Fractured Refuge

by Annabelle McInnes

  Euan eyed his stolen boots before he found a gun in his face.

  ‘You even think about it,’ the shadow told them. ‘And you’ll wish for the taser again.’

  He clenched his jaw and Ben pulled himself upright at his side. They stood together, a pair ready for their judgement. He schooled his features and fought for patience. Leniency opened options for escape. To escape without certainty was destined to fail. He had to understand his surroundings before he made any rash moves. It was the difference between success and failure.

  The rain still fell as he was forced through a rusted steel doorway. He squinted into the dark sky. The water wet his cheeks, his beard, touched his dry lips. The ice in the air was both refreshing and painful. His bloody bare feet were forced over muddied gravel and scarce, stumpy grass. He assessed the accumulation of buildings the same way he’d done the first time he’d stalked this place. Shadows still hid enemies. Crevices and chasms continued to conceal assailants and villains. Rain turned everything grey. The wind wormed its way into his clothing and scratched at his skin. He was determined to portray a mask of calm. But when he was pushed towards the stained black timber steps of the log cabin, his iron hold on his emotions couldn’t force the churn of fear in his belly to subside.

  The barrel of the shotgun propelled him forward. He took those steps with confidence he didn’t feel. Three rifles were lined up along the porch like umbrellas. Each weapon one Euan recognised from their hoard. Stolen, appropriated and claimed. His own arsenal turned against him. The door was opened and he was thrust inside with the steel barrel of his own damn gun.

  It took time for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Around him, the world hushed. His focus turned to one single point. He didn’t feel the pain of his body, the beat of his heart of the air in his lungs. There were no distractions. No confusion or interference. In Euan’s mind, there were only two men in the room.

  And if he had anything to do with it, soon there would only be one.

  Him.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, McKay,’ came an oily voice from the dark.

  And there he stood. Rodgers. A tall skinny body, dark greasy hair, eyes of the devil. It cost Euan so much, too much, to simply stand and remain immobile. He longed to reach out, take that elongated throat with its prominent Adam’s apple and squeeze. To tear, to maim, to dismember. What he wouldn’t give to simply have the blood of this man stain the floorboards.

  ‘Would you believe I’ve missed you?’

  It came unbidden. But the situation warranted it. Survival was paramount. But manners were not. As the stench of further unwashed men crowded the small wooden structure, Euan began to laugh. He let the humour of the terrible moment reverberate around them. He laughed as he registered the meat hooks that were attached to the timber struts in the ceiling. He laughed as the stink of death still surrounded them. He laughed as it swirled and morphed into a ghost that had infiltrated the very fibre of the building. He laughed as the men around him shuffled, as they grew afraid at Euan’s lack of fear, at his size, his stamina, his fortitude.

  He laughed until he suffered the heel of the shotgun into the side of his face.

  Then he only chuckled as he spat up blood and two teeth.

  His manic humour rattled them. The evidence of the change was in the air. But it wasn’t enough to deter their master.

  ‘Parker is going to be sad to miss this, but things have changed since we last saw you,’ Rodgers sneered. He made motions for his minions to advance. ‘How is little Nicky, by the way?’

  Euan growled. The animalistic sound resonated throughout the small shack. Those around him hesitated. Their eyes turned wary. They paused in their advance.

  Rodgers grew agitated. He barked out a warning. Rough hands began to pull at him. Before Euan had a chance to use strength to protect himself, the taser found its home on the back of his neck.

  The sheer intensity of the pain forced his body to contract. He crumbled to the hard, timber floor. He was familiar with the pain, was even partially ready for it. But he was still unable to fight against the instinctual response of fifty thousand volts that surged through his body. He grunted, thrashed, writhed. He was now a being of agony and cursing snorts.

  He was crippled. His head swam. He jerked and flailed. Ben cried out and fought against his own captors. His unresponsive body was hauled upright and his arms were lifted over his head to be retied and attached the steel hook. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to kick, to injure. He gathered his wits to pull against his bindings to discover they were secure and unbreakable.

