When I wake, Glasses sits in a chair at the back of the room, nodding off. A pile of clothes appeared on the foot of the bed overnight and I hurriedly dress while he’s still asleep. When he wakes, he follows me around the room.
Disappointment stings the back of my mind as I discover that even Glasses—the smallest man around—still stands taller than me by several inches. It’s not even that he’s small, it’s that everyone else is large. As the morning goes on, he keeps his distance—out of respect for me or fear of the chief, I am not sure which—but out of everyone here, he appears the most civilized. Which isn’t saying much.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“For a prisoner? Fantastic.”
He sighs with a frown. He does that a lot, seemingly annoyed with everything I say or do. To be fair, I could be more congenial, but ever since last night’s nerve-racking experience with the chief, I find myself angry. At the chief. At Glasses. At the world. But mostly at myself. For being so stupid as to fall into that cursed hole.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror and stare at the obnoxiously bright yellow jacket wrapped around my shoulders. The thin, synthetic fabric swallows me, falling halfway down my thighs. I can’t decide if I feel more like a child or a highlighter. The color may seem like an odd choice, but I know the reason. The same reason orange is the standard dress code in prisons. When I make a run for it, I’ll have to ditch it even if it means freezing for a couple of nights.
“Can I at least have my pants back?” I say as I slip on what they gave me.
At least those weren’t cut in half by a knife-wielding maniac. This pair hangs loosely around my hips, held up by a rope tied off at my waist.
He ignores my question. “There’s something else the chief wants you to wear.”
I follow his gaze to a heavy chain connected to a collar made of metal and thick leather. The sight stills my heart. It is eerily similar to what the masked man wore down in the Raider pit.
“You have got to be kidding me. What are you all? Raiders?”
"We're not raiders," he snaps back.
"Then what are you? Because from where I'm standing, you look the same."
"We're survivors. Nothing more. Nothing less." But even as he says it, he refuses to meet my gaze. Shame pinches his face. And rightly so.
“A collar?” I sneer. “Really? Do you think I am a dog?”
“It would be better if you didn’t make this difficult.”
“Better for who? For you?”
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Honestly, I expected worse, but something about actually facing the inhumanity of the moment is infuriating. Whatever fear I have gets shoved aside by this blinding anger. I don’t think, I just act. Stomping over to it, the collar feels heavy in my hand, the chain even more so. The weight of it fills my arms and I chuck the ugly thing into the air and through the open window. It hits the earth with a clunk in a bush a decent ways away.
The look of utter shock on Glasses’ face satisfies the anger buzzing in the back of my brain and I return to the dresser. But as I turn to leave, I clash into an enormous body and my heart makes a dive to my feet in recognition.
The chief towers overhead, takes one look at me, and frowns. “Where is the collar?”
Glasses pales. “She threw it out the window.”
“Cuff her. And bring the collar.”
One of the bouncer types outside the doorway grabs my wrists and it feels like wrestling a gorilla. When I can finally rip my hands away, the cuffs jangle loudly.
I hold them up to the chief. “This is completely unnecessary. You really think I’ll escape?”
“No, I don’t think you can escape.” He leans down, speaking slowly. “But this is not for me, it is for you.”
He picks up a baseball cap sitting there on the nightstand and places it on my head, gathering my hair into it. His fingers graze my shoulders and neck, sending my skin crawling with every touch. I refuse to flinch. Refuse to give him the satisfaction. But when a man runs up, the collar in hand, a nervous swallow escapes me and the chief catches it, smiling. He snaps the absurd thing around my neck as I cut him a death glare.
He leans down to meet my height. “This is to teach you a very important lesson. Can you guess what that is?”
I bite my tongue, knowing full well the anger lurking beneath the surface of this man. The bruises on my neck and jaw still ache from last night. So instead, I fuel as much hatred into my unblinking scowl as humanly possible.
He smiles in amusement and straightens to his full height. “There is no use in trying to run. Your home is here now. With me.”
I steel myself against his words but something inside me still breaks right then and there. The chances of getting free are looking worse by the minute.
No.
