Abolition (Insurrection Book 3)

by DJ Cooper

  “Do you suppose Kael and Mischa are okay?” she asked while helping Creed gather sticks for the fire.

  She was busy spreading leaves around the area when she saw Creed glance at her. She turned her face toward his expectantly.

  “I think they’re fine, Zyla. Mischa is a strong warrior and Kael is tougher than he knows,” Creed replied.

  She nodded. Her brother had been through a lot in the past few weeks, he had survived the punishment the soldiers at the garrison prison had dished out. He was tougher than he believed himself to be. Her mood lifted and she nodded gratefully when Creed handed her a cup of hot tea. She took a moment to pick the specks of herbs out of the liquid before taking her first sip. Breakfast would consist of herbal tea and deer jerky; not exactly gourmet, but she was hungry and ate it greedily. After they finished eating, she would help Creed clean up the camp, wiping out any evidence of them ever having been there. Then they would head out for another long day of training then walking.

  Sitting in silence, staring blankly into her cup, she thought of Ecker. She knew he was still following them. Creed would be angry if he found out about it or about the fact that she brought food to him on some nights. A cry from Hawk startled her and she glanced at Creed, her eyes wide. She saw from the expression on his face; he sensed it too. Danger was nearby.

  “Stay,” he murmured. He got up and quietly slipped into the deep cover of the woods. His footsteps made no sound on the thick bed of pine needles. Zyla sat motionless, almost not daring to even breathe. Straining to see, her eyes followed the noise of something large that was not trying to conceal itself. It seemed to be charging through the brush. A squeal of anger rang out and she shot to her feet, her knife at the ready. She stood rigid in her fighter's stance. A few moments later she relaxed as Creed emerged, moving out of the woods with a wide grin, dragging a small wild pig behind him.

  “Dinner?” he said, raising an eyebrow, holding up the dead pig by one leg.

  Zyla released a nervous breath and chuckled, her fast-beating heart slowing. “Great catch,” she laughed.

  Creed smiled, pride shining in his eyes. This pig would make many good meals for them. And it came at the perfect time as their deer jerky was running perilously low. He couldn’t understand why it seemed to go so fast as he’d been incredibly careful in portioning out their food to make it last longer. He threw the pig to the ground triumphantly and shrugged as though it were no big deal. Zyla joined him, bending down alongside him, and together they harvested what meat they could before leaving the carcass for the forest animals.

  Zyla tucked as much meat as she could fit into her satchel, watching the blood ooze through the fabric. She cut her eyes toward Creed and saw that he was doing the same. With a quick movement of her hand, she slid a rather large slice of meat under one of the leg bones of the pig, haphazardly hiding it. She hoped Ecker would find it before the animals did, and she didn’t make too much of an attempt to conceal it. It would make an ample meal, possibly two, for him. With a sly but kind smile, she stood up. She felt sorry for the man. He’d been traveling alone, inexperienced, and scared. The noises in the woods could be terrifying at times, she wished he could just join their campfire. She knew there would be a huge fight with Creed if he found out she’d been helping the stranger but that was a risk she was willing to take.

  “Okay, my bag is stuffed full,” she said. Creed nodded and pulled his own stuffed pack onto his back.

  “Then let’s get moving,” he replied.

  Hawk circled overhead and screeched as if in agreement. Zyla glanced up at her constant companion and held her arm outstretched, encouraging him to land. He refused to allow her to touch him although he never left her. She sighed and headed out behind Creed, glancing back one last time at the carcass and the large piece of meat she’d hidden. They continued throughout the day, laboring up the steep inclines and sliding down the rocky hillsides. Exhaustion tugged at every aching muscle and sweat-soaked her shirt as the temperatures rose, but she kept on, pushing herself and stretching well into the heat of the day. Her mind wandered to a nice, cool bath and she silently wished for a pond or a creek. She berated herself for not insisting they stop when they’d neared a stream a few miles back. Sighing tiredly, she ignored the growling in her stomach and skipped ahead to catch up and walk beside him.

