by Casey Hays
“We have to do something.”
A hard knock at the door, and we all freeze.
“Who is that?” Sophia whispers. She edges into the kitchen and turns back to stare through the doorway into the living room. The knock resounds again. She takes a backward step, eases her hand into Claudia’s. My eyes drift downward, focusing on Ian’s pinched face as another nightmare promises to unfold.
“Stay here,” Claudia demands. She wrenches free from Sophia’s grasp and takes a slow step forward.
“What are you doing?” Sophia squeaks. “Let’s just hide.”
She bolts across the dim room to the far wall, and I watch her. There is nothing there—nothing but a paneled wall—until she pushes against it. A piece of the wall slides into a pocket, and an opening gapes at us, ready to swallow us up if we’ll only let it.
Another knock, louder this time.
“Open up in there!”
My blood tingles just beneath my skin. Claudia’s shoulders stiffen. She casts her eyes over me.
“What are they doing here so early?” I ask. “Don’t they sleep?”
Claudia rubs her forehead. “Can we drag him?”
We try, but even with two of us tugging and one pushing at his ankles, we manage to move him a mere half inch.
“He’s like a rock,” Sophia exclaims, her wide eyes exploring the length of his solid body.
Something explodes against the front door with a crack. Sophia jumps, grasping my arm in the process.
“The door is already damaged.” Claudia’s mind is churning, and worry defines every line in her face. “They’re coming in whether we want them to or not.” She eyes the table. “Help me move this.”
We do our best to conceal Ian, placing the table over him, covering it with the blanket, and surrounding it with the chairs. Sophia blows out the candles, and the room disappears into darkness. Another loud crack resounds against the door. This time, it shakes the foundation right along with every nerve in my body.
Claudia hesitates for another brief moment before she takes both of us by the wrists and drags us toward the opening in the wall. And I suddenly understand the plan. We’re going to leave Ian out here while we hide. I come to a halt, holding my stance against her grip. She turns.
“I can’t do this.” I take a backward step.
“Yes you can.” Her fingers tighten on my wrist. “Do you understand what those men might do to you if they find you?”
“I do,” I answer. “But if tell them I’m the girl they’re looking for, they’ll leave you alone. And perhaps they won’t find Ian.”
“Kate, that is insane. No.”
“If they find him, they will kill him,” I insist.
“They may not find him if you’ll just cooperate. And they might kill you. Have you considered that? They didn’t hesitate to kill my brother.”
An enormous boom as the door slams against the wall, telling us they’ve managed to gain access. Hard footsteps clack over the wooden floor followed by at least two more sets of boots. I swallow, bracing myself for the worst. Sophia takes in a panicked breath and backs into the black entrance, disappearing completely.
“I won’t do this,” I repeat, and my eyes wander over the blanket which poorly conceals Ian. “He would never desert me. I won’t let them take him without a fight.”
Claudia is a silent shadow, wrestling with her own fear, but with a sigh, she faces the opening and shifts the panel.
“Claudia, what are you doing?” Sophia’s voice rises in alarm. “No. Don’t do it. Claudia!”
“Keep quiet,” she whispers harshly amid Sophia’s protests. “And do not come out of this room until someone you know comes for you.”
She slides the panel closed, reestablishing the wall.
The thudding boots move toward the hallway, echoing off the walls, and my panic level rises a notch. I suddenly don’t feel so brave, but one thought consumes me: What will these soldiers do with an unconscious boy from Eden?
“There’s a dead body in here.” A muffled proclamation. “Not one of us.”
There is no denying what they will see in this house. There is glaring evidence against us. They will smell death in this place, and it won’t take them long to draw their own conclusions.
“I’m going to turn myself into them,” I whisper. “I’ll tell them I’m the only one in the house.”
I move toward the door, but Claudia grabs my wrist.
“You will do no such thing.”
And then . . . it’s too late.
