by KC Klein
I could see, so close, no more than thirty feet away. Might as well have been the distance of the Milky Way.
A quick kick to his right rib made him exhale with a whoosh, spurting blood from his nose and mouth in a spray of red. His eyes glazed, then refocused.
I knew what he was doing. ConRad had tried to teach me, tried to show me how to leave your body. How to rise above and hover on the outside. He hadn’t managed the pain yet, I could tell, as his eyes blinked rapidly and refocused to a spot right above my head.
Then a blow to the left kidney. A hiss. His eyes fluttered back, showing white.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s make some noise,” Syon said, his voice sickly sweet.
A small pop. A rib broke. ConRad screamed and crumpled to the floor.
ooshg="en-us" height="0em" width="1em" align="justify">Nooooooooo. The thought of him dying was bad enough, but the guilt of him still drawing breath in the midst of all that pain was more than I could bear.
In here, ConRad . . . right here . . . focus on me. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.
He rolled back up, swayed, fell, then finally pushed to his knees. Eyes blurred with torment, he searched the colored windows.
He’d heard me. Somehow our connection crossed barriers and locked. ConRad couldn’t physically see me, but our eyes caught regardless.
I’m here, baby. Sweet husband, I’m here. You’re okay. You’re not alone.
His breath evened. Gaze fixed, then softened to quiet. His jaw relaxed, mouth parted slightly.
He’d left. Thank you. I breathed a sigh of relief.
A hit to the side of his head. Head snapped back. His body crumpled, still—dead.
A piercing scream rang out on and on—then my shadows didn’t wait. They rushed at me until blissful Dark Space.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Something tapped my cheek softly, then harder. “Kris, wake up. Wake up.”
I opened my eyes. Ana’s face wavered above mine. Her brown eyes wide, her full mouth pressed into a tight line. For a split second my mind was blissfully numb, blank, and then in a painful shock, reality screamed in.
ConRad was dead.
The thought was like a millstone being tied around my neck before being pitched into the open sea. I was drowning, the waters closed over me. Couldn’t rise above. Couldn’t breathe.
“Kris, they’ve taken the body.” Ana’s big hazel eyes were soft with concern.
The body? ConRad’s body?
I pushed myself up and fought my way past the tempting darkness that promised oblivion.
“Where?” My voice scraped my throat raw.
Ana shook her head. “I don’t know, but they didn’t have any supplies with them so maybe their camp isn’t far. They headed south to the rear of the Sanctuary.”
I struggled to my feet. My whole body seemed foreign, overtaken by some alien life-form. “How long ago did they leave?”
“A quarter of an hour . . . maybe longer. They waited awhile hoping you’d come out. The leader kept calling your name, taunting, but we thought it best to let you sleep.” Her hand touched my knee and gave a light squeeze.
“Did ConRad . . . did he wake . . . or move? Anything?”
Ana’s eyes lowered and she shook her head.
I didn’t expect anything different. Glancing out the tinted window, I saw darkness creeping over the horizon. I dragged myself to my feet, my body barely responded. I started toward the circular stairs, but this time at a much slower pace.
“Where are you going?” Ana asked, ready to body-check me again.
“I need to see his body . . . I need to know.”
Ana bit her lip, and then nodded. “Careful, Kris. Don’t let ConRad die in vain. Stay alive.”
Stay alive . . . stay alive . . . to what end? To never see my family again? Never love again, to live alone, and raise my child alone? But I couldn’t think of that now. I had to find ConRad’s body and give him a proper burial. When my mother died, she’d been cremated. There was no gravesite, no tombstone to visit, no comforting ritual to go through to help process the grief. I found myself desperate for a marker to place on his grave, a place I could visit with my child and show him or her where a great man was buried.
I struggled with the heavy metal bar across the front door. Using my foot, I braced myself against the door jam and pulled. The heavy door finally gave and I was out. I walked toward the dense forest line, but soon broke into a light run.