  “If we find water, can we stop so I can bathe?” she asked, her eyes gleamed with a hint of hope.

  Creed glanced at her and then pretended to observe the sky. The thought of her undressing caused his heart to skip a beat, then it just beat faster. Swallowing hard past the sudden lump that formed in his throat, he nodded. “Sure, I could use a break as well.”

  A sheen of sweat glistened on her face and the tired lines beside her eyes as she squinted from the bright sunshine was bewitching. He’d tried to remain stoic and hide his growing feelings for her, but her unwitting guile captivated him at every turn. Biting flies had pestered them the entire day, biting at their faces and hands. A quick dip in a cool pond or creek sounded heavenly to him. He was itchy from the fly bites and hot. He imagined she was feeling just as miserable. They had passed a stream a few miles back off to the left and he suspected they would cross it up ahead again soon. It would be a great place to make camp for the night and finally drop these heavy packs off their backs. Smiling, he picked up his pace, leaving her quickly lagging behind.

  “Try to keep up, Zyla,” he teased. With a huff, she scowled. Her legs were screaming already and he wanted to challenge her to a race? Laughing, she picked up her pace matching his longer strides. When they finally made camp, it was again earlier than usual. Zyla constructed a quick rack from sticks so they could let the meat dry over the fire all night. Fresh meat would spoil quickly so it needed to be dried right away.

  Chapter Three

  Ecker made his way slowly, glancing around every so often to locate the girl’s footprint or some other sign that she had passed through. He wasn’t an experienced tracker, but she left clear enough evidence of their path that it was easy for him to follow. He wondered if she’d left him clues on purpose, some were so obvious. His stomach felt full and satisfied for the first time since he could remember. And although he’d not seen her leave the food, he knew it was thanks to her. He’d never managed to catch her leaving him the food and didn’t want to, for fear she would stop. He purposely stayed behind the girl, leaving enough distance to placate the guy who warned him to keep away. He glanced around at the deep woods surrounding him and a bitter tickle of panic sank in his gut. He had no idea where he was or even what direction he was traveling in. Confusion gripped him and he had to steel himself or the panic would overwhelm him. “Where are these two going?” He asked himself trying to force the panic away.

  He muttered a curse under his breath for not learning more about the angle of the sun, or how to figure out direction by the signs or stars. He realized that he had no survival skills. His skills in his village were different, he was the local blacksmith. He could take a piece of metal and turn it into anything. A weapon, a tool, or even shoes for the soldiers’ horses. He found that now he regretted not learning more about the land around him; about how to forage, hunt, or trap his food, or how to find water. Life in the village didn’t require those skills. He did as they asked and they gave him food. It was never enough but they got by. Looking back, he could see that those were the things he should have been concentrating on. Shit, he didn’t even know how to make a simple shelter that would keep the rain off his head, last night he got soaked and the fire wouldn’t start. A wave of disgust rolled over him as he thought of how pitifully stupid he’d been.

  His mind drifted to his wife. He missed her and found it painful to think about her. Thoughts about the kind of life she would be living now that he was gone were almost too much to bear. It sent a shiver down his spine and pain deep into his heart. Her sweet temperament would not serve her against the harshness of life in the village. He was her protector, and now that he
was gone... he couldn’t think about it. Anger sent a sting of pain behind his eyes at how helpless she was. How helpless they all were against the harsh rule of the elites. None had any say over their own lives or livelihood. They were forced to follow rules that changed on a whim. He groaned with a deep sigh. His gut told him he was not likely to see his wife again.

  Anger welled up inside him as he walked. He jammed his hand into his pocket and ran his finger down the sharp edge of the narrow, elongated stone blade he’d crafted the night before. It felt good to have the small weapon. He found that by having it he felt safer, and through that realized that he was not entirely useless out here. Thinking about it, he drew it from his pocket and examined it. Not bad work for someone who didn’t have much to work with. The handle was fashioned out of a hardwood stick he’d picked up along the way. He had whittled it down, leaving only about a six-inch piece to attach the stone to, and used sticky sap which he’d scraped from the bark of a pine tree to adhere the sharp, thin stone to it. Then he wrapped the whole thing with a thin vine to secure it together. It was a crude weapon, but it would do. Watching it in his hand as he palmed it, he appreciated the feel. It fit nicely in his hand and didn’t feel too awkward or bulky. “Not bad for a rock and a stick,” he said to himself hefting it, feeling its weight.

