Dark Future (18 page)

“I know,” he whispered.

His words were too intuitive, and for one brief moment I thought he could reach the little girl inside of me who still believed. But then I remembered that the Elders had broken me, cut my humanity out with their knives. I’d never be whole again. I couldn’t ask or beg ConRad to fix me when the screams from the prison were still inside my head . . . and most of them were mine. The confession would splay me open and gutted like a trout for dinner.

“You gave me up. You left me.” I broke on the last words, my fear of abandonment too ingrained not to hurt.

“I’ll never forgive myself.”

I hardened my gaze as I stared him down. “Neither will I.”

He made a move as if to step forward. I panicked at the thought of his touch, decent and gentle, the first of its kind in weeks.
Save me. I’m afraid.

He took one look at my face, and then stilled his movements. “I failed to protect you. You have the right to ask for my life in return.”

A few weeks ago I would’ve been sickened by the thought, but now I realized how worthless life was here. Rage flowed through me like a powerful river. I drew from the burning ebb and drank the fury like a cactus would water in a desert terrain.
No pity. No remorse.

“In prison I wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. Let the pain go away, sleep forever, but I couldn’t. That would’ve been too easy.” I said, my voice betraying no emotion. But despite my best efforts, my vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears. I had to get him to leave, and it needed to be now. I drew on my last strength reserves, which cost me in flesh. My fingernails gouged my palms, cutting the skin. My chest wheezed as if I had a pack-a-day habit, but my voice barely shook as I faced ConRad straight on. “I would like nothing better than to have your toing thead on a platter. But that’s the easy way, and you don’t deserve the easy way. Instead, I want that every time you look at me, every time you see my face, you remember, you
live
with what you’ve done.”

I heard his sharp inhale of breath, then he stiffened. “And so I will.”

And then I got my wish and was left alone.

Chapter Twenty-five

I
folded inward and melted down the wall into a fetal position. The strength I drew from my need for revenge was gone, depleted from my last stand with ConRad.

I didn’t hear Quinn approach over the sound of my cries. But she was there, pushing my hair back and murmuring nonsense in my ear. She helped to remove the rest of my clothes and led me over to the spray of water that poured from the wall. Silent, she washed my wounds and then my hair. I watched as the water mixed with dried blood and turned into a light pink stream that trickled off the stones and seeped into the ground. I waited patiently for the water to run clear, but instead watched as my shadows danced, this time mercifully quiet.

T
here was something scratchy on my back. Wool? Straw? It took a moment for me to realize I was on a straw cot in someone else’s cotton shirt and my hair dry to the touch. An incredible thirst assaulted me. My tongue, coated and rough, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried twice before I could dislodge and crack out the word
water
.

Someone gently lifted my head and placed a cool cup to my lips. Bitter water flowed down my throat, barely satisfying, and I wondered absently what herb was mixed in. Then it didn’t matter because my shadows were back.
Don’t care. Go back to Dark Space. Nothing matters in Dark Space.

S
omething cool was on my face. My eyes and forehead were washed. A cloth, soft and pleasantly heavy, was placed on my eyes. The scent of lavender rose around me.

Blindfolded. Don’t like to be blindfolded.

I struggled to remove the cloth, but I couldn’t find my arms. I couldn’t feel my body to lfy">

“Mom?” I couldn’t place the voice, but something seemed . . . comfortable. I must be back in my four-poster canopy bed. I could smell her perfume—White Lily.

“You’re all right. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep.”

“Mom? Mommy? You came back? You didn’t leave?” A rush of tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. Why couldn’t I see? I wanted to see her face. Just one glance. I couldn’t remember what she looked like.
How could I forget my own mother?

“I’m here. You’re okay. Go to sleep. I’ve got you now.” The voice didn’t seem right, a little too gruff, but the words did. And why didn’t she touch me? I wanted her to touch me. Her skin was always so soft—like flower petals.

“Where were you? I was so scared. I called for you. You didn’t come. Mom, why didn’t you come?” A heavy weight bore down on my chest. Something black and deep sucked out my insides. I felt like I’d been screaming her name forever. I missed her so much. Why had she left me alone for so long?

There was silence. A hesitation.

“
Mom!
” I cried hysterically. I tried to move. My arms flung widely at my sides. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. Don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme.”

“Shh. I won’t leave. I promise you’ll never be alone again.”

