The Last Legacy (Season 1): Episodes 1-10 (4 page)

I tried to convince myself the noise was just the old wood creaking. I tried to convince myself that the bang was only the screen opening an inch or two by the wind and then shutting. But what I knew were footsteps got closer and closer to my bedroom, and I couldn’t convince myself otherwise.
 

Creak—another footstep, this time just outside of my bedroom walls. I rolled backwards into the closet and pushed myself until my back was flush against the wall, clothes hanging above me, whipping me in the face. In that moment, I wished I had left the door hanging instead of using it for a scream-blocker on the windows.

I covered my mouth with my hands, worried my ragged breaths would be a beacon for the intruders. A warm tear trickled down my face, stopping at the dam my pointer finger made below my nose. I didn’t wipe it away.

“Make sure you clear it.”
 

The door to my bedroom slammed open. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in my scream. Crumbles from the wall clicked like rainbow sprinkles to the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut harder, not wanting to face whoever was there. If I could have stopped my heart from beating, I would have. Everything inside of me tensed until I was a wound ball of nerves.

The same deep, gruff voice mumbled something I couldn’t understand as he stomped through my bedroom. His steps sounded as if he was wearing combat boots, each louder than the next. He huffed under his breath; even his exhale sounded angry. I heard joints cracking as he bent down. He became oddly quiet, and I fought the urge to look out from the veil of my closet.
 

“I swear I have to do everything myself.”
 

My bed creaked, and a foot shuffled. I faintly smelled something sour and bitter, like sweat and vodka, but it was too close to be the man near the bed. I struggled to hold back a sob. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I never had an easy hand in life, and an invasion wouldn’t change my luck. His boots got closer. The clothes above me swayed, a soft wind trickled over my face. I couldn’t move, refused to open my eyes. I thought I might puke.

“You didn’t think we’d leave you?” It was a new voice. Arms wrapped around my shoulders, and two more hands got my legs as they dragged me through the clothes. I screamed, kicking and flailing my limbs, attempting to free myself.
 

“Let go!” I yelled.

“We’ve got a live one!” the man chuckled, and two more sets of feet came towards me, heavy and strong, pounding—thum thum, thum thum, thum thum.
 

“She sure is pretty.” The new voice was deep and wicked, kind of melodic. Goose bumps prickled down my arms and up my spine. I screamed again as he lifted me in the air. I tried to memorize the man’s face, but before I knew it, a calloused hand covered my eyes. I only caught blue eyes and a sad frown.
 

The hands that smelled like sewage slid a scratchy blindfold over my eyes. His movements were hard, needy with each brush against me like he’d never had human contact before. He fumbled around near my head, his fingers digging into the skin on the back of my neck. My stomach twisted in knots. They were taking me. My life was over. What was this all for?

I didn’t fear my life anymore. Instead, I feared what they would do if they let me live. They could just be looters, but I doubted that was their only goal. The way they touched my body reminded me of a foster “brother” I had at age sixteen: he got aggressive, until I framed him for assault—which wasn’t hard since he snuck into my bedroom almost nightly trying to cop a feel—and got myself out of there. I listened for a female voice as they probed and inspected me, praying someone would take mercy on me.
 

One man’s fingers dug into my upper arms, pinching the skin under my armpits. Hands trailed down the curve of my back, reaching around my pants, searching. My body vibrated with nervous energy as my throat closed. I clenched my muscles and hardened myself. I could barely get air into my lungs. Fingers poked into my pockets, lifted up my shirt, and explored every crevice. I never once felt like I had a chance of escape, their arms unrelenting.

A man hauled me over his shoulder, my face hitting his muscular back, my ass in the air near his ear. I wanted to pull my shirt down to cover my midriff. I wanted to fix my pants that had slipped low enough to show my butt. It was stupid since those were probably the least of my worries, but I hated being vulnerable. Hated the dirty taste it left in my mouth. Before I had the chance to wiggle, my arms and ankles were zip-tied together.