  Reality was a suffocating companion. Hindsight was a beautiful concept. He should have fought harder. He should have fought sooner. He squashed the growing horror, and remained silent as his head lolled on his shoulders. Rodgers approached him, his sneer malevolent. Euan mocked the smirk with one of his own and took the opportunity to spit directly in the bastard’s face.

  The joy of the victory lasted only moments.

  A terrible expression morphed his adversary’s features.

  Rodgers raised his arm deliberately; the glint of steel was unavoidable. Bound and powerless, Euan was unable to prepare his body for the invasion. The long serrated blade was slow to enter the flesh at his shoulder. The cry he stifled, but the grunt was an inevitable outcome as whitewashed anguish flooded his senses. The agony seared through his shoulder and up his arm. The tightly strung muscles, held taut with the hook, quivered. Sweat dribbled down his temples. Close on the heels of the pain came a terrible fear.

  The realisation was swift. The sensation was just as horrible as the hurt. The outcome of this journey was undeniable. He had failed. The end result of the last men who had been held in this place would be his final destination.

  In this room he would take his last breath. So he had nothing left to lose. ‘Is that all you got?’

  Rodgers nodded to man at his side, and Euan suffered the full force of a fist to the stomach. He coughed and spluttered. Spat and gasped. Winded, he channelled whatever courage he could find. It was all he had left.

  He laughed as the blood from a split lip dripped down his chin. He called death, begged him to circle and strike. They were not coming out of here alive. His only options were simple. He would force their hand, to make it quick. He had to keep their focus off Ben. He had to ensure that he didn’t spill the whereabouts of Nick and Kira.

  Rodgers stepped in close. His teeth were yellow, his gums black. ‘Did you hear? I took over Nirvana.’

  Euan’s words were slurred. ‘It’s where all the rats are. You’ll fit right in.’

  Tender fingers brushed his temple. Black eyes were as dark as the shadows. ‘Parker and I overthrew him. He had these ideals, you see. He wanted to protect, not to share. And you remember how important it is to share.’

  Euan fought the urge to vomit. His lip curled. His stomach constricted. Everything contracted to one single point. ‘I remember you running like cowardly dogs after you’d had your fill of Nick. I remember you leaving Jim to die. I remember you being afraid of me.’

  Rodgers’ laughter was prolonged. His wiped his eyes. Tears of mirth glistened. His breath smelt of dead things. ‘Make him talk.’

  They were vicious in their attempt to break him. Euan suffered multiple blows that stole the air from his lungs and his faculties. He was beyond escape now. The primal instinct to endure kept him breathing. They enjoyed the destruction of his body and took their time. Time was once again inconsequential until Rodgers appeared before him again. There was an evil that illuminated his black heart. His voice was laced with promise. ‘I’ll give you one more chance before we really begin.’

  Euan’s luck had run out. He smiled a bloody smile.

  The glint of steel was in his face. The blade of his own bowie knife was the last thing he saw before he screamed.

  And screamed.

  And screamed.

  The pain. Oh Christ. The pain.

  His eye.

 
; Nick.

  Kira.

  There was no more laughter. Euan’s focus was obliterated, altered irrevocably. The pain so horrific, so catastrophic, it completely consumed him. He was surrounded by the howls of a man somewhere close by.

  Only vaguely did he realise it was him.

  The moment overwhelmed him. He was partially blinded. His heart languished and his attention withered. His muscles were in agony from the strain, the taser, the stress.

  He attempted to open his working eye and saw only shadows and shapes.

  There was a thud and a whimper from a blond boy at his side.

  A voice came to him through the darkness. ‘Now, let’s get down to it. I don’t want to keep you alive too long. Mickey-O is on the hunt for us. And I want to know where you’re hiding your little Nicky. I’ve dearly missed him.’

  Euan caught the moan in his throat. ‘I’ll die before I tell you anything,’ he garbled.

  Rodgers laughed. A dreadful sound that sent more fear into his gut than the entire journey west. ‘They all say that, don’t they, boys? And then they lose their hands, their feet, their eyes. And then they tell us. Only so we’ll kill them quickly.’

