Alarum (Walking Shadows Book 1)

by Talis Jones

“Yep,” he grins.

  I blow out a breath. “Well shoot, if I knew that I wouldn’t try so hard to look pretty for you,” I tease.

  “And to think you didn’t even know I existed,” he sighs ruefully.

  “I knew you existed,” I defend.

  “But was it love at first sight?” he hedges playfully.

  My mouth twists. “Nah, for me it was later. Way later.”

  Riker shakes his head and turns his eyes to the stars. “She wounds me again.”

  I shove his shoulder as laughter glides through the air. Calm settles over me and I peer up at him shyly. “Did you really love me at first sight?”

  “Yep,” he smiles. “Aristotle, remember?”

  He shifts so he’s straddling the rotting log to fully face me. My eyes catch on the firelight glinting off his ring. Without hesitation his fingers choose their places and he begins to strum a tune that calls listeners to sway and smile in a soft if slightly sad way. Like a willow in the wind. He sings right to me and despite myself I can feel my cheeks warming. Even now he can make me blush and squirm both with pleasure and embarrassment.

  Finally he releases me from his gaze and I turn away. I allow myself to softly sway as I listen to him sing and play.

  …Some say your eyes burn with fire

  But I say they shine with starlight

  To hold your hand is my simple desire

  To soothe the scars you fight

  I dream of hiding in your smile

  Even for a little while

  But oh I may as well try and catch the wind

  Or try and shield the sun

  Or ask the river to bend

  Or beg the earth to still

  But my dear no matter how far you go

  My stubborn heart will always love you so

  Even when you push away

  Or hide your face in grief

  That together we are meant to stay

  Remains my truest belief...

  CHAPTER 41

  I bury the ashes, scatter the rocks, and drag leafy branches along the ground hiding any boot prints or human markings from the area. Who would know where we are or what we’re planning? But with the bounties on us rising we don’t take any chances.

  Riker hauls our rationed supplies back to where we hid the Grounder. We don’t camp too near it but it’s only a short walk away hidden in thicker bushes. If one of us is found then at least the other might escape. Besides, we can’t risk getting closer to the Alliance in that loud hunk of metal.

  I scatter a few leaves in careful random disorder then look around checking if I missed anything.

  Snap.

  My head jerks up like a deer suddenly alert of a hunter in the woods. I know immediately it’s not Riker. I was supposed to meet him and he’s not so clumsy as to—

  Crunch.

  Definitely not Riker. I keep my posture calm but my eyes are sharp as I slowly back up, my brain already vamping for the sprint through the trees.

  One step back, two, three, four—

  A hand clamps around my mouth and hot breath assaults my ear. “Don’t move,” he warns.

  I jam my elbow into his solar plexus, seize his wrist and twist it hard spinning out of his grasp. At once several voices shatter the early morning serenity and my heart pounds as Rangers spew through the trees like sewage gushing from a pipe. I turn slowly as fear slides down my spine.

  Completely surrounded I’m nearly out of options. Then I see him. Just a shadow in the trees but I’d know his eyes anywhere. Riker must have caught their trail and come running to warn me. But there’s still time to save him. With a roar I hurl myself at the closest Ranger. I knock him to the ground before charging after my next victim and just as the red hot starts to fill my veins a fist catches me unawares knocking me sideways. In seconds the pack has crushed me tightly within their circle. Cuffs are yanked onto my wrists and my feet are kicked out from under me forcing me to my knees.

  A man strides forwards and the circle loosens. He’s tall, bronze skin stretches across his muscles, black hair falls into his eyes that glow a molasses brown that reminds me of…

  “I’ve been thirsting for your blood a long time, girl,” he opens, his voice sharp.

  “Who are you?” I demand restlessly.

  His eyes narrow with long harbored dislike. “My name is Gibson. I was Rosh’s brother.”

  My jaw slackens with surprise. “But if you know who I am then you know I was Rosh’s friend,” I counter desperately.