The sound of boots comes clattering back in our direction, and the beaming rays of a flashlight flutter across the kitchen floor. One light, glaringly bright, molests my eyes, but the soldier spots Claudia first. Behind me, Ian moans. He shuffles his foot spasmodically kicking into my ankle. I instinctively sink to the floor, position myself in front of him as if I have some ability to camouflage him with my own shadow.
“Can I help you, sir?” Claudia holds up her hand to ward off the sudden light.
The soldier fixes his eyes on her. His features are eerily sharp in shades of blue-gray. He wears a frown, and his deep set eyes are nonexistent in the shadows. But his jaw is broad and hard set and covered with a grizzly, half-grown beard.
“Why is it so dark in here?” he grumbles.
“Because you’ve decided to break into my house in the middle of the night.”
The soldier huffs, not liking her tone.
“Damned primitives.” He pauses, then jerks his head in the direction of the corridor. “What happened in that room down there?”
Claudia doesn’t answer, and after a moment, he huffs again.
“We’re looking for two of our men. Last report, they were here.”
When Claudia still doesn’t answer, the soldier steps in until his nose is inches from her forehead. He holds the flashlight up between them, and a white circle appears on the ceiling and dances about.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where those men may have gotten off to?”
“A couple of your soldiers were here,” Claudia shifts her chin upward indignantly. “And now they’re not.”
Her voice is unbelievably calm. The beam of light shimmers unsteadily as the soldier’s hard features turn graver. Another moment of silence, and the back of his fist cracks against her jaw. The impact sends her flailing backwards, and she lands with a grunt, her body sliding across the floor and slamming into the table leg. It nudges just enough for Ian’s feet and half of his lower legs to protrude from beneath it. In a panic, I shift my position, hoping to hide him with my own body. The shadows are deep, and the soldier doesn’t see me at all. He takes two calculated steps and squats in front of Claudia.
“Watch your tone, woman,” he growls.
His piercing eyes narrow angrily, and he shines the light straight into her face. She struggles to right herself. Her lip has reopened and bleeds down her chin. She touches it gingerly, wipes her fingers on the front of her blouse. Another soldier steps into the room to hover behind the first, and together, their flashlight beams play across the floor.
“Now. Where are our men?”
I can hear my own breathing loud in my ears, I desperately try to stifle it, but it’s no use. The second soldier angles his flashlight slightly, and the beam falls over me. Squinting, I shield my eyes with my arm.
He doesn’t speak, and I can’t make out his face from behind the wide beam. After a minute, the first soldier sweeps his light in my direction, too.
“Well, what in the world do we have here?” he asks.
Amused, his voice rises in volume, and my heart begins to beat faster, pounding inside my head with each pulse. He peers down his sharp nose, tilting his head, and his eyes drop from my face to the large set of feet I haven’t quite been able to conceal. I press my closed fists into the wooden floor on either side of me. The soldier clicks his tongue and pulls his lips upward into a wide, toothy grin.
The other soldier hasn’t moved. He hasn’t
said one word, and I’m unsure if this should unnerve me or put me at ease. I wish I could see his face—that I had some indication of his intentions.
The first soldier stares at me another few seconds before he stands, and with one quick yank of his hand pulls the blanket from the table. He bends at the waist, aiming the light, and there’s no more hiding it. The sudden twitch of his lip proves it.
I don’t wait to see what he’ll do next. I scramble under the table, and pressing my lips against Ian’s ear, I shake him one.
“Please wake up, Ian. Wake up. I need you.”
His response is like death. Claudia breathes heavily as she tries to regain her footing, but she barely makes it to her knees before she slumps to the floor again. On her hands and knees, she peers at me. And then . . . she begins to pray.
“Yeshua . . . Jesus,” she whispers. “Help us. Give us strength to face this trial.”
The first soldier laughs softly. “Pray all you want. You’re God can’t help you.”
The soldier kicks at her, but she simply grunts, and resumes her prayer. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Please,” I whisper—to the Moirai, the Archer, to any god who will listen. “Help us.”
A tear drops from my eye to land on Ian’s cheek. It slides over his clammy skin as if it is his own, and something like a breeze washes through me. Nothing in the room moves, but inside, I feel a swirling of motion. I lift my head, and a tiny voice, almost indistinct whispers over me.