  Euan screamed for death, he begged the dark shadows to take him. He would never see those he loved again, he would never hold Nick close, kiss Kira’s soft mouth, be wrapped in their bodies as they slept. No more smiles, no more giggles. He faced the burning gates of hell with no one to wash his soul clean. He’d let them down; he’d let them all down. He’d asked for trust and he’d given them pain and suffering. They would all die, and he would be the herald of their demise even if he hadn’t held the blade.

  As he hardened his foggy mind against what was to come, he felt the terrible remorse and sorrow for what he’d done. Smith didn’t have the fortitude to hold their secrets close for long.

  Chapter 23

  Nick was surrounded.

  He faced an arsenal. A wall of weapons. The precursor to mayhem, destruction and ruin.

  The wind cooled the sweat on the back of his neck. It flicked his hair over his brow to tease his eyelashes. He had the urge to rake his fingers through the mess and force it out of his eyes. He squashed it. He needed both hands on the pistol.

  The midday sun glinted off the array of steel muzzles, of barrels both singular and double. Dark holes in his vision that threatened oblivion, a void of blackness that consumed the light.

  He inhaled. The protective vest constricted the muscles of his chest. The deep breath gave him a moment to pause, a moment to catalogue the armoury before him. Combat rifles, shotguns, handguns. Snipers. He didn’t like the wall of AK-47s. He didn’t like semiautomatics in general.

  To step forward was a death sentence, to retreat was impossible. Before him, a wall of stone and snow reached toward the sky. A cliff of jagged rock was below. A lake of glass glistened through dormant oak and pine. Its crystal-clear water lapped up against a pebbled shore, a soothing noise that found no sympathy.

  The men who held the weaponry were as equal in their stillness as the guns they directed his way. Dark eyes glinted with intelligence. Bodies encased in muscle and strength were dressed in military fatigues. The pattern of greens, golds and browns was deceptive. Their faces bore scars that could only have been achieved in the bowls of hell.

  Misery was currency. Pain its economy. These were the men who had trawled through the horrors of a dystopian anarchy and emerged through the mire of devastation. They were demons in truth. They were no longer men. Men had hearts, souls. Nick scanned the wall of muscle and steel before him. He saw neither.

  He hesitated only briefly before he spoke. ‘I’m looking for Mickey-O.’

  A ripple of tension undulated through the army before him. The fortification of flesh and bone tightened their fists and caressed their triggers. Eyes glittered. No matter what Lily has promised. He’d made a mistake. If he didn’t combat his fear, his attempt to save Euan would fail.

  Nick swallowed. Firmed his lips. Flared his nostrils. The scent of man and earth encircled them. The testosterone was thick. The lone trace of fear emanated from him.

  The trees creaked. The wind picked up. His bare fingers ached. He longed for home, for safety. But Euan’s life depended upon this rendezvous. It also required his courage. Bravery came with strength. Nick strived to remain strong. If nothing else, it gave Lily and Kira more time to escape if needed.

  He blinked and they moved as one. A single moment and the wall of men was closer. The forest hushed as it waited, breath bated. A lone bird chirped and warbled. Its song was not answered. It sensed the change and reached for the grey sky. Its flapping wings beat a tattoo against Nick’s chest.

  The features of his adversary were blank. They waited, watched. He squeezed the grip of his gun. The patterned grip pressed into his palm.

  He had no warning. They were masters of stealth as well as synchronisation. He was caught before he took another breath. Gloved fists gripped his arms from behind, wrenched them back. The curse and the grunt of pain were involuntary. He struggled as his gun was removed from his hand. When another man approached, Nick growled and thrashed. But it was futile. A grip with the force of a bear trap held him fast. Resistance was finally met with a fist to face. He saw stars as the man with stoic, unreadable features patted him down for other concealed weapons with rough hands.

  He had none.

  ‘I want to see Mickey-O. I have something he lost.’ Nick grunted through a bloody mouth and split lip. He spat the excess blood on the forest floor. If he didn’t get their attention, save himself for a moment to explain, Euan would die. These men would find Kira and Lily and destroy them. All they risked would be lost.