I believed. I believed her. My mother would never lie. Not
my
mom. My coiled insides relaxed. My arms, so heavy, fell like stones. More water. I drank as much as I could. The darkness thickened, but this time it brought peace.

M
y stomach’s loud growl and the overwhelming urge to pee pulled me reluctantly from my coveted Dark Space. I wanted to go back. I loved my Dark Space; inside were my shadows. They didn’t mock me anymore; instead they whispered sweet things. Things that calmed me and made me feel loved. I was cherished and never alone in my Dark Space. But a bladder is an insistent organ and will tolerate being ignored for only so long.

I opened both eyes and was surprised at the lack of pain. My hand gingerly traveled up and examined my face. The swelling seemed to ingro"have gone, and breathing deep caused only a minor twinge. I patted down my leg and felt the graze of the bullet. A rough crisscross stitch marked the wound, but no signs of infection.

How long had I been lying here?

I glanced around the small room and tried to get my bearings. A trickle of memory came back. A hut covered in thick vines. Zimm lying on a straw mat dying. Quinn begging. An old woman healing Zimm. ConRad’s callous eyes.

I sighed. So tired.

I turned at the feel of a light breeze. A thatch window was thrown open, allowing sunlight to spill across the floor and bathe my straw cot. The fire in the corner was banked and the other pallets were empty. I was alone, but had a sensation I’d been watched over for a long time.

I struggled to a sitting position and was slapped in the face by a wave of dizziness for my efforts. I would’ve given up, if not for my damn bladder. I rose and stumbled to the door. Barefoot and covered only in a man’s long T-shirt, I pushed the door open and was nearly flattened by the strength of the sun. The white light burned my eyes, but my skin hummed, reveling in the feel of its heat. I hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

My eyes narrowed protectively, and I braced my hand on the frame to steady myself. Focusing, I saw Tank and Red and several other soldiers sitting in a circle murmuring among themselves. Quinn and MaEve were busy cooking over a large open fire.

And then there was ConRad, off by himself cleaning a deadly looking machine gun. He looked as dangerous as I remembered. Army fatigues, hair wild and long, face shadowed with whiskers as if he shaved only when the mood took.

I meant to turn around and go back to my cot. At least that was what I told my legs to do. Instead, they buckled and dropped me like a newborn foal. Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward me. All motion stopped. They stared like I was Lazarus brought back from the dead. Maybe I was.

ConRad moved first. He stood and took a step toward me. “Kris.”

Something was wrong with his face. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was worried. I flinched. It wasn’t conscious, just a knee-jerk reaction. ConRad looked too menacing with a weapon in hand, muscles bulging in his chest and arms. My wounds, physical and emotional, were fresh. I couldn’t risk being hurt. Besides, I still hated him.
Hated
the way he said my name. The way it rolled off his tongue all whispery and rough.

Never say my name.

Something in his eyes flashed, and then blinked back to familiar cold blue.

Thank you God.
My protective shield was up, but wobbly. I didn’t need missiles of pity fired at me. Quinn glanced between ConRad and me and came to my rescue.

“Kris, you shouldn’t be up. You’re still too weak,” she said and put her arm around my waist to support my weight.

“I need . . .” My voice trailed off as I took in that I was barely clothed in front of a group of men I barely knew. Gratefully, Quinn helped me back inside. Crawling into bed, I realized my Sleep Number bed back home had nothing on the straw pallet on the floor.

Quinn made quick order with all my needs. She sat next to me, fed me broth, and told me I’d been unconscious for close to two weeks. The old healer had done what she could for me, but healing Zimm had weakened her considerably. All she’d been able to do was speed up the mending of broken bones and stop the infection of the bullet wound.

I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t really. I missed my Dark Space and quickly closed my eyes to find it.

T
he days passed and my stamina improved rapidly. The conditioning I did in prison had strengthened me. After being in solitary confinement for weeks, the busyness of camp was oppressive. There was too much noise, the clicking of metal, the incessant chatter, and even the subdued laughter. Couldn’t they just shut up? Didn’t they know I was on the edge, barely holding on to my sanity?

Dusk approached and Quinn and Zimm had left to forage for firewood. I needed to get away. We weren’t allowed to leave without an armed escort, but I was bristling for a fight and almost begged someone to stop me. No one did.

