The Forgotten

by K. A Knight

  His warm, sweaty fingers touch me, and I scream. I scream as he plays with my body, my throat sore and bleeding, but I don’t stop. Needing a way to let out my horror and pain.

  “Shut her up, will you?” Eel orders as he sticks a finger inside me, making me whimper.

  My head gets slammed back into the dirt, again and again until I know I’m not screaming anymore. Dazed, I lay there limp as I feel him line up at my abused self. I have no more energy, no more fight. Nothing I do makes a difference, so instead I annoy them further, hoping they will knock me out. Fuck, anything just so I don't have to feel it.

  Eel starts to push in and I scream again. “Fuck, shut her up!” he shouts, and the one at my hands grabs my head in a vice-like grip, and starts slamming it into the hard ground again.

  Blackness begins to crawl across my vision as I feel him thrust fully inside me, ripping me. The last thing I see is his face twisted in pleasure as he uses my body.

  Agony tearing through my body brings me gasping awake, my eyes blur as I try to concentrate on what’s happening. My whole body aches, but when I blink rapidly I cry at the man above me. Forcing myself to slip back into the abyss, I leave my body once again.

  It feels like I float there, in between. I can feel my body and what is happening, but the darkness cushions me and I can’t seem to care—I can’t seem to feel anything.

  Eventually I come back to my body, and I wished I hadn’t. Every inch of me hurts and feels violated. Stickiness coats my thighs and tears drip down my cheeks at what happened to me. Blood drips down my face as well, and when I glance down I notice it covers most of my body. It’s clear they had their fun with me.

  Resignation and hate build in me, blocking out everything and anything. I can hear the men packing up and laughing, but every time I move my body protests, so I lay here, in the sand, with blood and semen trickling down my bare thighs and tears streaming from my eyes. I want to sob, I want to scream. But I did that already and they just laughed. I knew these men, I saw them every day, some I trained with, but I trusted them all. How could they do this to me?

  When the first growl reaches me I barely lift my head, but when I hear a blood-curdling scream I struggle into a sitting position, gasping when pain shoots through my whole body. My eyes widen in fear, and my heart starts to hammer again. I heard the stories about them, the cannibals, but I never believed them until now. Is it wrong a part of me is happy?

  One of them is ripping into Eel as he screams and begs the others to help him. Only they are busy fending off four more. It’s obvious they didn't hear them creep up, because their guns are still on their packs to the left, and all they have is the few weapons strapped to their bodies. I watch in a detached sort of amusement as they fall. One after the other, each taken down by a living, growling monster.

  They rip C Team to pieces, their screams splitting the air as the sound of them being eaten alive reaches me. The men manage to take a few with them though, I will give them that. Tilting my head I eye the creatures in fascination. I should be panicking, but I can't seem to bring myself to care anymore. They look human, but almost skeletal. Their bodies are thin and malnourished, with bones sticking through their paper-thin skin which is almost yellow and hard like leather, obviously from being under the sun. Straggly unwashed hair covers one of the creature’s heads, while the others are bald. Their faces look misshapen, their mouths covered in blood, but I can spot the sharp looking teeth. They are more monster than man.

  Trying to keep silent, I know I need to move before they spot me. So I struggle to my feet only to fall back on my ass with a scream, as white-hot agony spreads through my body. In dawning horror I watch as one of the cannibal’s head snaps up and it’s soulless eyes lock onto me, and that’s when I realise. I do care. I don’t want to die here.

  No, no, no. I didn’t survive those bastards to be eaten alive. Grabbing anything behind me I pull myself away, since its obvious I can’t stand yet. Those bastards royally fucked me up, so I drag myself like an animal, crying and hiccupping as the hot sand burns my naked ass and legs. I hit a rock with my left thigh and cry out when I feel it puncture my skin, but I still keep going. The cannibal watches me the whole time, before jumping forward on all fours and sniffing at the sand.

