by Marina Epley
“I like your knife,” he says, examining Ace’s blade. He then tosses the knife into the nearby brush.
Grunting, Ace attempts to sit up. Wreck kicks him squarely in the face. Ace falls over onto his back, blood oozing from his nose and mouth. Still smiling, Wreck places a heavy boot against Ace’s neck.
“Listen up, jerk,” he says calmly. “Don’t ever challenge me again. I’ll cut your damn head off and hang it on my wall, if you ever try me again.”
Ace can’t speak, choking now from Wreck’s boot. Wreck presses his foot even harder onto his neck.
“Had enough yet?” he grins. “Tell me who’s in charge now.”
I feel sick. I don’t care anything about Ace, but witnessing this level of violence is scary.
“Ease off, Kris,” the roamer gripping my elbow says.
“Shut up,” Wreck orders. He lurks over Ace, watching him struggle for his life. “You listening down there? We do as I say. Never question me again.”
He kicks the now semiconscious Ace a few more times. The guy groans, covering himself without really trying to resist. The other roamers watch in subdued silence. My hands begin shaking. I now understand my captor is a sadist, one who has no kindness or mercy in him whatsoever.
Wreck pulls his knife from the ground and approaches me. He grabs my arm, leading me away toward the vehicles.
“Did you enjoy watching the fight?” he asks.
I ignore his question.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I ain’t gonna kill you just yet,” Wreck smirks at me. “I have different plans for you tonight.”
CHAPTER 21
I’m lying facedown in the bed of a pickup truck. Tanya is stretched out beside me, sobbing quietly, while Wreck sits on the other side holding a knife. I feel his wary gaze so turn to face him, but his hand instantly forces my head back down to the metal surface.
“Don’t move,” he orders, and I obey.
The pickup truck drives along a broken road, carrying us somewhere unknown. I close my eyes, fighting my increasing anxiety, but all I can think about is Gabriel strangling me. I feel like I’m a servant once again, and my life is in the hands of this brutal killer. I want to cry but have no tears left inside.
A half hour later the vehicle stops and my captor pulls me to my feet, helping me jump to the ground. He turns away to assist Tanya, and for the briefest moment I envision myself running off into the darkness. My leg muscles tense, but I stand unmoving, because I’m worn out and my hands are still tied in front. I wouldn’t make it too far. I need my arms for balance.
“Walk,” Wreck orders, roughly grabbing my elbow and leading me forward.
I follow him, hating myself for being so compliant. But how can I resist when I still remember his sharp knife pressing into my neck? How can I fight after witnessing my captor disarm and defeat a much stronger guy, using only his bare hands?
Another roamer leads Tanya a few yards behind. We walk along a narrow path, passing several small houses. I know I should pay attention to my surroundings but can’t concentrate on anything except the strong fingers gripping my arm. I stare at the ground under my feet, feeling the familiar old desire to submit and please growing underneath my fear. This is what I was taught to do my whole life, to be polite, submissive and take whatever is given. Some part of me almost feels relieved because there’s somebody to make decisions for me again so I won’t have to think. But there’s a nasty, violent part of me that still wants to resist.
I don’t know which part is stronger.
“What’s this all about, Wreck?” the guy leading Tanya asks.
My captor doesn’t bother to answer, staring straight ahead as if not hearing.
We approach a small wooden shack and the roamer leading Tanya takes her inside. I begin to follow, but Wreck yanks me back, and I stop. The second guy exits the shack and locks the door.
“Why couldn’t we just kill them?” he asks my captor. “What are you planning to do with this girl?”
“That’s none of your damn concern,” Wreck answers sternly.
“Tartis won’t like this one bit,” the guy warns.
“I don’t care what he likes.”
The roamer frowns, obviously irritated, but doesn’t risk arguing further.
“We should at least report all this to Tartis,” he suggests.
“I’ll take care of it,” Wreck gives him a hard look. “Go on now, get lost.”