  “You left her to die,” he spits and I cringe at his accusation.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You murdered James Helmsworth,” he interrupts. “You dragged Rosh into your guilty mess and when Lucas came a callin’ you and that boy tossed her to the wolves to save your own sorry hides.”

  “No!” I bleat. “That’s not what happened!”

  “I spoke to Lucas!” he rages softly. “I know what happened. The law requires blood for blood and since she was associated with you so were your crimes. By law he hung her as guilty because you were too much of a coward to stand up for your sins.”

  “We didn’t want her to go!” I insist. “She was our friend.”

  “You filthy liar,” he growls. “I’ve had to wait three years to earn enough respect and ranking to hunt you down. I will not have this taken from me.”

  “Your sister sacrificed herself,” I explain furiously. “She took the fall so we could be saved. And you’re going to have her death be for nothing?”

  “Lucas told me the truth!”

  “And you trust him?” I mock. “I know enough about that man to know I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “And I trust you even less,” he hisses.

  My shoulders tense as I accept defeat. Deep-seeded anger cannot be swayed nor reasoned with. Revenge keeps its fools on a tight leash.

  Gibson takes a step closer and his whole body vibrates like a threat. “Now where is your partner?” He asks. “I know he left with you. You two have been causing quite the stir over the years.”

  I picture Riker being hauled off in chains and let the sadness show in every pore on my body. “He’s dead,” I murmur, my voice cracking with a tinge of heartbreak. “He tried to break out of prison but one of the guards hit him with a bullet as he ran and…he died of infection a week later.” I can sense Riker lingering nearby and the panic that courses through me turns my voice thick with emotion. “He’s dead.”

  A horrible leer filled with sick satisfaction slashes his face and false justice straightens his shoulders. “Shed a single tear for that bastard and I’ll have you killed before we even arrive.” He blows a sharp whistle and suddenly I’m being hauled away out of the small clearing down a path of crushed grass and underbrush.

  “Where are we going?” I ask quickly before Riker can fall out of earshot.

  “You were made in a Corral,” he announces coldly. “And you’ll die in one.”

  I seal my mouth closed as I focus on hope. Hope that Riker managed to hear Gibson’s words. Hope that he’ll come after me. Hope that he won’t get caught. I would fight through the nine circles of Hell for you, he once told me. I know he meant it. Fool.

  We arrive at a massive patch of barren land cupped within the mountains of Virginia like a delicate secret. I’m tossed out of the truck bed and stumble after Gibson. I look around and take in familiar sights. An old farm repurposed and rebuilt for the use of raising slaves and soldiers. Part of me itches to formulate some grand plan to free the kids I know are kept somewhere but the heavy truth is that it’d be impossible and even if I did manage to set them loose more would die than if they’d stayed the course.

  I’m led through the building used for solitary confinement. I know that if it’s laid out similar to the Tennessee Corral that I’m clear on the other side from the Strength and Skills units. Gibson’s fingers tear my glasses from my face and a rough hand knocks me hard in the back. Furious I fall inside one of the cold cel
ls. With a hideous crunch my heart sinks as once more my sight is ground beneath the boot of a snake.

  “What’s your plan?” I seethe. “Kill me at dawn? A bit cliché don’t you think?”

  Gibson holds back a Ranger from striking me. “No, I’m not going to kill you,” he shares. “Oh you surely will die,” he corrects himself. “But your death might as well be useful to us folks trapped up in these hills with nothing but duty and boredom to fill our blessed days.”

  Stepping back he allows the Ranger to slam the door shut, locking the bolt tight. “We’re gonna have ourselves a little game,” he winks.

  I stare through the bars of my cell and feel as if venom has slipped down my throat. My body relaxes instinctually at the thought of not yet facing my death. That means there’s a chance I can fight, a chance I can escape. Some smarter part of me has fear churning quietly in my gut and I know right then that I should have begged for death instead. I might survive whatever Gibson has planned for me, but will I want to? Will I still be able to face myself in a mirror or alone with my thoughts?

  Them or me? Them or me? Them or me?