  Oh god, when I look at where it’s smelling, I notice I am leaving a trail of blood after me. Eyes still on me, it leans down and licks it before licking its lips and growling. My stomach revolts and I have to turn to the side to be sick. My sweaty, messy hair sticks to my damp face and neck, and I quickly wipe my mouth on the back of my arm. Looking back I notice it has crawled forward, it's arse in the air like some kind of old-world dog as it hunts me.

  “No,” I cry out, my voice still rough and hoarse from screaming. Looking around for anything to use as a weapon, I panic when I spot nothing. With renewed vigor, ignoring the pain with every movement, I drag myself back, faster and faster, but it's no use. It’s on me within one minute, obviously done toying with me.

  I freeze when it sniffs at my foot and makes it twitch, holding my breath, like it might just disappear if I don’t look. But I know that's not true.

  It moves up my legs, licking a path through the dirt and blood with its blood stained tongue. When it opens its mouth wide, I see that its teeth have been filed into points, and bits of muscle and skin are stuck between them. I have to breathe shallowly to keep the bile down.

  Think, Piper. Think. What would Jago do?

  I feel my body weakening and my head is pounding. I know I don’t have much longer, but I refuse to be made into cannibal chow. I’m losing too much blood from what those animals did to me, and from the stone still stuck in my thigh—that’s it!

  With nothing else to use, I reach down slowly and feel around the side of my thigh. My fingers slip in my own blood, but when I feel the jagged rock I have to breathe deep. Fuck, why does looking at it and feeling it suddenly make it real?

  This is going to hurt, I think before locking my eyes with the cannibal and pulling with all the strength left in my broken and abused body. I bite through my lip, but the scream slips out anyway as the rock cuts through my leg. Panting and with shaking hands, I hold it up in front of me. As far as weapons go, it's not ideal, but it’s something. Its head lowers as it growls again and I know it's getting prepared to leap at me. Fuck, fuckity fuck. Here goes nothing. I freeze, and when it launches through the air I thrust my rock up with a battle cry, loud enough to startle the nearby crows. Falling back to the sand I hardly breathe, my eyes still locked with its—there is nothing human there, not anymore—and when the life slowly drains from them I look down, and spot the rock protruding from deep within its chest.

  With a disgusted cry I push and kick until the body falls to the side with a thump. Leaning back I let out a hysterical laugh. One down, one to go. The other one comes at me with a roar and I know I am too weak to take it, but I will go down fighting.

  I blink in astonishment when a man, dressed all in black—including a hood covering his face—appears behind and slits its throat. It stumbles and falls down, the blood pooling around it just short of my feet. Looking up I pant hard, trying to fight off the blackness encroaching my vision again.

  He watches me, not moving, and I know I am still not safe. Jago will kill me if I don’t get up. Gritting my teeth I get to my knees, breathing deeply as I slowly get to my feet, stumbling a little. Suddenly the guy in the hood is there, holding me upright. I try to jerk away but he holds tight until I am steady, then steps back. My cheeks heat in shame but I refuse to let the tears fall as I reach down, whimpering at the pain in my body, and pull up my pants up my abused thighs. When I manage to get them up again I glance over to see him still watching me. “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat raw and broken.

  He nods, still not speaking, and steps back. Turning to the side I eye the car. Blood covers the hood and with a wince, I realise the hood is up and at least two tires are flat. I wonder if it will still run after the damage it t
ook. Pulling in a breath, I sway as I turn lightheaded.

  I need to get somewhere safe, and fast. I should head back, Jago will be worried sick, but then it also means I would be in more danger and I will put him at risk. No, I can't do that. They wanted me dead, they won’t stop, not now. I know too much, they can’t allow it. They will use him and Evan to get to me, it's better if I disappear until I am healed, and then think of a new plan.

  Something warm and faintly smelling like fire lands on my shoulders. I whirl, the black cloak slipping down my shoulders, but the man is gone, all that is left is his cloak. I shiver at the thought, I can almost feel him watching me, but I tug it closed to cover my exposed skin. It’s a testament to how injured I am that I forgot about being shirtless. Looking down I spot a rifle to the side and grab it.