I shake it off. It will be all right. All I need are some raiders—or anyone, really—daft enough to go up against the chief and his men. I can lead them right into the raider gang from before. My only chance is to escape in the chaos of that moment. I can figure out how to get the monstrosities on my wrists and neck off afterward.
The chief walks me out of the room, chain in hand, and I follow a few steps behind. The humiliation burns hot, and I want to rip the chain away and smack him up across the face with it. Instead, I settle for glaring at anything that moves.
As we reach the outdoors, an assortment of catcalls, stares and jeers sends my nervous heart into overdrive. My eyes stay glued on the chief’s back as I struggle against rising terror and the images it creates. At the edge of the camp, more than a dozen men on horses greet us. The giant beasts snort and pound the earth with their hooves, and I feel their anxiety as my own. We are both creatures at the mercy of these men. We share that misery, but it may prove worse for me than for them.
An arm wraps around my middle and lifts me into a saddle with the chief. His chest presses into my spine and I resist the urge to knife his ribs with my elbows. He hooks the end of my collar’s chain to a segment on his belt and I make note of exactly where.
The gates open and he leans over my shoulder, his beard brushing across my neck. “Lead the way, darling.”
I twist away and glower at him over my shoulder. “West. Follow the I-40 interstate.”
We travel for hours at a bone-grinding pace with the shortest of breaks. When the sun hangs low in the sky, the chief calls it and the men stop to make camp. By now, my bum is completely numb and the injury on the back of my thigh throbs dully.
I glance around at the men. They act busy, but I feel their stares crowding me. Curiosity and longing mix with something else making my stomach twist into a knot. The chief lifts me from the horse and leads me to a place in the middle of the camp near the fire where the men have taken a long rod and driven it deep into the earth. He fastens my chain to the rod with an oversized padlock.
He grins. “Better than being tied to a tree.”
Sure. So much better. What a gentleman.
“Don’t give me that look. You can always sleep with me if you prefer.”
He reaches out to touch the tender skin around my neck. I try to smack him but my hands are cuffed and he catches the chain, yanking me close.
“That reminds me. Doc said those bandages need to be cleaned every day.”
I jump as a hand suddenly grabs me from behind. He laughs like it’s a game, but my skin burns hot and I resist the urge to slap him again. He turns to go as Glasses walks up with a first aid kit and takes a seat on a nearby log.
“Stand here, please,” Glasses says.
Unease twists my middle as I step over to him. The men are watching. Most have stopped to stare.
“I need to clean your bandages.”
I grind my teeth, remembering the pain in the back of my thigh. Why did I have to get shot there? I can’t just roll up the pant leg; the wound is too high.
“Please don’t make me call someone over,” he says.
I swallow a frown and fumble with the rope around my middle for a second before letting the pants fall to my ankles. Thankfully, the oversized jacket they put me in reaches halfway down my thighs, but it hardly prevents the cacophony of catcalls and hollers which follow. A few men saunter over, their eyes sparking with glee. I look for the chief, but come up empty. Where is the ogre when you need him?
“Hey sweetheart, what’s your name?” the one with a shaggy-looking beard asks. He bends over and places his hands on his knees, cocking his head to grin at me. “Got some fine legs there.”
The bigger one snickers and reaches over, snatching my cap. “I like the yellow hair.”
I stumble backward, bumping into Glasses as my hair falls around my shoulders and back.
Glasses jumps up, fuming at the other two men. “Do you mind? I am working here.”
Shaggy decides my shoulder makes for an excellent armrest and I go as stiff as a board, wrinkling my nose at the distinctive armpit odor.
“Maybe we can help ya, doc. It can’t be that hard. I’m sure she doesn’t mind, do ya cutie? We could help inspect things.” He wiggles an eyebrow at his buddy, who chuckles darkly, and my stomach twists.
“No, you can’t.” He adjusts his glasses and shoos them with his hands. “And would you get off her? She’s still recovering, so any added stress could kill her. Go. Go.”
To my surprise, the two goons listen, but then I see the reason for their speedy departure. The chief is back. The bigger of the two guys toss my baseball cap at my feet as they turn to leave.