With no real destination, I limped through the forest. The bullet wound continued to fester causing a shooting pain with every step. The end of the summer was approaching, but the meadow grasses still grew long and most of the trees held on to their foliage. A slight breeze rustled through the branches, shaking the leaves like a hundred green hands. Soft murmurings caught on the gentle wind, and I stilled, instantly afraid. I hid behind a large oak tree and peered toward the sound. There was Quinn dressed in a simple cotton dress, hips swaying, hair short and pixie-like as she cast a scorching glance behind her at Zimm.

Hor=ht="0em"e had suffered few aftereffects of prison. His hair had grown out into soft brown curls. Muscles moved with grace under his taut army-green T-shirt. It was damn annoying how quickly he bounced back to full health. And not only health, but happiness. Darkness didn’t dog his step like it did mine.

Zimm’s movements ceased, then he dropped the armful of twigs and branches. His footsteps crunched along the forest floor, thick with fallen leaves, as he chased after Quinn. Picking her up, he swung her around like some cheesy commercial for douche advertising a “fresh, clean feeling.” Quinn threw her head back, her laughter melodious and soft.

The sound cauterized me like a heated blade pressed against open wounds.

I was that girl once, carefree and sexy-comfortable in my own skin. I couldn’t remember when; but I knew at one time, I’d laughed like that. But no more; my youth and beauty had been spilled along with my blood onto a dirty prison floor. I guess it could’ve been worse. Syon could’ve given me to the men in prison, but with his obsession with ConRad, he wanted to keep me for himself.

Quinn’s laughter turned to a soft moan. Her back arched like an elegant bow as Zimm’s open mouth kissed her breast through the thin dress.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I whipped around at the sound of ConRad’s voice, my face blazing at being caught spying on a lovers’ tryst. He was decked out in the standard-issue uniform, so tight it seemed to have been painted on. The brilliance of his eyes stood in contrast to his darkened whiskered face and mussed hair that swept across his forehead. There was no evidence of the bullet wound. Everyone seemed to have healed except me.

“I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“I don’t mean those two bloody fools.” He nodded toward Zimm and Quinn, who were oblivious to anyone else. “Him, I can understand; he’s just a man. But her? She’s a goddess and has no right to jeopardize her gifts for mere bedsport.”

“They’re in love,” I said, jumping to their defense, even though only a moment ago I had been bitter about their display.

ConRad shook his head. “They’d still take her back, the Elders. They’d consider her too much of an asset not to.”

“You’d want her to go back to
them
?” I could barely believe him. His callousness knew no bounds.

“What you always fail to remember is that we are in the middle of a war. If we don’t win, we’re all dead.” He adjusted the strap of his machine gun that slung across his back and patted it securely—his constant companion.

I turned around and started shuffling back to camp. ConRad and I would never agree. He was genetically programmed to “Serve and Protect.” I was programmed to survive and grab some chocolate along the way. Besides, talking to ConRad made me crazy. How could I have insane notions of my fingers running through his hair when I hated him? I steeled my voice. “What do you want, ConRad?”

“You can’t leave camp without protection.”

His words were like a scalpel to my wounds, splitting the tender flesh and letting the venom rise to the surface. My body may have begun to heal, but my heart was still a ravaged organ, pumped full of rage. I whipped my head around. “Protection! Your protection? I had your protection and barely survived it. No thanks. I’ll take my chances on my own.”

His face softened. “Kris, please.”

He reached for me. I flinched. My weakened leg gave out and I landed on my butt. ConRad rushed toward me and tried to help me up.

“Don’t!” My hand outstretched to prevent his touch. The word, much harsher than I intended, lingered between us. Syon’s sickness may sway toward boys, but it didn’t mean I’d been spared. He had his own brand of hate reserved for women who his men betrayed him with.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Kris, can’t you just listen—”

“No. I can’t. Won’t. Will never be able to.” I was panting now. My rational mind warred with the instinctual need of my body to turn and crawl to safety.

We froze, ConRad hunched over, arms extended, and me, cowering in fear.

“You think I’d hurt you? You really think I’m that person?” Raw hurt flickered in his eyes.

He waited for my response, and I gave him one. “I’ve changed my mind. I want your head on a platter.”

I couldn’t breathe for the silence. I waited for him to shut me out, shut the pain down. He did, but it took a few heartbeats longeart"-1" far. ConRad backed away, hands up in surrender. “You win, Kris. You win.”