  Standing, using the rifle as a walking stick, I look at the two directions. I could go west, back to Paradise and Evan and Jago, it’s where my heart wants to go. I am in desperate need of their comfort and to cry out my pain, but how do I know I won’t be killed on sight? I’m betting I have been reported as dead by now, and who is going to believe a lowly patrol over a Captain? Evan would, but at this point I don’t know if that means much. To the east I at least have a chance, a slim chance. I’m bleeding badly with only a bottle of water and the rest of the guys’ supplies to get me somewhere, but it’s better, it has to be, right?

  Glancing a final time in the direction of Paradise, I turn without a backwards glance. My heart stutters and tries to pull me back, but I know there is nothing left for me there. How could I go back to that place of monsters? At least out here I know who they are. I leave the car behind, making it look like they were attacked and I was taken, and I remind myself it is better this way. It’s not goodbye forever, just for now. Until I have a plan, then I go back for my men.

  The sun beats down on me. My whole body is sweating and hurting like an open wound. I don't even know how I keep moving, putting one foot in front of the other. It's the only thing I concentrate on. I know I must be delirious at this point, no water plus this much trauma messing with me so even the world seems to tilt. Oh wait, nope, that's just me falling.

  I land on the sand with a thump, a pained cry slipping from my cracked lips. Shaking my head I crawl to my feet, determined to keep going, but only one step later I fall again. My body doesn't want to move this time, no matter how loud I scream in my own head.

  The sky is orange, the night peeking through as I stare at it helplessly. I am going to die here. It's my only thought as reality swims and mixes with the blackness trying to claim me.

  “I’ve got you,” comes a deep, familiar voice.

  Looking up I meet the eyes of the man who fought by Jago’s side in that hut, the man I killed in front of. He smells like the hood I am wearing. He watches me sadly, his eyes filled with anger and heartbreak, as he scoops me up and holds me to his chest like I am precious.

  “Stubborn woman, aren't you? I’ve been trailing you for miles, I didn't want to touch you. Not with the way you were acting like I was a stranger—image that. Can't even remember me,” he jokes, looking down as he strides through the sand, making my attempt at walking pale in comparison. His eyes soften and his lips tug down. “Let go, Princess. I have you. Let go, your body needs it.”

  Shaking my head, I try to fight, my need to stay conscious, to know where and what is happening to me, pulling me and tying me to reality.

  “Let the fuck go. You need to rest. I have you, I promise. Nothing will hurt you while I’m here,” he vows.

  Maybe it's the look in his eyes, or the way he watches me, but I believe him. So I stop fighting and slide into the abyss once again.

  Jarring movements wake me. My eyes flutter open. Blinking, I stare in confusion at the ground. My head is lying over an arm as I jostle in someone's hold. Turning my head seems to take a lot of effort and sends pain racking through my body, so I close my eyes again and slide back into the dark.

  “Help her!” I hear the man who saved me grunt somewhere close to my head.

  My eyes feel glued shut and I can’t seem to open them.

  “We told you, only come here in dire circumstances,” an older male voice whispers in hushed tones.

  “This is fucking dire. Help her and I will call us even,” my savior growls, and I must whimper because he sucks in a breath, moving me in his arms. “Shh, Princess. Go back to sleep, I’m still here.” His voice is so much softer and it slides through my body, warming me and comforting me.

  I do as I am told. It hurts too much to be awake.

  Whimpering, I open my eyes and blink to clear them. My whole body feels light and I glance down at the bed I am lying on. The quilt is a patchwork of other colours and patterns obviously stitched together. My head is on a pillow of some sort and I don’t feel any pain, so they must have given me some meds. Looking up, I take in the darkened room I am in. A door stands opposite me, closed and made of wood. To the right is an open window, letting in a breeze and showing me the night’s sky. It’s small but warm, and too dark for me to make out anything else. So when someone sits forward beside the window, breaking the shadows, I let out a yelp which turns into a hacking cough, ripping through my already sore throat.