I will.
I blink in shock. The voice is soft, but so definite—so clear—and for a moment, I think it’s inside me. I raise up to see who spoke. A second later, the table is gone, and the two soldiers dressed in their black uniforms hover over me. Their flashlights dance erratically, and I catch a glimpse of a golden V on one of the men’s sleeves. I also see the rifle slung over each of their shoulders.
A trembling shudders out of me. I throw myself over Ian, fruitlessly attempting to shield him, and I wait for the inevitable.
Chapter 22
T
he soldiers’ shocked eyes fall in unison on Ian.
“So this is where the monster has been hiding,” the first one retorts. His eyes roam the length of Ian’s inert frame and land on me. “Then, you must be the ‘girl’ we’ve all be commissioned to find.” His ghastly grin returns. “This is our lucky day.”
I don’t blink, staring up at him, a hard resolve enveloping me through my fear. He takes another step, surveying Ian.
“What’s the matter with him?” the other soldier asks. His voice is not as deep. He sounds young, frightened even. “Is he dead?”
The first soldier kicks Ian’s foot, and he moans. His hard eyes pierce me before they snap toward the younger man.
“Beau, it looks like you get to make your first arrest.” He squats, rests his rifle across his knee, and observes Ian more closely. “It’ll be easier hauling this one in unconscious. He was a force to be reckoned with when he was awake.” His greedy, bloodshot eyes find me again. He smiles crookedly, and my skin begins to squirm with repulsion. “But we don’t need to rush, do we pretty girl?”
My stomach drops. I connect with Beau, hoping he sees the plea in my eye. Not that he will help me, but I sense he doesn’t have the same mindset as his comrade.
The grinning soldier stretches a calloused hand in my direction, hateful fingers against my skin—warm and full of lust. They match the gleam in his eyes. I jerk away; Beau takes an uncertain backwards step, clutching the flashlight. He glances at Claudia. She emits a ragged breathe in the middle of her praying.
“. . . protect us from harm, Father. Keep me in the shadow of your wings that I may overcome. . .”
Her words are a chant, flooding the atmosphere with a strange comfort, and I’m pulled into it until a hard hand reaches for me again, jerking me back into the fear.
“Leave me alone!” I scream, and I cling to Ian’s neck like an anchor to the ocean floor. I kick at the soldier, but he’s too quick. In an instant, he has me by the ankle. He yanks.
“No!” I screech. “No!”
He tugs harder, breaking my hold on Ian, and pins me to his chest. His breath is hot and acrid on my skin, his lips pushed up against the side of my head. I struggle against him, and my heart beats so fast—so furiously—that I fear it will burst before he has a chance to fulfill whatever plans he has for me.
I wrench my head toward Claudia. She struggles to her feet, but Beau is there, his hand on her shoulder, firmly pushing her back to her knees. He holds her there, shifts nervously from one foot to the next, his eyes trained on his partner.
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re just going to have a little fun, aren’t we?”
The big man shifts me slightly, takes hold of my face, and squeezes it roughly. My teeth graze the inside of my cheeks, and I taste blood. Still Claudia prays.
I close my eyes. Who can save me?
Yeshua.
The name is a desperate plea in my soul.
The soldier’s hand moves down my thigh, lifts my skirt. I squeeze my knees together, pinning his hand, and the tears smart my eyes. A hint of Madame Belle’s lessons dances on the edges of my emotions. I know how this works. I know what this man wants. I stretch my hand, my fingertips barely brushing the surface of Ian’s pants.
Ian . . . please wake up.
My thigh muscles begin to cramp, the soldier releases my jaw to yank my head backwards by the hair, and the motion sends the tears spilling down my cheeks. And I tremble. I’m so tired of fighting evil in this world. Of living in fear. Of feeling hopeless. Of having no peace.
“Yeshua . . .” Claudia’s voice carries over the dark room and pierces me. The soldier runs his hand down the front of my blouse. “I praise you in the storm because you are faithful. Be with us now in this trial.”