“You better put that on. The chief wants you to hide your hair when we’re on the road,” Glasses mutters, sitting back down.
I use shaky hands to pull the hood of my jacket up instead. Glasses’ fingers are cold, and I notice he is careful to touch me as little as possible as he unwraps my leg. It settles my racing heart but I'm not foolish enough to think the man is on my side. Not yet, anyways.
“Is that a semi-auto?” I ask, nodding at the gun on his hip.
“What?” He scowls at first then follows my gaze. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s the chief’s orders when you leave camp. Everyone must have a gun.”
“So you don’t shoot?”
“I’m a pacifist. There’s a reason they all call me Doc around here.”
“Are you really a doctor then? Officially?”
He gives my leg a sour look as he wraps a clean cloth around it. “I was in my last year of residency, but none of that matters anymore. It’s not like I’ll be able to finish it now.”
“How long have you been awake from the stone?”
He sighs, seeming annoyed as always. “Almost two years now.”
“Then I’d say you already finished it, wouldn’t you?”
He pauses, thinking over my words, and looks up. The wheels turn behind those eyes and he opens his mouth but stops, shaking his head instead and returning to his work.
I feel so close. I need these men to view me as more than simply an object. I need them to remember their humanity. Their lives. Their families.
“Do you have a daughter or a sister?” I ask.
“No.” His sour face fades. “But I had a fiance.”
“Is she stone?”
He gives a single nod, avoiding looking in my direction.
“Then maybe you’ll see her again.”
Slowly, his eyes raise to meet mine. He knows what I’m saying. If I’m here, then who is to say his fiance isn’t also awake? After all, I am taking them to more women who woke up.
Except I’m not. Because there is none. None that I know of anyways. Still, if I can pull Glasses to my side then the other men might follow. I have to try.
“What’s her name?”
His eyes flare. “Stop it. I don’t know what you’re getting at but if this is some trick or game you’re playing, you better quit it.”
I blink. His eyes hold such hostility. At me? My gaze finds the ground and stays there. I must have missed the signs. Was I too obvious? He’s sharper than he looks.
He finishes up and stands to leave but takes hold of my arm, speaking quietly. “If this trip is a trick, I recommend you ’fess up to the chief. The longer this goes on, the more danger you’ll be in.”
Then he’s gone. I glare at his back, fear bubbling up inside me. I can’t do that, Glasses. I won’t give up on Ivan and resign myself to a life with these animals. Not so long as I have breath in my lungs and blood in my veins.
A hunting party returns before dark and the group sits around the fire, eating. I opt for a spot as far as my leash allows and eat my dinner in blessed seclusion. With the chief around, no one dares touch me. But when he gets up and disappears into the woods, I hear a man whisper.
“Do you really think they’re finally waking up? The women, that is?”
“They gotta be. Why would just one wake up?”
I freeze mid-chew.
A deep voice scoffs. “Why does anyone wake up? No one knows anything, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”
“Yeah, but there’s got to be a reason, right? A reason we all turned to stone in the first place. Maybe the government did it.”
I hear a smack, and then, “You idiot. All the government officials got turned to stone too. It happened to everyone.”
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“It could have been an experiment gone wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? What about that time when—”
“Tch, here he goes again with the conspiracy theories. Next thing you know, it’s aliens.”
Chuckles echo all around.
An older voice speaks. “It’s judgment.”
Everyone quiets. The fire crackles and pops. The ruffle of pine needles and scraping of boots across dirt follows a few awkward coughs. Eventually, someone breaks the silence.
“Chief said there’s four girls right? So how we gonna split them up?”
“Who says you get one at all?”
“I call dibs on a redhead.”
“Why are we waiting again? We have a girl alread—”
“I’m sorry, are you a doctor? No? Then shut it.” Glasses snaps. I forgot he was there.
“Yeah, well, she sure is taking a long time to heal, Doc. When I got shot in the shoulder that one time, it healed up enough for me to use it again in just three days. But we’re supposed to believe she’s still too injured to take a good—”
“I expect you to believe what I tell you as a medical professional. She’s a woman. She’s more…delicate.” Delicate? “They don’t heal as fast as we do. So unless you’d like to explain to the chief how you killed the only woman we have then go ahead, have your fun. But you will kill her.”
