Dark Future (22 page)

“I realize this is a difficult choice to make, so we’ll give you some incentive,” Syon said, a smile in his words.

I heard a thick thump and then a muffled grunt. I turned and opened my eyes, straining to see through the barred window, my hand already over my mouth to prevent the scream.

There was ConRad face down for an excruciating minute. Then with a determination painful to watch, he pushed one shoulder into the ground, then the next, and lifted himself upright. Lastly, he raised his head, straightening his spine as if infusing it with liquid metal, and stared straight ahead.

His hair, longer and sun-bleached, fell over his eyes. With a flick of his head, he whipped it away. For one stilled second, his eyes found mine behind the colored glass that prevented the view from outside. Intense blue ones sent unspoken words to mine. I understood. He remembered my promise to never leave the Sanctuary and expected me to keep it.

No matter what.
The words hung heavy between us.

The man with the club swung again, catching ConRad’s right rib and kicking him in his face as he fell forward. A scream sounded behind me. I turned and. Igain, vomited in the corner.

ConRad lay there at an odd angle, sprawled face forward on the dirt. Blood soaked the grass around his left ear.

My mind snapped; reality fuzzy around the borders. I ran toward the staircase. I’d pray for a merciful death later.

A solid human wall stood before me. Ana’s hands grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against the back stone wall. White noise clamored in my head, loud and roaring. Only one thought cut the static—I needed to save ConRad.

“Kris! Kris, you need to stop.” Ana’s wide brown eyes hovered before mine. Her forearm pressed against my chest; her whole weight held me against the wall. Two other women held down each arm.

I shook my head, vocalizing anything was beyond me.

“I’m sorry, Kris. I can’t let you go. He wouldn’t want you to sacrifice yourself for nothing. It’s too late.”

“Let me go.” I struggled. There was no way I could stand by and do nothing. “They’re going to kill him.”

“He’s already dead.”

Her cold words hit like a sucker punch. Someone screamed, but it sounded far away, as if happening to someone else.

“He’s already dead,” she repeated. Her voice rose to be heard above the clamoring. “It just hasn’t happened yet.”

The truth struck me with a resounding accuracy, but I didn’t want to accept it. Ana’s words accomplished what all her strength couldn’t do. Defeated, leached of all hope, I lowered to the floor.

“Please . . . I can’t live without him,” I said, my voice raw. To even express that thought ripped my soul.

Ana took my wet face in her palms and wiped at the tears with her thumbs. Her forehead touched mine. “You can’t go with him. No matter how much you want to.”

“It’s my choice.” Damn her, this was my decision. She couldn’t take that away from me.

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head.

“The hell, it’s not.” I tried to pry her hands away from my face. I didn’t need her comfort, or her permission.

But Ana held firm and refused to relinquish eye contact. “Kris . . . stop . . . think of the baby.” Her eyes shuttered with pain, the grief of her recent stillborn baby coloring her words.

Baby, what baby?
Bright lights exploded behind my eyes as the realization hit. The excessive tiredness, the queasy stomach, the barely acknowledged missed period. I was pregnant—I carried ConRad’s child.

The weight of the thought sunk me. My options folded in on themselves like a broken tent in a torrid storm. I lowered my head in my hands. Ana was right. I might be able to forfeit my own life, but never that of my unborn child.

My beautiful ConRad. Panic seized me. I needed to see him and, God help me, say goodbye. Maybe somehow I could absorb his pain, give him strength through sheer force of will. I crawled, no pride—nothing, but endless black before me—but I needed to get to the window. Needed to see him one last time.

ConRad swayed on his knees. He leaned at an odd angle favoring his right side. I could see his stomach expand and flatten, sucking air in with each labored breath. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple pronounced in his corded neck, jaw clenched, and shifted trying to find a new spot to grind.

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.

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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

S
omething 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.