Cursing quietly, the guy leaves.
Wreck turns to face me, flashing a devious grin, “Let’s go, sweetie. Time for the fun part.”
He pulls me roughly forward, leading further into the darkness, and I begin to shake. I stagger along on weak legs, wondering what I might do to free myself. I can’t fight this guy. I can’t even scream because my throat is clenched so tightly I can hardly breathe. And nobody would help me anyway, even if I did manage to scream.
What is he planning to do to me? I ask myself. What does he want?
I vividly remember Gabriel dragging me inside the mansion, and the memory makes the skin on my neck crawl. Not again, I think, please not again.
We approach another old shack and my captor pushes me inside through a small door. I stagger several feet forward in complete darkness, realizing that I’ve just stepped inside the place where I may very likely die. Wreck follows me inside, shutting the door behind. He lights an oil lamp placed on the floor. The dim glow illuminates the uneven floorboards and walls of the shack. There’s nothing inside, except a large rusty chain attached to the floor with a metal collar on the end. Wreck locks the collar around my neck as if I’m a dog.
“Sit,” he orders.
I plop down beside a wall. He stands a few moments, thinking, then kneels in front of me. I sit unmoving, my face lowered, watching him in my peripheral vision. I can’t distinguish his facial features because of the thick layer of black and white paint covering his face. I can’t even determine how old he might be.
Wreck turns Gabriel’s knife in his hands, touching the stones on the handle.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I look up.
His eyes are light gray and glossy, and there’s something psychotic in his gaze.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
Giving him my name can’t really hurt, but providing any information about myself is like giving away part of me. I remain quiet.
“C’mon. It’s a real simple question. What’s your name?”
I don’t answer.
“Really?” he grins. “Do you think that’s a smart choice? Think you’re immortal?” He raises the knife to eye level, his grin changing into a snarl. “There’s plenty of different ways to kill a person. I do hope you realize I’m proficient in all of them. I could kill you in a split second or do it real slow. Which would you prefer?”
I stare into his eyes, willing my teeth not to chatter. I try to think of anything I might do, any possible way I could escape, but nothing comes to mind. I feel scared and cornered. I realize nobody will help me.
“Answer me!” he shouts, leaning in and placing the blade on my neck just above the metal collar. “What’s your name? I’ll hurt you real bad, if you don’t start talking.”
He glares at me, his face inches away from mine. I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I think of headbutting him, but it wouldn’t work right now. I can’t move with the sharp knife pressing against my neck.
“Is anybody home?” Wreck waves his free hand in front of my eyes. “I’m holding a knife at your throat in case you hadn’t noticed.” He pauses. “You don’t care? Seriously?”
I freeze up. I know I must say something but can’t will myself to speak.
Wreck takes a deep breath and shuffles back a couple feet away. He places the knife on the floor.
He says, “All right then. Let’s start over. I’ll begin.” He stretches his lips into an exaggerated friendly smile. “My name is Kris. But you may call me Wreck, that’s what everybody around here calls me anyway. Don’t as
k me why, folks are real strange in this village. So what’s your name? Who are you?”
Who am I? I ask myself. I don’t have an answer for that. But I do realize that I’m not the type of person who can survive in this situation. I’m too frightened and weak. I guess I’m just a victim. But I do know of somebody who might stand a chance to live until morning, somebody strong and courageous.
Why not become her? Why not pretend to be someone I loved and admired?
“Amethyst,” I say, straightening my back and tilting my chin the way she did. “But you may call me Amy.”
“See how easy that was?” Wreck smirks. “Pleased to meet you, Amy.”
I don’t return his smile. I’m not overly pleased to meet him.
“You’re an escaped slave, no?”
“Maybe.”
“What kinda slave?”
“What do you care?”
“C’mon,” he sighs. “I need to know everything about you.”
I don’t say anything. I can almost envision myself being Amethyst, can remember her elbowing Gabriel in the face and kicking Logan’s butt.