  A draft of voices behind him caught his attention and he stopped short to listen. At first, he thought he was hearing things. He craned his neck in the direction he thought he’d heard it and listened, but there was nothing. He shrugged and continued on a moment. Someone spoke again and he stopped, worrying that perhaps the two had backtracked and somehow looped around him. Frozen in place, he stood completely still, turning his head... first to the left... then to the right. He focused in on where he was sure he’d heard the voices coming from. His breath caught in the back of his throat as fear made his heart race. The voices were indeed coming from behind him and whoever they belonged to were getting closer. He sprinted and rushed behind a thick stand of prickly nettle bushes, ignoring the sting of their leaves on his bare arms. He barely felt anything because of the adrenaline. He crouched low, the biting black flies swarming around his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, making him grimace.

  It wasn’t long before two men moved quickly past him. Each carried a heavy club. One of the men walked with a pronounced limp, his dark, shaggy, greasy hair swayed across his face with every step. The other man was younger, built thick and solid. That one carried a heavy pack on his back that made him hunch forward as he walked.

  “I know they passed through here,” the man with dark hair hissed as he looked down on the ground for signs. “See? There! The woman’s boot print!”

  Ecker narrowed his eyes to slits as he watched the younger man’s face light with a leering grin as he looked to where his friend was pointing.

  “Okay, good, we can’t be far behind them,” the younger man replied.

  “What’ll we do with the girl when we catch up to them?” the older man asked. A sly grin crossed the younger man’s face.

  His eyebrow raised and he sneered at the other man. “She’ll make a good little bitch for us.”

  A shiver of revulsion rock through Ecker. Roamers! He’d heard stories of them. Criminals that roamed the woods, robbing and murdering those unlucky enough to cross their path. He sucked in a hissing breath between his clenched teeth and anger flooded his mind.

  “That man she is with, I dunno about him,” the dark-haired man turned and said nervously. “He looks kind of dangerous to be tangling with.”

  Ecker watched as they moved out of sight. The smaller man ordered the bigger one to get moving. He was the leader of the two. Once they were well out of sight, Ecker came out from the bushes and stood glaring in the direction they’d gone. He began to worry about Zyla. He couldn’t let those two animals get to her. He had no doubt her man, Creed would put up a good fight trying to protect her. He’d seen him hunting, but he wasn’t sure he could fight off both those men together. A growl tickled the back of his throat when he thought of what they said about Zyla. He couldn’t let that happen. She’d been so kind. His bicep muscles twitched with tension. The one skill he had learned since leaving the village was killing. For that, he had the internment camp to thank.

  Zyla

  Three miles ahead, Zyla squealed in delight and danced happily at the sight of the river. It was deep and wide, the water sparkling in the bright sunlight that spilled over its surface. She tossed her heavy pack to the ground, took two steps toward it, stopped, and turned, smiling widely at Creed.

  “Can we stop for the day and set up camp? Please?” She begged, “I know it’s early but think about it. We can get a good swim and some rest.”

  Indecision played across Creed’s face making her even antsier.

  “Please?” She pleaded. Eyes wide, her eyebrows raised in question, she did her best to look sad and pleading.

  Creed smiled. He couldn’t say no to the pitiful expression that might almost have convinced him if he didn’t know she was toying with him. He felt a warmth that made him smile. The backpack dropped to the ground and she squealed excitedly. They had been pushing hard for days and even he was feeling the stress of fatigue pressing on his shoulders and back.

  “Okay, you go swim, I’ll set up camp,” he said, then laughed.

