Abolition (Insurrection Book 3)

by DJ Cooper

Her face softened in pain.

  “Please, you trust me, right?” he moaned.

  Zyla nodded and brushed back the tears that stung her eyes. “With every cell in my body,” she replied.

  “Then just know that I will catch up,” he whispered to her. “I will do what I do best. You have to trust me on this, Zyla.”

  Zyla nodded and turned to Ecker. “Okay, then let’s go,” she sniffled.

  Glancing one last time at Creed, she hitched back a sob. “You make sure, you promise me, you will find me again,” she muttered.

  Creed smiled. “I will find you again,” he promised.

  Like the wind he turned and bolted off into the dark woods.

  Creed

  Creed’s mind seethed with anger and he took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Darkness was his advantage, and he moved nearly as confident in the dark as he did in the daylight. Silent footsteps hid his movements as he made his way through the forest. Across his back, his bow lightly bounced, on his side hung a seven-inch blade. These were the only tools he would need tonight. Several hours passed before he came upon the camp of sleeping soldiers. Momentarily tucked behind a bush, he watched them. An angry grin emerged on his face. The snores of contented, sleeping men, and the smell of cooked meat lingered in the air.

  “Idiots,” he scoffed. “Laying there like nothing out here would harm them.”

  His grin widened. There were worse things than monsters in this forest. This bunch was a mess, the guard was fast asleep against a tree, no one was on watch. Silently he crept to the first man, lying just outside the circle of a long burned down campfire. Knife in hand, he clamped the other over the man’s mouth and made a quick, clean slice feeling the warmth of the man’s blood rush against his fingers. He stared into the man’s eyes as they opened in surprise, filled with fear, and at last, glazed over as death took him.

  Creed looked around at the other sleeping men. Not a single one stirred, and he moved toward the next man. He raised his knife again, following the same deadly pattern, before moving swiftly to another soldier. He’d quietly killed four of them before one of the soldiers shouted as he stumbled to his feet. Sounding the alarm, the others hopped up.

  Creed bolted up and away, sprinting into the darkness and disappearing before the soldiers could reach him. After several hundred yards, he stopped and listened. The sounds of angry shouts filled the night and he grinned. There would be four less chasing them now. Hands on his knees, he bent over and sucked in deep breaths. His heart raced full of adrenaline and the rapid beat pulsed in his ears. He could hear the soldiers thrashing in the brush searching for him. He moved off, silently further into the woods. Small indications of where he went were left behind like breadcrumbs. He kept the soldiers within earshot and behind him. If he could throw them off Zyla’s trail for at least a time, she had a good chance of making it to the Badlands. Narrowing his eyes, he moved through the woods, away from the direction she and Ecker had gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mischa moaned. Pain filled her head and chills racked her body. Kael sat beside her and chewed worriedly on his lower lip. He’d done everything he could think of, everything she’d instructed him to do, and she was still getting worse. He stood and picked her up in his arms. A bright warm spot created by the sun hovered toward the center of the campsite and he carried her to it. A frantic, desperate expression was etched across his face. He wished Zyla was here. She would know what to do.

  Near the fire was a comfortable place to let her rest. He put Mischa down gently, covered her with a blanket, and brushed the hair back from her face. After making sure she was comfortable, he collected the water bottles. The river was a short distance away and although he hated to leave her unattended, they needed fresh water and he needed to hunt. Sounds of her ragged breathing were loud enough he could hear them and glanced over his shoulder. “I’d better be quick,” he said to himself and rushed through the woods toward the river.

  Filling the water bottles, he played with the idea of constructing a stretcher in his mind. They’d been at the campsite for several days and she wasn’t getting any better. If he could find a village, find some help, he may be able to save her. If not, he feared he’d lose her. The thought of losing her tore into him and he felt a hot surge of panic rise in his throat.

  He gazed across the river and smiled when he saw a deer tipping its head to drink on the opposite bank. His stomach growled with hunger at the thought of it. Fresh deer meat plus a broth for Mischa, it would go a long way toward helping them both. Walking back to camp, he made the decision he’d been putting off for the last two days. He needed to hunt. So, today he’d spend the day preparing Mischa for travel and shoring up their food supplies. Confident in his decision, he made his way back to the campsite.

  A few chunks of wood landed on the fire causing sparks to fly up when Kael stoked it to boil some water with a handful of herbs to make a tea for Mischa. He glanced over his shoulder at her frail figure curled up under the tattered blanket, her body racked with shivering. Although it was a warm day, the fever gripped her with chills.

  Once the tea was ready, he knelt beside her and lifted her to a sitting position, leaning her body on his own. “Mischa, honey, you’ve got to drink.” He tipped the cup to her lips and winced when he noticed how dry and parched they were. Little blisters had formed from the fever and many had cracks which bled openly.