Somewhere, I register the approaching crunch of pine needles under foot, but my eyes are glued to a stump sitting a little ways away. My mind feels distant. Small. As if my soul left it and now wanders around from the skies, lost and far away.
A hand grips my shoulder and I feel myself ripped back into my mind. I jump with a gasp, yanking myself free and scramble away. My leftover rabbit is lost somewhere between fallen pine cones.
It’s the chief. Surprise flashes on his face as we stare at each other for several long moments. Then slowly, a knowing look trickles in and he smiles.
“They won’t touch you. Not without my permission.”
I feel tears prickle.
His hand wraps around the chain leading to the collar but doesn’t pull. Instead, he offers me his hand. “I told you I would protect you.”
Protect me? I begin to tremble. It starts in my fingers and travels up my arms until my body quakes down into to my very core. But it’s not from fear. I’m angry. I bite my lip to keep from lashing out like some kind of maniac. A burst of copper fill my mouth and I have to stop to keep from biting my whole lip off. I’ve never stared down a monster as it offered protection while wrapping a fist around my throat. I stand, refusing his offered hand with my chin up and eyes level.
His grip tightens around my chain and he walks me back to the group. They call it a night and the chief has them tie my legs. So on top of being cuffed and chained like a dog, my legs are tied. I notice the chief smiling out of the corner of my eye. He’s loving this, the bastard.
The next morning, we travel for a good eight hours before reaching the ravine where I lost the masked man.
“I crossed there,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on the horse to point at the remains of the rope bridge.
“We camp tonight and then head south until we reach the next crossing.” The chief shouts to the men and they turn to go.
But I continue to stare at the torn rope bridge, watching the ghost of a memory that feels years old instead of mere days. I see the masked man standing there after nearly falling to his death. Both of us, dripping wet and exhausted as the clouds parted, rays of light filling the chasm after the storm.
If I had reached the bridge a few minutes later that day—if he had made it to the other side before I could cut the rope, would I still be trapped here with these monsters? Or would he have pulled me out of that pit before anyone showed up? Or maybe I would be in a different kind of trouble entirely, finding myself in the hands of a terrifyingly new kind of monster.
An unwelcome hand snakes its way around my stomach and cold fingers inch up under my shirt like leeches. I shove him away but he just laughs and pulls me closer.
“You look pretty interested in the bridge there, sweetheart. Something you want to share?”
His beard scratches the side of my face and I imagine ramming the back of my head into his nose. I would, except testing whatever semblance of self-control this man has is like playing five-finger fillet.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He raises a brow. “Do you know what I do to liars?”
“Let me guess. Cut out their tongue?”
“I kill them. But now, if you’re lying to me…”—he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear—“I will make you beg for such mercy.”
I feel something hot and slick on my earlobe, and jerk away like it was a wasp there a second ago and not his mouth. I turn in disgust and wipe the wetness from my ear. He laughs and kicks the horse forward, but my heart hammers my ribs. I always knew entering into a deal with this man was a terrible mistake, but the clearer the consequences become, the more dread climbs into my chest leaving less and less room for hope.
~~~
The next morning, the camp is quiet and still as a light fog drifts through the space. Most men are asleep except for the few who keep watch. I stare at the campfire’s dull, glowing embers as the chilly morning air prickles my exposed skin. The faintest ray of sunlight peeks into the night sky and my stomach twists as I think of the coming day. The raider base is still several days out, and the men’s stares no longer flick away when the chief walks by and I feel their restlessness. But the chief worries me the most. Every passing hour on the horses, I sense his self-control crumbling as dark desire rises like a wraith, impatient and desperate, turning to focus on me.
I roll over and feel a soft lump of something at my feet. Feathers? I nudge it with my hand. A bird? Rubbing the familiar rusty brown feathers with black speckles between my fingers, I realize what it is: a dead pheasant.
The sudden deja vu of this moment sends electricity shooting through my body, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.
Could it be?