  They rush to my side and pass me some cloudy looking water. Taking a sip as I stare at where his face must be, the dark too thick to make it out.

  “Thank you,” I whisper as the glass is pulled away. He retreats again, only to drag the chair he was obviously sitting in closer. When he does, I can finally make out his face.

  “Assassin guy?” I croak and he grins.

  “The one and only, Princess, but you could just call me Archel,” he jokes, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees as he watches me.

  That's when it all comes back and I close my eyes as a tear drips onto my cheek. Not only has the man seen me at my worst, but he stayed here, wherever we are, protecting me as I slept.

  “Hey, none of that okay?” he says, almost begging, he sounds that pained.

  Opening my eyes again with wet lashes, I stare into his. “Did they all die?” I ask, needing to know.

  “Yes,” he states simply, and something in me, a tension I didn't realise I was carrying, eases.

  “Good,” I whisper and stare back out of the window, not wanting to look at him. Shame coats my skin and I can still feel them touching me, it makes me shiver in disgust.

  “Where am I?” I inquire, fighting the need to jump up and scrub at my skin until no traces of them remain.

  “They are called The Forgotten. They live at the base of the mountains, away from the cannibals in what is left of the last of the vegetation. I brought you here and they patched you up. You are safe.” He takes a deep breath and my eyes flicker back to him. “I didn’t let any males touch you apart from me, you didn’t seem to mind, and I also cleaned you myself.” He holds still, like he is expecting me to flip out, but it only relieves me that I have been washed and that he did it. Although it embarasses me, I don't think I could stand the thought of some random person cleansing the evidence of my attack away, something in me trusts him.

  “Thank you,” I murmur and my eyes go back to the window.

  I hear him sigh as he shifts in the chair. “Look, I get how you are feeling right now, okay? But you can't let this break you. You are safe here and you can rest and heal, which is what you need to do.”

  I ignore him and he grunts. “I mean it, you are stronger than this.”

  “You don't know me,” I quip coldly, still feeling numb. I just want to retreat back into this darkness, and ignore the disgust and shame coursing through me. I just want to not feel again. It’s easier.

  “I know enough. You pulled a fucking rock out of your own leg to use as a weapon. You are a warrior through and through, you will make it,” he finishes, sounding proud.

  I don’t respond, I just close my eyes and shift my heavy head so I am on my back.

  “Sleep, I will be here when you w
ake up,” he promises and I do.

  I sleep on and off for the next couple of days. An older, big muscly man who Archel introduced as Simon, comes by every few hours to check my wounds. I flinched and cowered the first time he came into my room, curling in on my aching body in panic. Archel talked me through it, and refused to leave the room even when Simon glared and asked him to. Instead, he held my hand as I closed my eyes and tried to block out Simon’s touch. Before leaving the first time, Simon told me to rest my voice as my throat was badly raw and inflamed. He also brought me some sweet tasting tea and told me to drink as much of it as I could.

  I only looked at the devastation wrought on my body once, and it was enough for a lifetime. Bruises in various shades of purple, green, and black decorate all of my body. A bandage covers my thigh from the rock with blood soaking through it, which Simon told me off for. My thighs have teeth marks, whip marks, and worse. My back is sore and I do not bother trying to look at it. My head has a nice lump on it and the left side of it is blown up and raw looking, my eye squinting in the mess of bruises.

  Despite his size, Simon is gentle. He’s rough around the edges with a long, thick brown beard speckled with grey covering his chin and a matching handlebar mustache above his lip. His eyes are a deep grey and soft. He reminds me of Evvie, all hard on the outside but soft and mushy inside, not that I would say that to Simon. In fact, I don’t speak at all. He speaks to me the entire time he tends to me, and I hold Archel’s hand as he does so, which anchors me to the present so I can ignore the flashes of Eel’s and the others’ hands and mouths on me.

  When he's done, he always looks at me sadly, with questions in his eyes I refuse to answer. “When you are ready, you can meet the others,” he told me today. I wanted to scoff at him, I wanted to laugh and make a stupid remark...but I couldn't.