. “N” would be pleased -or, at least, appeased– until Wil could ultimately locate and apprehend their mysterious informant.

She was unlikely to encounter armed sentries near the note, judging by the vacant and disused look of the place. The cold wind swirled light mists of snow from the drifts toward her exposed hands and face. No footsteps could be seen.

Wil was still concerned about the people inside, however. The doors were tinted, and locked, but someone might come close and see her through the glass. She couldn’t blow her cover again.

Setting her books against the wall, she inched around the corner carefully and slowly walked to the red table. Her footfalls echoed softly from the walls of the courtyard, as she placed careful steps amid cold wind burst whirls of old snow.

Wil tried to steal glances at the people inside the lunchroom inside the building. These were mostly bystanders, but the tall ones patrolling round the innocents were not. Those were informants.

She steadied her shivering limbs and teeth. She drew ever nearer her goal. She was close enough to hear the paper flapping against the brick imprisoning it. She could almost reach out and free it.

Wil checked the doors once more as she stepped over a yellow bench, and froze in cold and surprise. Just as quickly as the shadow appeared, it disappeared. But, Wil was left with the memory of two hands cupped around a face, against the door, the better to see her with.

Recovering quickly, Wil leaned over the red table, lifted the brick with her right hand, and extracted the fluttering paper quickly with her left. She grasped it as tightly as she could in her mittened first. She turned and exited much more quickly than she’d entered. This time, loud clomping and a slight squeak echoed back to her.

Not looking back, she retrieved her books and ran back around the school to the door she’d first used to get outside.

“Please, still be open,” She repeated to herself through chattering and exercised exhaling.

There was the door; she made it. Wil slid her left hand, clutching the note, against the door crack to feel for the slight opening her rock should have made.

“Oh, good!” She exhaled gratefully. The words hung a slight mist in the air. The rock was still in place.

Wil pried and hefted the door open with cloth hands. Kicking the stone to the side, she entered the school a bit breathlessly.

She looked side to side. She attempted to slow her breathing, elevated by escape and elation.

She’d done it. Mission accomplished.

 

Continued from Twelve.
Keep reading to Fourteen.

One thought on “Wilhelmina Winters: Thirteen

  1. Pingback: Recurring Story: Fourteen | Chelsea Ann Owens

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