Could it be the masked man? Is he out there right now? I scan the surrounding area, looking in the tree above, and come up empty, but I never could find him before either. This is him. It must be. The bird’s neck is broken just like before and I see no other reason for a dead bird to show up right beside me. My body warms as hope wiggles its way into my heart. Can he help me? Will he even try?
I spend the rest of the morning attempting to squash the hope sprouting up left and right inside my chest. I say nothing when the men notice the dead bird and add it to breakfast. I don’t flinch at Glasses’ cold fingers when he replaces my bandages or glare when the chief grabs me from behind for the hundredth time.
As we travel south to find another crossing, I have to fend off his groping hands repeatedly. But I do little more than shove or twist away, my mind caught in the distraction of the masked man. If he’s out there, what’s he waiting for? Perhaps he just wants me to know he knows I’m in trouble. Is this revenge for the bridge?
Or maybe he has a plan.
As the sun rises in the sky, clouds pile in, and the fog builds, leaving the world cloaked in a haze of gray. Even still, I scan the surroundings, hoping to glimpse the masked man. We approach a large cement bridge at least four lanes wide. Crumbling sides make for a precarious drop should one venture too close. Fog fills the ravine, spilling upward onto the bridge. The horses whine, dancing in circles as the men shift uncomfortably. The chief sends two men ahead and we wait in silence for several minutes until a shout comes from the other side.
“Clear!”
The group moves forward. As hoofs touch the base of the bridge, I notice something laying by the deflated tire of a rust bucket of a car.
A dead pheasant.
I hold my breath, heart hammering. He is here. Somewhere beyond sight, the masked man watches. The world of gray clings like a warm, wet coat as we pass statues left and right. Men, women, and children frozen in time emerge, only to fade away like ghosts. I see missing limbs and heads. The horses’ hooves crunch stone underfoot.
“You seem tense,” the chief says behind me, nuzzling my neck painfully. “Want a distraction?”
A distraction? I need to distract him.
“Maybe,” I say quietly back.
He straightens and the horse stops suddenly. Was that too much? Does he suspect me?
I glance over and the gleam in his eyes sends every hair across my body standing on end. He yanks me closer, his hand groping my breasts as his hot tongue travels down my neck. Then something sharp there makes me yelp.
The hell? Did he bite me?
A laughing rumble emanates from his chest, as he bites again. I jump and stifle another cry of pain that rattles up from my throat. That hurt. My heart beats so fast I think I might really have a heart attack but I cram my eyes shut, struggling to block it all out. I use the lack of space between us to reach behind and unhook the end of my chain from his belt. I need to be ready when—
A horse whinnies and races past us, a limp body caught by the foot dragged along. I glimpse a scraggly beard and an arrow sticking out of an eye.
The chief’s head jerks up. “Behind!” he yells, letting me go and reaching for his rifle as he turns the horse around.
With my leash unhooked and my body free from his arms, I roll forward as the horse turns and the momentum easily carries me over its shoulder. I hit the ground on my side with a thud and scramble to my feet, gathering the chain in my arms and booking it as fast as I can.
Behind me, gunshots sound off like fireworks. Horses squeal and men shout as chaos ensues. I race past a horse standing without a rider. Past unmoving bodies on the ground.
At the edge of the bridge, my foot catches on something soft, and the ground rises up to meet me. Sticky redness wets my fingers. Blood. A hand snaps around my wrist from the side. It’s Glasses, but his glasses are cracked, laying askew. Blood pours out of his opened chest like a river. So much blood. His eyes hold fear and I watch in horror as they drift off, his grip loosening. Then the light leaves his eyes and he’s gone. I stare, motionless. Barely breathing.
The pounding of a horse’s hooves approaches, and I duck as it leaps overhead. The rider dismounts and the fog shifts to reveal the chief standing before me, eyes ablaze. His silence says more than any words could.
I’m dead. So dead.
I lunge away, but the collar jerks me back. The chief holds my leash in his hands. When I tripped over Glasses the chain scattered from my arms. The chief takes heavy steps to the edge of the bridge. Standing there, legs apart, he reels me in like a fish on a line.