  A nice fire, a little downtime, and an early meal would do them both good. Without a thought, or even a pause, she quickly began to peel off her sticky, dirty shirt and he averted his eyes. Damn her, she didn’t have a bashful bone in her body.

  She smiled playfully at him and dove into the water. Creed groaned the sight of her like that stirred him. He grunted and began to gather small sticks and prepared their campsite. Such feelings had never clouded his thoughts before and his mind was fuzzy, swimming in its mire of confusion. His first impressions of her were of a pathetic waif, contempt, and irritation that he had to be the one to watch over them all that time. But now, he saw her differently... and it was a distraction.

  He hadn’t noticed her step out of the water, and she startled him. “You should join me.”

  Creed turned to her and gasped, sucking in a breath. She stood before him wringing her hair, the thin white shirt clinging to the shape of her body. The sun sparkled off the water behind her casting an almost ethereal glow. He quickly turned away and resumed his task.

  Zyla didn’t understand the look of discomfort that crossed his face and thought he was angry at doing all the work. “I’ll help you set up camp after our swim,” she said softly.

  Creed grimaced at the soft sound of her voice and shook his head. “No, I’ll swim later,” he replied.

  Zyla sighed and began to grab her clothing to help him. “I’ll swim later too. Let’s get this camp set up so we can relax,” she said trying to mask her disappointment.

  Creed turned to her, “No, you go swim. I’ll join in shortly. I just can’t relax until I’ve checked the area and done a few things,” he said and smiled, tilting his head toward the river and winking at her.

  Zyla laughed. “Okay,” she quipped and bolted back to the river’s edge.

  “I’m just going to gather a little more firewood,” he muttered, pulling his eyes away from her. Back in the water she was submerged, and the proximity from her allowed him to think, but it didn’t keep him from feeling the grip of desire stirring in his gut. Shaking his head, he walked off toward the thick woods outside of the clearing where they had decided to set up camp.

  Zyla watched him go from the water. She was a strong swimmer, so the deepness of the river gave her no reason to worry about swimming alone. The cold water swirled over her body and she sighed in contentment. The afternoon was brutally hot, too hot for this early in the spring. The water caressed her skin like a cool, silken blanket. A strong kick of her legs and powerful arm strokes propelled her forward, she swam to the opposite side then flipped over onto her back, floating lazily as the current drifted, pulling her along. She thought about how happy she
was at this very moment and smiled. It had been quite some time since she’d felt this simple emotion of just pure joy as she did now, and never without some guilt. Creed, dropped the armful of sticks and twigs he’d gathered and stood on the riverbank, watching her, with a smile on his face.

  “Be careful, Zyla,” he shouted, as he watched the gentle current move her downstream. She raised her arm and waved a hand at him, then dove under the water to swim back toward the bank.

  “Oh my God! Creed, this feels so incredible,” she squealed happily, her eyes lighting with joy.

  “Yeah, I bet it does, now don’t drift too far downstream, I don’t want to have to come in and fish you out,” he teased.

  Zyla looked up at him, her smile freezing on her face and fear clawed at her throat. From behind him came a flash of movement. The sound of Hawk’s warning screech split the afternoon air. Before she could scream out a warning, two large men rushed out of the dense bushes, one holding a thick wooden club and swinging it down hard on Creed’s head. A scream bubbled up from her throat as she saw Creed fall to the ground, a small trickle of blood tracing a path across his brow.

  Panic pulled at her. Suspended in shock, she didn’t know what to do and remained where she was treading water, filled with indecision on how to react. Part of her wanted to swim toward Creed while another part of her screamed for her to swim to the opposite bank away from the danger. The two men on shore stood leering at her and she felt like a rat caught in a deadly trap. Clarity returned to her. She had no weapons and needed to find a way to defend herself. Zyla flipped over and pulled hard at the water. One of the men moved forward and dove off the bank into the river after her. Panic was gaining in her chest and she kicked her legs harder. Her breath rasped like fire in her lungs and she swam as hard as she could to get away. Her heart lurched when she felt her feet touch the sandy bottom of the shoreline.