Wreck frowns. “You really think I have no other means to get information from you?”
He unzips my jacket and pulls it down with one quick effective motion.
“Don’t touch me!” I scream, trying to rise to my feet, but Wreck yanks the chain, pulling me back down.
He grabs my shoulder, pressing me against the wall, and pushes up the sleeve of my t-shirt.
“There it is,” he grins, looking at my marks. “You were a racer, weren’t you? And what’s this mark?” he squints. “A trash picker?”
“Let me go!” I yell. “Take your hands off me!”
“Sorry,” he says suddenly. And for a moment he almost looks embarrassed.
He pulls my jacket up, zips it and shuffles away from me again.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. It’s strange to hear an apology. I didn’t expect such a reaction from him. “Dang it, Amy! You could just answer my questions, you know. We didn’t have to go through all that.”
I offer no comment, scared yet furious at the same time.
“All right.” He takes Gabriel’s knife, staring at the blade as if he’s never seen it before. “Your life depends on what I hear next.” He gives me a hard piercing look. “Where did you get this knife?”
I become anxious. Should I lie or tell him the truth? What does he want to hear?
“I killed Master Gabriel,” I simply say. “It was his knife.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“In revenge for my friend.”
“Who was your friend?”
“Another racer.” A bitterness overwhelms me, forcing me to pause. For a moment I hear Amethyst’s cheerful laughter and see her long golden hair waving in the wind. Then I remember the blood spilling from her gunshot wound and her body spread across the floor, limp and motionless. I draw in a shivery breath and make myself continue, “She was the bravest, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. And Gabriel destroyed her. So I had to take care of him.”
Wreck shuts his eyes for a few moments. When he looks up at me again, there’s a broad smile across his face.
“How did you kill him?” he asks. “Give me details.”
I have a flashback of myself lying underneath Gabriel, choking and trying to push him away. The memory sends a chill down my spine as I recall my feeling of impending doom and desperation. What I did wasn’t an act of vengeance. I didn’t plan or even fully comprehend what I was doing.
But I can’t tell the truth, because I don’t want to admit how I’m just a victim. I want my captor to believe that I’m strong and tough.
So I give him a slightly altered version of what really happened. I describe how the following night after Amethyst’s murder I climbed into Gabriel’s bedroom, took his knife and slit his throat. I stood beside his bed, smiling as I watched him bleed to death. I also tell Wreck about my failed attempt to rescue my mother, but don’t have to change this part of the story too much.
My captor listens, open-mouthed and offering no comment. After I finish speaking, he shakes his head and says, “I swear!”
He lets out a brief laugh. He grips the knife so tightly that his fingers whiten from the pressure.
“Did Gabriel say anything before dying?” he asks.
“He pleaded for me to spare his life,” I lie.
“Wild!” Wreck chuckles. “That’s really wild. Did he die quickly?”
“Not as quickly as he’d hoped.”
“Damn!” he exclaims.
It’s really easy to lie to this guy.
“That’s crazy,” he sighs, becoming serious. “But I do believe you, Amy. You sure seem like somebody who could do all that.”
It sounds almost like a compliment. Although I’m not really tough or fearless at all, I let Wreck believe that I am.
“I think you and I were destined to meet,” he says solemnly, and I have no idea what this is supposed to mean.
He continues staring at me, his eyes glazed over as if in some sort of trance. He looks at me the way a hungry dog looks at a piece of meat, almost drooling. He stretches out his arm toward my face as I turn away. Wreck freezes, hesitating a moment, then quickly draws his arm back.
“Well,” he says, rising to his feet. “In a few hours I’ll be able to tell you what will happen to you.” He pauses, grinning. “But I reckon you and I are gonna have lots of fun together.”
He winks at me and quickly exits the shack, locking the door behind. I bite at the rope binding my wrists. I must get out of this place before he returns.