My heart was pounding, not only from the excursion, but from something that wouldn’t die. Syon loved ConRad; twisted and sick as that love was, would he have killed him? A hardy seed of hope planted in my gut, one I couldn’t uproot unless I was sure, until I saw with my own eyes and felt with my own hand.
Quiet. A voice hushed me in the back of my mind. I was too panicked for stealth, but self-preservation made me avoid the pile of dry leaves and stay close to the brush cover. I soon picked up a trail of some sorts. Not that I was a tracker, could be a deer, could be the Elders. My only saving grace was that I knew what direction they had headed.
Night fell fast within the depths of the forest. Clingy shadows blanketed any semblance of a path. My mind played upon my fears of slivered orange eyes and muted growls. I was glad when the tree line finally broke, and I saw a camp that kept the night at bay with its muted fire. Simple white tents were pitched in a circle within the small clearing. The campsite seemed subdued. Could the guilt of killing a man weigh on the Elders, or was it just exhaustion from beating a man to death?
I glanced around. There didn’t seem to be any guards. And why would there be? Their only enemy was dead, and within their midst. They had no fear of repercussion.
I had no idea what I was going to do, so I settled for observation. The night deepened into silence and lanterns inside the tents created perfect silhouettes against the backdrop of fabric. I circled the camp, looking for anything, something that would give me a clue to ConRad’s whereabouts. It didn’t take long for me to find a man huddled inside a tent, over a large darkened form. I watched as the man lifted someone’s head and carefully administered a cup to the still form.
My heart slammed with a painful beat against my chest. ConRad. It could be no one else but him, and if ConRad could drink, then he was alive!
I watched as the shadowed form tenderly stroked his hair, and placed silhouetted lips against his forehead. I knew those movements, had memorized his mannerisms as a key to my survival—Syon. He was the only person sick enough to administer care to the same soul he’d just tortured. My nails dug into my palms, and I bit my tongue to keep my screams behind my teeth.
My reptilian brain reared its ugly head. Mine! Syon couldn’t have him.
But I had no idea how to get to ConRad. Syon would never let his guard down, wouldn’t even leave his side. And I had no weapon. What could one lone woman do against a band of armed men? So I waited. I’d learned patience in prison, a requirement of survival. Opportunities revealed themselves to the ready.
The hours passed. I sat cross-legged, still as death, and bided my time. I watched as the moon traveled across the sky and finally set. My fingers stroked the pointed side of a rock I’d found as I primed my mind. A body had dozens of vulnerable spots; I knew them all. A stab into the smoothed tender skin of the temple was easy enough. David had brought down Goliath with such a well-placed shot, and Syon was no giant.
The lantern flicked to life after hours of sleep. The light was faint, but shined as a beacon in the thick night. The silhouette I’d pegged as Syon moved. His body hunched over ConRad’s, stilled and then rose and pulled his shirt over his head. The pants went next. His darkened form hesitated, looming over ConRad’s unconscious form.
My fist clenched, the rock’s sharp edge cutting into my palm. I watched transfixed, like the unfolding of a tragic train wreck, unable to look away. No . . . no . . . no.
Syon’s silhouette covered ConRad’s. I rose to my feet.
/> No plan formed in my mind, just a cool blank space.
Then ConRad’s silhouette moved. His head connected with Syon’s, making a terrible thumping sound like two watermelons thrown together at high speed. Syon crumpled, so did ConRad. I raced to the tent, using my rock to tear an opening in the heavy-duty cloth.
Syon lay naked on ConRad, face torqued to one side, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. ConRad was still, eyes rolled back into his head, fresh blood flowing over his already red-caked face.
The image shattered my mind. Simple, blank, nothing. My thoughts hiccupped and I lost a few precious seconds. One moment I was standing there, the next I was straddling Syon’s limp body, and had pinned his head to the side with my hand. My forefinger and thumb splayed, framing the fleshy part of his temple. I raised my stone high above my head. Fire and ice flowed through my veins. My heart pounded so loud, I was sure it could be heard outside my body. My arm shook with pent up energy. So easy. Just one downward motion. Just. One. Blow.