I scream, pulling against the chain, but I cannot win this game of tug and war. Once in reach, he seizes my arm and slaps me so hard that stars fill my vision. His hand snaps around my jaw and I can’t stem the whimper which escapes my throat. My feet lift from the ground, and when I glance down, nothing but endless chasm greets me. I cling desperately to his arm as he dangles me over the edge of the ravine.
“You want her?” he bellows into the fog.
Only then do I realize the silence. The fighting has stopped. No more shouting or gunshots. The masked man emerges from the haze of gray. He stands alone, his bow drawn back, an arrow aimed at the chief. My heart leaps.
“Drop your weapons or I drop her.”
I kick the empty air as tears sprout from the increased pressure around my neck and jaw. I can hardly hear him over the raging in my ears, and my vision fades around the edges before I hear the clatter of weapons on concrete. The chief whips out a pistol with his free hand and aims it at the masked man.
No!
I want to scream, but nothing except a teeth-clenched, strangled cry gets out. The chief will win. I would rather fall to my death than suffer forever at the hands of this monster. Clawing in desperation, eyes crammed shut, I raise my foot and manage to kick him in the side. It is weak but a solid attempt, to be sure, and the moment I do so, a gunshot goes off. Smoke curls from the barrel of the chief’s gun and the masked man lies motionless on the ground.
Dead?
Shock breaks my brain. I feel solid ground beneath my feet and slump to the concrete as the chief releases me back onto the bridge. My eyes are stuck on the masked man. Surely he’s not dead.
The chief takes a few cautious steps toward the body, finger tight on the trigger. The masked man’s crumpled form is turned away.
I must do something. It’s now or never.
My bloodied hands clench to fists. The blood is dried and crusty now. Glasses’ blood. That’s right! He had a gun. I need his gun.
Sprinting to where his body lay, my hands graze his skin. The still, lifeless feel of it makes me stop, but then his gun catches my eye. I lunge for the hilt when a bullet explodes the concrete there, inches from my fingertips.
The chief now aims his gun at me. I swallow and return his stare, like a deer before a hunter. Will he shoot me? If I go for the gun? Probably. But if I run? Probably not. He steps toward me and I step back as if there is a pole between us. I gather my leash into my hands and ready myself.
His head tilts. “Come here, girl.”
I turn tail and run and he lets out a curse. The chase is on but I am lighter and faster. A horse on my left brings me shuddering to a halt. I would take it except the last time I mounted a horse I was six and it was a pony on my birthday. I may have ridden on a horse all this way but never have I mounted one or driven one. With a hard slap, it bolts off into the gray. There. Now neither of us can use it.
I back away, glancing around as silence meets me on all sides. Where is he? If I can reach the end of the bridge, I might be able to hide in the woods. But the world is white. I can hardly tell left from right, let alone which way leads to safety. As I turn, I collide with something big. A familiar painful grip on my arm confirms the dread in my heart.
“I told you, didn’t I?” The chief smacks me so hard my whole body slams into the pavement and my world spins. “What happens when you lie to me.” He drops to his knees, fumbling with his belt and by the time I realize his intent, I am already crushed by his weight.
“No! Get off!”
I scream, but there is no one to help. My only chance at freedom lies dead somewhere in the fog. He pins my hands over my head and I scream again. This earns another slap across the face and tears betray me as I struggle with everything I can. But like a mountain climbing atop me, the weight alone is paralyzing.
“Help!” I scream with all my might as he claws at the waist of my pants. My screams are cut off by a backhand. This one brings a trickle of blood down my nose. The taste of copper floods my mouth.
What happens next sucks the breath from my lungs. He jerks back as his chest gives birth to a giant curved blade. With eyes round as full moons, his fingers creep up to touch the metal, blood dribbling out over us both. Then, like a match snuffing out, as quick as it appeared, the sword rips back sending blood erupting from the chief’s mouth. A booted foot shoves his body off me.
The masked man stands with sword in hand, dripping with blood—the chief’s blood. He glances at me before turning his attention to the man he just drove his blade through. Anger burns in the chief’s eyes and he reaches for his pistol, but the masked man kicks it away. Then, without an ounce of hesitation, the masked man swings his sword, freeing the chief of his head. It rolls away as his body slumps.
