For Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #175, based on the image below from ShutterStock.
With barely a ripple, she inched herself out of the large pond, but meeting the white down of a roosting Aylesbury duck, she swiftly bade her retreat. The fewer creatures that knew of her presence, the better.
Appearing from the black water a short distance away, her wiry frame beached itself silently. Only the slightest glint of moonlight, reflecting from her onyx wetsuit, would alert anybody to her presence. But nobody was watching. With her naked eye, she spotted them, laughing around the campfire. Not a clue. Even that blasted duck remained asleep.
Stealthily, she edged open a waterproof pocket. A pair of night-vision goggles were revealed. With practised hand, she drew them deftly over her spiky hair. Flicking them on, her world irradiated with a dull green hue. She studied the campers, but winced as the direct firelight flared the lens. Ripping off the goggles, this would have to be done unaided. But no matter. Seemingly drunk, the four remained oblivious.
Unsheathing a nine-inch blade from the scabbard on her midriff, this was going to be easy.
A friend once told me that there were no female mass murderers. There are now.