My hissed breath blew wet through clenched teeth.
He’d tortured me. Beat me and cut me with his knife. Watched me sweat and bleed. Laughed, as I trembled with fear at his touch. Almost killed my husband, and then . . . almost did more. No. He deserved to die. I could do this. I was stronger now, no longer the weak, pampered girl. I would extract justice for both of us.
Vengeance is mine.
I am a killer.
And damn it felt good.
I raised my hand higher, fought to still the shaking. My eyes targeted on the pulsing blue of a vein covered by the thin membrane of skin.
I smiled.
And swung.
Chapter Thirty
A swift upper cut connected to the soft underside of my solar plexus. Air whooshed from my lungs. I doubled over in pain as Syon took hold of my shoulders and threw me over, head first. I rolled, but didn’t come up in time to prevent him from launching himself at me. Our roles were reversed, him on top now, knees pinning my arms, his flaccid junk splayed between my breasts.
For an old man, his strength was deceptive. His arms were sinewy with muscle, legs corded and hard. His long hair straggled past his shoulders and the ends brushed at my neck.
“I knew you’d come. He said you wouldn’t. But you did,” Syon said. It was hard to make out his features in the dim light, but I knew he was smiling.
I strained against his powerful thighs and tried to kick my legs high enough to reach his head with my booted feet. He was quick with the back of his hand, a powerful blow across my cheek. Not enough to break bone, but enough to remind me of who was in charge.
Pain painted my vision red. My head snapped to one side. I bit my lip and tasted blood. I stilled myself, lay limp. His ragged breathing was loud in the quiet of the camp. I felt his pulse as it rushed through the arteries in his inner thighs.
I knew how this would play out. Been here before. There were no more blank spaces. But fear is a funny thing. Because inside fear were kernels of something else—power.
Pain didn’t scare me, not anymore. I’d been schooled in agony.
I harvested the terror and pushed it through my veins, intoxicating me with its power.
My breathing slowed and I relaxed my fisted hands. My senses heightened to an almost supernatural acuity as my eyes adjusted to the dimness. I could see the woven fabric of the tent’s material, distinguish three different breathing patterns in the silence, feel the slow warm drop of Syon’s blood as it rolled off his face and landed in the hollow of my throat.
I straightened my head and smiled at him from behind hooded eyes. I licked my lips, as if preparing for a delicious meal. And with a deep growl that vibrated in my belly, I raised my head and sunk my teeth into the fleshy part of his thigh.
An animal screech sounded. Blows rained down on the back of my skull. Iron warmth filled my mouth, but I held on.
A well-placed punch to my jaw had me rolling to protect my face, but I wasted no time. I sprung to my feet, spit on the ground, and faced him. I was a wild thing, animalistic in my ferocity. I’d fight him to the death.
Today . . . today was a good day to die.
We circled each other like wild dogs. All that was missing was the yapping.
He bared his teeth. I laughed in his face. “Oh yeah, old man. It’s you and me. You’ve got no whips and chains to make you powerful. It’s all about who can take the most pain, and I’ve had the best teacher.”
Something darkened his eyes and it wasn’t triumph. I smelled fear. Yeah, I was that crazy.
He went for a quick jab to my face. I blocked, but he got a punch to my ribs. I hissed and came back with a smile.
He came after me and then we were locked in a battle of strength. My hands wrapped around his wrists as they loomed over me. My arms shook, every muscle straining to keep him at a distance. We were close, caught in a deadly dance, his bare feet inches from mine. My back slowly began to bend to his superior strength, pushing me to where he wanted me, on my knees. In a desperate move, my steel-toed boot crashed hard on his instep. A small pop. A small polow cry. His body bent forward, my fingers threaded through his hair, my knee swift to connect with his face.
Syon crumpled to the ground like a lifeless doll.
I stood gasping, shoulders hunched, arms limp in victory. My body was drunk on blood and hate. I shook. I was power. End him NOW.
In the distance, someone shouted. A light flared through the thin fabric at the entrance of the tent. My vision cleared. ConRad. My God, what was I doing?