  I have to think small, keep my focus close at hand.

  Them or me? Them or me? Them or me?

  Do you always have to be quite so furious, Fury?

  Yes. I do.

  CHAPTER 42

  Metal chains drag through the dirt and clink with each footstep I take. Right Left Right Left Right Left. One foot after the other I stride into the arena with my head held high, eyes focused on something intangible, ice sluicing through my veins. Riker will come and we will run.

  Run Run Run

  It’s what we do. And right now we have something to run to so I will be an obedient feral beast. I will fight their fights, I will eat their meat, I will turn their blood into their last meal. I will obey until I figure out an escape. I will allow no emotion to satisfy them. Kill or be killed. It’s them or me. I choose me.

  A heavy roar fills my ears and for a moment my knees almost buckle. Focus, Fury, focus. A chill slips down my spine and my back straightens, my fists clench, and my face hardens. I allow my mind to submerge deeper and deeper into darkness while my eyes remain sharp as lasers fixed on the opposite end of the arena awaiting my first opponent. Like rabid dogs and wild hyenas the watchers jeer with spit flying from their mouths. Some want me to go down but others are betting on the wild card, they want me to surprise them.

  A guard unchains me while another aims a gun at my chest to keep me from getting any sly ideas. I make no move. I’m not foolish enough to try and just run out of here, not when I’m surrounded by a crowd thirsting for blood and guards armed with bullets.

  My thumb spins the ring on my finger in a nervous tick. I climb further down the ladder in my mind until their noise becomes muffled in my ears. Down, down, down, I’m standing in a room of grey. It’s pitch black in the corners, lit only by a single white light above me. I wait. It’s cold. I wait. She comes.

  An explosion rocks the stands as the crowd loses their senses at the approach of my first opponent. She’s tall and unimpressive. A warm-up act. This is what I tell myself because without my glasses she could be Goliath himself and I wouldn’t know. But from the way everyone raises their fists in fervor I know not to underestimate this girl. Or woman. I will call her girl. It’s less threatening. I can afford no fright to weaken my bones.

  Fear starts banging at the door in my chest faster harder LOUDER.

  Ding!

  The match begins.

  I wait for her to strike first. She does. Swift as a jaguar she’s knocked me flat with a good hit to the mouth. By some miracle I haven’t lost any teeth but I spit out a wad of blood and jump back onto my feet. I see nothing. My vision is blurred without my glasses but I don’t need it. My muscles know how to move and something wild leaks into my veins. My spine shivers once again, not with fear but with ice. I’m no longer Fury. I’m an animal. I’m a wild dog who has been caged and wants to taste blood. I’m a lioness who has a lion to protect and will do so by any means. Kill or be killed.

  Her or me. I. Choose. Me.

  As the girl moves in for another hit I grab her arm and swerve out of the way twisting her muscled limb until she’s thrown off balance but I don’t let go. My nails dig into her flesh drawing small rivulets of blood. With a knee I split her stance like the Red Sea and drive it into that tender spot of life. As she bows forwards in pain I strike with my other knee in quick succession bludgeoning her nose and toss her to the ground. Despite the gushing lump that is now her nose she scrambles in the dirt to get back up but I kick her back down. Again. Again. Again. Limp.

  Ding!

  I win my first match.

  I’m chained again, ankles and wrists. They escort me to my cell and I wait until they’re gone before I collapse onto the thin cot. I don’t know if that girl is dead or being dragged to a doctor but I have no room in me to care. You start caring and you start becoming weak. Caring about somebody is a sign of goodness and it can be its own strength, but not here. Not now.

  Sleep takes me.

  Sun wakes me.

  Night comes too quickly. Ding! Another fight. Ding! Each night. Ding! Another fight. Ding! Dirty fights. Ding! Fists. Ding! Feet. Ding! Teeth. Ding! Chokes. Ding! Ding! Ding!