CHAPTER 22
After chewing on the rope for an hour my jaw aches as if I’d been grinding my teeth the entire night, but my hands are finally free. I grin, not fully believing I could actually manage to bite through the thick rope. It was a mistake for Wreck to bind my hands in front. Stretching, I rise to my feet, grip the metal chain and yank on it as hard as I can. I press my feet into the floor, pushing and leaning backward. I may be skinny, but my arms and legs are athletic. The months of intense training have made my muscles strong. I continue pulling and yanking at the chain for the next couple hours until becoming completely exasperated. Cursing quietly, I put all my strength into the effort, and the chain finally breaks free from the floor. I plop onto my back, landing hard.
I jump to my feet and try the door, although I do remember it’s locked. I give the door a few kicks and it bursts open. Carrying the chain, which is still attached to the collar around my neck, I run outside.
The sky is growing lighter. I jog past small wooden houses, turn a corner and come face-to-face with my captor. We both freeze, staring at each other in surprise. He still has the same creepy war paint covering his face. His eyes widen upon seeing me.
“How the heck did you get out?” he asks.
I scream, swinging the chain around, aiming at his head.
“Whoa, easy!” My captor quickly steps backward. But he’s not fast enough as the end of the chain catches him across the face. He backpedals, an astounded look now in his eyes. I turn and sprint along the empty street.
“Stop!” I hear his voice behind me. “Wait!”
I increase my pace, carrying the chain so that I won’t trip over it. My heart pounds and my breath is uneven, but I no longer feel scared. I’m not a victim anymore. I may be the slowest runner amongst other well-trained racers, but can still outrun anyone untrained. I hear Wreck continuing to yell something at me, and realize he’s falling behind. I slow a little, because I don’t want him to lose me just yet. I need to lure him away from the village, retrieve my knife and finish him off.
I smile as I run, feeling powerful and once again in control. A few still sleepy guys with similarly painted faces come outside, probably disturbed by Wreck’s shouting. I run right past them, but they don’t attempt to stop me. I hear them laughing and Wreck ordering them to shut up.
I leave the village behind and run into th
e woods, zigzagging between gnarled trees. Coming to a large opening, I abruptly speed up as if doing interval training, and conceal myself in the thick brush. Wreck finally arrives at the opening, stops and takes a look around.
“Dang, you’re fast!” he exclaims, trying to catch his breath. “All right, I admit I can’t outrun you. But I know you’re in here somewhere. Come on out, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
He pauses, listening intently. I remain quiet, wondering how I might possibly kill him.
“Oh c’mon,” he groans. “You have nothing to fear. I realize I must have made a bad first impression. But you should know I’m actually a good guy. Very nice and quite handsome to boot.”
I don’t answer. My eyes scan the surroundings, searching for another weapon, and I notice a fist sized stone a few yards away.
Wreck wipes the blood from his split lips, grinning. “I’m not angry for what you’ve done, all right? It was my own doing.” He pauses, listening. “I admit I was a jerk, all right? I’m sorry.”
I carefully pick up the stone and hold it tightly, envisioning myself breaking his skull. I imagine I should aim for his temple.
“Please, come out,” Wreck continues. “I won’t hurt you. I told you I had a different plan for you, and I wasn’t lying! I have a great plan. I was coming to tell you some good news. I was coming to free you.”
I don’t believe him. I must work up enough courage to attack, but I quickly recall the image of Wreck kicking the hell out of Ace. I feel scared.
“C’mon,” he groans, exasperatedly. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where exactly are you planning to go? And what about the chain? How are you gonna unlock the collar? I have the key, look!” He pulls a key from his pocket. “Come on out and we’ll get that collar off.”
I know he’s lying. I remain silent, squeezing the stone in my hand.
Wreck shows Gabriel’s knife, holding it above his head. “Here’s your trophy. You can have it back. I’m sorry I ever took it away from you.”
I swallow hard, hesitating and arguing with myself. I must not trust this guy, but I do want my knife back. My hands begin sweating.