  A man emerged from the group. A tall powerhouse of strength and vigour. His skin was as dark as night. His onyx irises were cold. They were as hard as the stone they emulated. His mouth was curled up in a snarl. A pink scar bisected his lips and twisted the skin. White teeth shone through the breach.

  ‘You have fifteen seconds. Then I’ll kill you,’ the powerhouse sneered. His voice was deep, smooth, monotonic. He was unaffected by his casual disregard for Nick’s life.

  Nick noted the immense shoulders, the bulging biceps, the trim waist. This man was no survivor of the apocalypse, he was the gate-keeper to the end. Nick held the black gaze. ‘I know where Lily is.’

  The man who held his arms back flinched. It was the single sign he’d made an impact. The man before him gave no such betrayal. The wind whistled. The wall of armour shifted and moved. Looks of uncertainty were exchanged. Rage simmered in the air, volatile and unpredictable. The tension changed. Not for the better. Nick licked the slip in his lip.

  The man flicked the lock of blond hair from Nick’s eyes. Two long fingers reached out and grasped his chin. Nick’s focus was turned upwards. The pressure was warm, but the associated glare was not. ‘Where?’

  Nick had no power in this game. The information he bore could be extracted and he had no fortitude for torture. But it wasn’t his intent. Every moment they wasted here, the risk to Euan’s life escalated. ‘But she brought me here. We need your help.’

  The man’s black wiry hair was cropped short, close to his scalp. His dark skin along his cheeks and chin was shaven clean. His eyes were free from circles that usually tarnished all men of the new age. The collar of his shirt was crisp. His nail beds were spotless. ‘I said where.’

  ‘Here.’

  Nick closed his eyes as the man snapped his head towards the feminine voice. After he breathed through his irritation, he turned, where he knew she would be standing.

  Her dark fatigues were obvious in the snow-covered undergrowth. Her slim body was encased in black. Her chestnut hair was loose about her shoulders and her gold eyes were steadfast, locked on the man that stood before Nick.

  When he saw the second figure at her side, Nick jerked. The shock a purely physical reaction. She’d promised. She fucking swore she would stay hidden, no matter what happened, or what she w
itnessed. He attempted to wrench his body out of his captor’s hold.

  Fuck, he shouldn’t have brought her with him. Kira looked so tiny against the grey woodland. Her helmet was gone and her weapons were at her hip. Her hair a wild mess of sunshine against the encroaching gloom. She stood immobile, a look of awe and terror stamped on her features. The men around them moved. Their steps were silent on the snow-dusted leaf litter. The wall of muscle and weaponry advanced. Nick was helpless, captured, bound by hands that were too tight to throw off. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t get to her in time.

  ‘Run!’ Nick bellowed.

  In the moment it took for him to blink, the men spread out. Then the impossible. Lily bolted, but not from the enemy. She ran straight into the powerhouse’s arms. He caught her when she jumped the last step. He smashed his lips upon hers when she was trapped in his embrace.

  Sobs now echoed through the trees. Cries of happiness, moans and sniffles were muffled by a kiss so savage it drew blood. Lily’s hands were as white as colour of her namesake. Snow against the darkness of his skin, his clothes. Her legs were wrapped around his hips. His arms were banded up and over her shoulders. The enormous man fell to his knees in the dirt. Lily gripped him tighter.

  Nick had no time to consider the alternatives. Dark shapes wove between the scarred oak. They ducked under low-hanging branches, crept over dormant ferns and fallen logs. Stones and gullies were avoided with light and nimble steps.

  The men were closing in around Kira. Their larger bodies and longer steps drew them nearer. They were a coordinated pack, homing in on their prey. Kira was surrounded before she took a step back.

  Despite the display of affection by Lily, Nick was not appeased. He pulled and shifted. Yelled and screamed for Kira, for her safety. He roared, cursed and kicked the man who tried to detain him, keep him from protecting the woman he should have never brought here. Another man was on him. Two beefcakes held him down. He struggled even as he suffered another blow to the sternum. He swallowed the vomit. Gasped through the pain. Spat through the anger.