  They wait for me to go down. They throw me into the ring every night to wear me down. In the deepest recess of my mind I know my body is slowing down. Down down down I climb until I’m back in that cold empty place where I await my opponents until my need to survive kicks in and transforms me into a merciless creature that rips out hair from the scalp, sinks nails into flesh and tears it out, bites until I taste meat, and attacks with no pity until my opponents are carcasses on the ground. At least some fought almost as dirty as me. But still…

  I hate it. Nightmares plague me. I hate it so much I get sick and every day I resolve not to fight but every night it takes me and I win. You see, I don’t want to die. I wait for Riker to find me. I don’t want to die.

  Five days, five nights, five fights. It feels like a lifetime. My limbs are weary, my conscience is ill, but my resolve is strong. But at least I didn’t have to kill all of them. Most weren’t such fanatics and would eventually tap out or be dragged away unconscious but alive. Even so I shouldn’t have lasted so long. They fought with a trained formality and I was a rabid creature set loose upon them following no rules except savagery to end the fights as quick as I could. I left my humanity behind focused on one word: survive. I was unpredictable, unsettling. I disturbed them. But if the fights didn’t stop soon I would collapse from the constant surge of adrenaline burning my veins. I’d be destroyed by my own stubborn success. In a fight against yourself, neither can truly win.

  Day Six. Night Six. My chains clink as I step slow once more into the arena. Head up, expression blank, my body an exhausted battered bag of bones. I want to run. I want to give in. But the animal that was unleashed will not be caged. It’s like that first punch flipped a switch and my body turned to armor that imprisons my screaming conscience as it forces my muscles to lash out and cross that line I thought I’d never cross.

  The lights are bright over the fighting circle, the better to watch us with. The crowd’s roars are so loud the building shakes, the better to frighten us with.

  Movement catches my attention and I see Gibson standing in the front row, arms crossed. I know it’s him. He might’ve crushed my glasses that first night but I recognize his figure. Without seeing more than a smudge of hate I can picture a wolfish leer smeared across his face. I give him a cheeky two-fingered salute. He scowls and satisfaction bolsters me.

  A shift in the crowd draws my eyes forwards and I turn to face tonight’s entrée. But I see no one. The hairs on my body rise from the electricity of excitement coursing through the watchers. I see where their attention has shifted and on leaden feet I slowly turn back around. My breath catches in my throat. Gibson faces me, slipping off his shirt as he meets me in the center of the
ring.

  He leans forwards, his lips brushing against my ear. “Time for the grand finale,” he whispers. I make no reply. I have no reply. My senses hone in on the malice oozing from his pores and panic threatens to seize me but I shove it down until it gives up. Him or me.

  A guard unlocks the shackles from my ankles, then my wrists. I make no protest.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Gibson takes a few steps back and begins to circle me slowly like a vulture waiting for a mouse to sigh its last breath. Deep breath in—

  Ding!

  Gibson rushes towards me. Adrenaline spins me out of the way in the nick of time but not before he manages to catch a fistful of my hair. Instead of letting his attack snap my neck or throw me to the ground I take advantage of our very distinct size differences. I grab his wrist tightly with both hands and curl my abs until my legs are hooked around his arm and I pull him down with me forcing his grip to release my hair.

  With him on the ground I bolt to my feet and aim a kick towards his head but he rolls out of the way swinging out and knocking my feet from under me. He pins me under him but before he can crush me I stretch my neck and kiss him full on the lips. He freezes, stunned. I take advantage of that split second of weakness and jerk my knee into his groin and slip out from under him before throwing myself down driving my elbow into his back knocking him flat.

  I get in a good kick before he reaches out and jerks my ankle out from under me sending me back into the dirt. We both scramble to our feet and circle each other. I fly a kick into his chest but I’m too slow and the hit isn’t strong enough. Before I can dart out of the way he’s landed a fist into the side of my face.

  Reeling back I shake the stars from my eyes and wipe at the stream of bloody saliva escaping my lips. My muscles tense to lunge after him but he’s already on the move, charging at me like a bull. I brace myself ready to spin his momentum to my advantage when something silver lands right between my feet.

  A knife.