I dropped to my knees beside ConRad and pushed the hair off his face. With a clinical eye I surveyed the damage. Hands tied behind his back, one arm bent at an odd angle. Chest smeared with blood and raised welts. His face was smashed in, the facial bones crushed beyond repair.
But his legs weren’t broken and that meant that he could walk.
And God knew we needed to run like hell.
I raised one of his eyelids. The white of his eye was shot with red, his pupil was heavy and rolled back into his head. “Move solider! Up on your feet.”
Nothing. I slapped the good side of his face.
More lanterns were lit. The camp was now engulfed with light. Through the ripped back of the tent, the dark shadows beckoned. Panic pumped through my body as Syon groaned, coming back to consciousness.
“Elder Syon, do you need assistance? Is everything alright?” A man called from the front of the tent.
We were out of time. I placed the heel of my palm on the indented part of ConRad’s rib cage and pushed.
“Get UP!” I hissed in his ear.
He moaned and rolled his head. I stood and kicked his booted feet. “On your feet. Move!”
“Elder Syon, I request an answer immediately.” I could hear him scratching at the door, as he fumbled for the inside tie.
I took hold of Cook hold nRad’s broken arm . . . and pulled.
ConRad screamed, but he was on his feet. I pushed back the ripped tent fabric and pulled him into a run, hell bent for the thick darkness of the forest. He stumbled once. I twisted his arm. He moaned, but pushed up into a run.
I looked to the sky and prayed for the delay of dawn. We’d have a better chance in the dark. Fickle divine intervention seemed to sway in our favor because ominous black clouds descended with a vengeance, blocking the stars and slowing the onset of daybreak.
It had to be enough.
Chapter Thirty-one
“Come on,” I panted, as ConRad fell for the umpteenth time. I had no idea where we were going, just knew we needed distance. We’d never make it back to the Sanctuary, and even if we did, they’d never take him in. Offering ConRad protection would bring the wrath of thousands upon their head. The Elders would declare an all-out war.
I stumbled to the ground, taking ConRad with me—and stayed. Despair weighed heavy on me like my veins pumped lead instead of blood. The adrenaline rush had ended. I knew the physical responses. Shaky limbs, chills, a queasy stomach, and foggy
thinking. My body was simply replacing the epinephrine hormone with norepinephrine, helping my system establish a balance from the survival response of fight or flight to normal functions. Except, I’d never be normal again.
We couldn’t go any further. This had to be far enough—safe enough. I hoped.
I scooted my back against a tree trunk and gently laid ConRad’s head on my lap. He hadn’t said a word during our clumsy journey, just hissed and groaned at each fall and rise up. Absently, I stroked his head and listened to his labored breathing slow, and then turn into the rhythmic sound of sleep. Asleep or unconscious—regardless, it was a blessing.
Every urge screamed to flee, but I’d pushed ConRad as far as I could and besides, I had nowhere to go. I was lost. If there was a plan for me, then God had better show me because I’d run completely out of ideas.
My fingers played with the crusted hair along ConRad’s gashed scalp. With a skilled ear I listened for any change in his breathing. It’d slowed, but not in a good way. And if I blocked out all other sounds, I could hear a wet sucking sound wit0h each inhale. He had fluid in his lungs, an almost sure sign of internal injuries.
My tears wetted ConRad’s hair, my harsh sobs loud in the muted sounds of the forest. I wiped my nose on my shirt and took in the scent of sweat, rotting leaves, and blood. Why was I here? What was the reason for my coming? To watch my loved ones die? To be helpless and lost? I didn’t know what was worse, watching him die or knowing that if I was in a hospital I could’ve attempted to save his life. I bent my head over ConRad’s and rested my cheek on his chest, finding comfort in the continued beat of his heart.
The sound of rustling leaves woke me. My eyes opened to the lightening gray of predawn. My neck screamed in protest as I shifted from the odd angle I’d slept in. The crashing sound was getting louder. Someone was coming and not caring if they were heard.