The man carrying me walked through my hallway. He acted as if he knew my home, each step confident. He pushed through my rickety, old screen door. It crashed shut behind us, and I heard another man’s feet catch and a bang from behind me.
 

“Fuck, Jim. You shut the damn door in my face.”

“Oh, screw off. Hold your own damn door.”

Suddenly, my captor, Jim, stumbled forward, and my head slammed against his back. His arms tightened around my waist. It made me squirm with disgust. I wished he’d just drop me to put me out of my misery. Even though without working arms and legs, I wouldn’t get far.
 

“Where do you want her?” Jim asked.

“Put her in the middle of the back seat, and I’ll sit next to her.”

A different man’s finger traced the outline of my hip and rose up to my face, pausing along the way at my breasts. He felt the curve of my waist. He squeezed my nipple through my shirt, and I screamed, my throat burning. I choked as tears rolled down my face. His other hand got lost in my hair and tugged my head backwards with a snap. I screamed again as loud as I could, but my voice turned scratchy, the first signs of losing it. Someone slapped me hard. My cheek ignited, a sharp fire where his palm connected.
 

“Let me go!” I struggled in Jim’s arms, yelling and kicking. I knew that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t be freed. I bucked my hips and thrust my shoulders forward, hoping to flip over and at least stand alone. Hope seemed like a distant memory.

Jim pulled me down off his back and grabbed onto my shoulders. He squeezed them so hard I knew they would bruise, deep purple fingerprints in my skin. He tugged me against his body and lifted me, jerking me around whatever way he chose. I felt like a rag-doll, flailing around.

My right ear pressed against his chest as he settled me, his heart thumping steadily like a drum. His arm snaked behind my head, holding around my shoulders a little too tight, and his other arm reached under my knees, lifting me in one quick thrust.

“Just get in the car before you get yourself hurt,” Jim whispered, his voice hushed. His arms released me into a low-to-the-ground seat. I tried to twist my head so the blindfold would fall off, but it was pointless.
 

I ran my hands along the seat and felt a cold, firm leather. The car rumbled to life as one of the doors shut from the front. I became more aware of my lack of sight. I had no idea how many men were there, or what they looked like. The edges of the fabric bit into my temples.

I tried to sit up, squirming and rolling, but it became impossible without my arms. A loud bang against the car jolted me, and I quieted my panting, trying to listen to what was going on. Nobody else had gotten into the car, and it didn’t feel like we were moving yet.

“Get in the other car and meet us there.” It was Jim who spoke first.

“I want to play with the lil’ lady.” The deep voiced man was farther away than Jim, probably standing near the door to my house. Jim’s heavy-booted foot stepped towards where I was.
 

“Get in the other car.” Jim’s voice grew angrier by the second, the gruffness returning. Another bang against the car, like a body being shoved against the metal. I felt around the seat with my hand, trying to find a weapon. I might have had only a few seconds alone, but I would utilize them to my advantage.

“What the fuck is your problem? This is what we do now.” The man with a haunting voice was painfully close to me now.
 

“Guys, just relax,” another man said, his voice completely foreign and new.
 

“I’m pretty sure if I were you, I’d listen to me.” Jim exhaled, and I pictured him about to charge with his fists raised. “Now get in the other car and get the fuck out of here.”

For a moment, there was just heated silence. It vibrated through the air like invisible smoke. And then another punch. I jumped at the noise. My heart thumped loudly, my body shaking in fear. My hands found the felt of the floor and my fingers crawled in search of something to use as a weapon. The man in the driver’s seat mumbled under his breath, something about hurrying this along, I gathered.
 

The back door of the car shut: a warm presence appeared beside me. I was fully laid out across the back seat, vulnerable to any attack. The man brushed against my exposed stomach, lifting me so I was sitting up. I pushed my feet against the floor to get away.

“Drive to the house.” It was Jim’s voice. For some reason, I felt relieved that it was him and not the other guy. My body relaxed at the timbre of his voice. I wasn’t sure if it was the mere fact that I knew Jim’s name or what, but he seemed like a lesser of two evils.
 