A sound, something between a choke and gasp, escapes my lips. I clamber away until my back hits a rusty car door, shock and fear morphing into one creature and trapping me in place. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think. The chief’s blood creeps across the concrete toward me. Stretching. Grasping. I feel hot and clammy all over. I want to throw up. I think I might.
The masked man searches the headless body, taking something in his hand before approaching me. My spine flattens against the rusty metal and I struggle to breathe. The connection between my mind and body—broken. I can only stare, open-mouthed, my cry dying somewhere in the vapors of my mind as he kneels, reaching for me.
I cram my eyes shut. Whatever he wants, please let it be quick.
The collar around my neck falls away. Then the clunk of metal follows as my wrists are freed from their prison.
I hold my breath. Waiting. Moments pass and when I open my eyes, he is gone. With shaky hands, my fingers explore the bruises around my wrists. The sensation of moving my arms separately is now bizarre.
I take another look around. The masked man must be somewhere in the fog.
I am alone.
Did he really leave? Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass, and still nothing.
Get up. I need to get up. Just one step at a time.
A shaky breath joins my trembling hands and I grasp at the car behind me, struggling to my feet. My whole body shivers, except I’m not cold. Not that cold, anyways. The familiar clip-clop of horse hooves approaches from ahead. Did some of the chief’s men survive? I glance at the chief, his head lost somewhere in the fog. My knees feel weak. What will they do to me when they see their leader dead?
But instead, it’s the masked man who emerges from the fog. He rides atop a horse and holds the reins of another which follows. He keeps the extra horse still in front of me and I stare for a good two minutes in silence before realization hits me.
It’s for me. The extra horse is for me. He wants me to ride it. I glance around with a hard swallow.
If I choose to go with him, what will happen? Or if I run, will he chase me? He has a horse, after all. I doubt I could get far with this man on my heels. He sits with his head turned away, staring down the bridge as if I wasn’t even there. As if I wasn’t the reason he just killed over a dozen men.
It’s not the first time, either. He killed all those raiders in that field, too. And followed me after the pit. Why did he do that? There’s got to be a reason. Something he wants. Something he wants from me.
My stomach knots and I stumble backward, lurching away from the masked man and his horse. But after a couple of steps, the tremor in my bones amplifies, turning into an earthquake. A sob builds in my chest and my knees give out. Silent cries rack through my soul, stuttering out from clenched teeth until I am left a fraction of who I was. A mere sliver in this world of giants. Of monsters. What a fool I was to think I could do this on my own. I should have known better after everything Uncle warned about in his journal.
I have nothing. No weapons. No food. Not even a map, and in a day I will be starving again. To reach Ivan, the journey will last at least five months, maybe more. Will I make it that long? Can I? Behind me, a man offers a horse. He may very well be a monster, perhaps worse than the man who chained and leashed me. That man died with a single sweep of this man’s sword.
But Ivan needs me. I can’t give up. I won’t. No matter what, I must find my little brother. The thought of him all alone in this horrific world is enough to set my jaw straight. I clench my hands to fists and level my gaze. For Ivan.
I return to the masked man and the offered horse. He hasn’t moved an inch. Those soulless goggles follow me as he remains as silent as the dead bodies surround us. Reaching up, I place my foot in the stirrup and copy what I saw the other men do countless times. But halfway up, my exhausted muscles fail me and I slide down the saddle until my foot rests back on the ground.
I glance at the masked man and he simply sits patiently, looking away.
It takes three attempts, but I finally make it. I situate myself on the horse and it shifts under me and then the reins are pushed into my hands. The masked man’s horse walks a little ways ahead and my brain scrambles to remember how to get a horse to go forward. I nudge it with my feet and it just stands there. I kick it lightly. Nothing. My hands start to shake again.
I look up. The masked man waits with his back to me. Saying nothing, doing nothing—waiting. His patience renews my own and I take a deep breath.
“Come on. You can do this.” I speak, mostly for my benefit, but also the horse’s.
I dig my heels in and the horse’s ears perk forward and it finally moves. Relief washes over me as my horse reaches the masked man and we move forward together.