And in that moment, something deep inside me breaks.
“Yeshua . . .” It’s a breathy, wheezy sound on my tongue, but it crashes through me like the waves of a singular hope. And a warmth floods my chest.
I stop struggling. A sob bellows out of me—one hollow, helpless sound, and I know in that moment that I don’t have the power to save myself from anything. I never have. The reality washes over me at the thought—this foreign idea that I have no control, and oddly, a calm sets in. My body goes limp.
Beau shines his light over us once and pulls it back again as if he can’t bear to see the brutish acts. His voice comes to me from his dark form, small and hesitant.
“Come on, Chip. This isn’t right.”
“Shut it, kid.” Chip gives my hair another yank. “You don’t know. I’ve been in this dirt bag town for too long. It’s time I got me a reward.” He leans in, runs his scruffy cheek against my neck. “There’s a good girl. Better not to fight.”
His big hand squeezes my shoulder in mock affection. All my insides roar with panic, but I don’t move a muscle.
“Kate,” Claudia whispers. “Look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at the horror of the moment. I can’t. I can’t look at her.
“Shut her up,” Chip growls.
“Look at me, Kate!”
And then . . .
A hand—warm and large and so very familiar—clamps around my shin. I twist awkwardly in time to see Ian’s eyes snap open. A half-sob, half-laugh escapes me. In one quick, continuous motion, Ian springs to his feet.
Shocked, this soldier named Chip shoves me away and bounds to his feet, grappling for his rifle. I scurry backwards on my hands and heels until my back hits the hard surface of the upturned table, and I stare up at Ian. He is a giant consuming the room, the atmosphere, and the attention of two very frightened soldiers. My pulse batters my chest, humming with relief.
Before either man has a remote chance of engaging his weapon, Ian has both of them by the throat. Claudia scuttles out of the way on all fours as Ian lugs them backwards across the floor amidst their choked protests, their heels dragging, and p
resses them against the wall. He lifts them until their feet are dangling, fiercely kicking out as they gasp for breath. Beau fumbles with the trigger of his rifle, but he drops the weapon to wrangle with Ian’s wrist, pulling downward. His efforts are useless.
I’m stunned, unsure at first how to react at the quick turn of events. One of the flashlights lays inches from me, the beam spreading light across the floor, and I take it up and point it at Ian.
His back is to me, but in the light I see the soldiers’ faces. They turn a horribly dark shade from lack of oxygen, and their eyes roll back into their heads until only a white film remains. I watch silently for a moment, feeling pridefully vindicated. But the feeling soon turns sour in my stomach. I lumber painfully to my feet and stumble toward Ian.
His face is drawn into a hard, blank mask, and his eyes flick wildly, the blue hue pulsing and relaxing intermittently. He doesn’t blink, and I know immediately he is unaware of his actions. Sweat pours from his temple and beads his skin. And his jaw clenches and relaxes, then clenches again. I touch his bicep.
“Ian,” I whisper. The soldiers’ movements are slowing, and I squeeze Ian’s arm. I can’t let him do this. He doesn’t need any more blood on his hands. “Ian, you can let go now. It’s over.”
There is no indication that he hears me. He remains stoic, mechanical. I reach up, run the back of my fingers across his sweaty cheek. He flinches, turns toward me. Beau passes out, his body stilling completely.
“It’s war.” Ian’s voice is hoarse. His eyes pulsate. A single tear drips from his eye and mingles with the sweat on his cheek. “People die.”
“I know,” I nod, my own tears springing to my eyes. “I know.”
He turns away from me; Chip passes out.
“Ian. Please, stop.”
I pull on his arm, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, with one final jerk of his fingers, he crushes the throats of both soldiers simultaneously. Only then does he release them to crumple in two heaps at his feet. He steps back, bends to pick up the fallen rifle. I cover my mouth, eyes wide. Ian checks the weapon, with the same mechanical movements. I stare at him, and I don’t recognize him—not at all. He’s simply . . . a machine.