“Got it.” The driver’s voice was quiet, soft, not menacing like most of the others. The car fell to comfortable silence and I tried to come up with the best case scenario for the situation I had gotten in.
 

I believed everyone had good in them, including these men. It was a naive philosophy. Frankly, almost everything else in my life I assumed the worst, from people to situations to the meaning of life itself. I had met a lot of different people in my twenty-four years—from neglectful foster parents, to abusive siblings, to grimy bosses, to seedy old men on the bus.
 

But I truly believed that good overpowered evil. These men had to have some soft side or else I was screwed. I latched onto the hope that I could find the weakness and use it to get myself out of there.

Hands touched my shoulders, and I flinched. I pushed myself until I was pressed against the side door, my head tilting in an awkward angle against the low ceiling. The seat sunk down, indented from his weight as he hovered above me. His breath trickled over my face, and oddly enough, it was minty and not unpleasant like the others.

“I won’t hurt you.” He sounded sincere, but I didn’t believe him. I wasn’t that deluded. He was too close to me, too comfortable being so close. My stomach spun. “What’s your name?”

I didn’t want to answer at first. But I figured if he knew my name, maybe he’d be less inclined to kill me or hurt me. I normally hated pity—people’s initial response when they found out I was in foster care all my life. But I’d take it today to save my life.
 

“Lana.”

I used to do this in my foster houses when needy teenage boys tried to screw around with me. If I acted all innocent, and got them to feel something and like me as a person, they’d usually feel guilty and back off. Guilt was another emotion to play off of—strong enough to change perceptions. But I had a feeling Jim wasn’t at all like a teenage boy and wouldn’t be easily swayed.
 

Jim’s hands found my face, and he gently lifted the fold off my eyes. The hard fabric scratched against my forehead, making it itch. It took a moment for me to see again, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Jim scooted backwards and sat at the far end of the bench seat, putting a few feet of space between us. My eyes darted around the car.
 

It was an old Honda going by the logo on the steering wheel. The interior was black with black leather seats. There were only three of us in the car: the driver, Jim, and me. Yet, the tension in the air made it feel cramped.
 

The car bounced as we ran something over, and I jerked to the side, my face connecting with the glass window. I groaned and pulled back, my nose throbbing.
 

Outside, deep purples and blues painted the sky twilight. Red fires with black tendrils of smoke lit up the landscape. It had only been a week, but I didn’t even recognize our location.

Dozens of bodies littered the side bike path of the two-lane road. My normally simple neighborhood was now the center of a war zone. The contrast between eight days ago and now was startling. What had I missed?

I knew if we went north, we’d run into the center of Hartford, and if we went south, there’d only be woods for miles and miles. I stared at the dying landscape and figured we were headed south. Trees grew denser the longer we drove, some snapped like toothpicks, others burnt to a crisp. Circles on the ground were charred black, dead bodies the only consistency.

I finally tore my gaze from my foreign surroundings to Jim. He stared out of his window, so I could only see his profile. His way-too-large-for-his-face nose looked as if he’d broken it a few times, crooked at the bridge. Dark brown hair faded like a marine and was short on top. The darkness of the evening shielded his eyes. His lips pouted, like he was thinking about something hard and then, as if he could feel my stare, his eyes cut to mine.
 

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t look away—he captured me. His eyes were a deep, royal blue that I could swear I’d never seen before in a man. They were deep and emotion-filled. They held me, pulling me, begging me not to look away. I felt my forehead wrinkle as I stared at him. This man had kidnapped me from my own home. He grabbed me hard, tossed me around, and now here I sat, just staring at him. He shook his head and turned away, looking out the window. His hold on me broke.
 

I could only see the man in the driver’s seat in the rear view mirror. He also had dark hair and dark eyes, though his were a simple, milk chocolate brown. I was sure he saw me staring, but chose to ignore me. His brows furrowed as he stared out the windshield, his eyes hard as stone, focused.

“Where are you taking me?” I found my voice, tucked away in the depths of my gut.