  “C’mon,” he crooned as he forced the liquid into her mouth.

  She choked and sputtered, trying to push the cup away.

  “No, Mischa. Please, you’ve got to drink,” he coaxed trying again. Much to his relief, she took a few small sips before leaning heavily against his arm in exhaustion. He managed to get about half of the cup into her before she sank back into a deep, uneasy sleep. In an effort to not wake her, he gently crawled out from under her and covered her. He stood and stretched, glanced at the fire which had burned low, and set off to gather wood. Before he would leave to hunt, he would build it back up to keep her warm. An audible sigh escaped his lips and he set to work.

  Mischa drifted in someplace between dreams and the reality of her pain. Occasionally she woke, a scream trapped behind her swollen lips. Deep sobs ripped at her aching chest as she searched, only to find Kael gone. Then she would be overcome by more sleep... and dreams that would pull her back. In these waking and lucid moments she struggled against the fever, against the weakness that flowed through her body. Her eyes grasped at the glints of sunlight above and the leaves on the ground beneath her. Memories... she questioned her own perceptions. Or perhaps it is all just a dream.

  Her father spoke to her in these moments. They were hallucinations. She knew he wasn’t there. He was long dead along with her mother, but his voice beckoned her. Sweet, gentle, and warm as he reminded her of happier times. It was in this cocoon she longed to stay, tucked up in the warmth of his memory. But the pain of the coughs tearing into her chest brought her back to the stark reality of time and place. She was dying. This she knew in those lucid moments. She could feel her body succumbing to the fever, feel her lungs aching as the fluids built up inside her, making each breath difficult and painful.

  She became panicked looking for Kael. She couldn’t find him. Foggy thoughts crawled through her fevered mind. She woke again and glanced at the fire. Deep down she knew he was still here, somewhere. She watched as the flames licked hungrily at the wood piled high in the fire pit. Taken into her hallucinations, she heard a voice talking softly to her. Her father.

  “Yes, Daddy, I know,” she murmured as her eyes became unfocused and darkness pulled her deeper once again.

  It was a blip in time. She woke to the smell of roasting meat. She opened her eyes to see Kael crouched before the fire. A reddish glow casting a long shadow behind him. She gazed out at the darkness which was throwing shadows as the trees danced in the light breeze. Chills coursed through her and she buried herself deeper into the blankets and sighed. He was still with her.
He hadn’t left. Closing her eyes she settled down into a more fitful sleep. One that was void of dreams and nightmares, silent of voices.

  Kael

  Kael crouched beside the fire, the deer meat sizzling on a spit, filling the air with a tantalizing odor that made his mouth water with anticipation. An ache settled between his shoulders as he stirred a separate pot of meat bits and broth for Mischa. Twice he woke her during the day because she thrashed with restless sleep and nightmares. It bothered him to see her whimpering helplessly. Each time he’d fed her tea. The deer he’d taken was small. Almost too small, but desperation forced him to take it down anyway. They needed the meat. Glancing over to the stretcher he’d made, he sighed in satisfaction. It was hard work cutting the saplings for it as well as finding enough vines to braid cordage. He planned to use his blanket for the bed. He would strap it to the saplings for Mischa to lay on. He pulled out his knife and ran his finger along the blade. It was getting dull. It had never been meant to be used as an ax to cut saplings.

  While he waited for the food to cook, he let his mind wander. Mischa’s cough sounded worse, and he recalled the time when Zyla had pneumonia. Bevin and Odo had smuggled him medicine to help her. Oh, how he missed them now. He’d gladly go back to the prison, suffer the punishment of the guards in trade for some good medicine to cure Mischa. A longing, borne of homesickness, touched his heart. He missed Zyla. He even missed Rysa and his friends in the small village.

  He heard a rustling from Mischa, she was waking. He stood and walked over to her.

  “You’re awake,” he said, as he crouched beside her. He stared into her fevered eyes. The deep shadows beneath them, the parched and cracked lips of dehydration, and the rattle of her chest every time she took a breath bothered him. He was worried but tried to conceal it from her; smiling, before bending down and scooping her up in his arms. He carried her closer to the fire. She smiled weakly at him.

  “How are you?” she whispered.

  Kael smiled and nodded. “I’m okay, I am worried about you,” he muttered.

  She sighed weakly. “I’m worried about me too,” she replied.

  “I’ve got some food for us. I made you a broth,” he murmured as he set her down by the campfire. She nodded. Broth sounded good.

  “You hunted?” she asked.

  Kael smiled. “Yes, I got a small deer, so we have some fresh food,” he replied.

  Mischa smiled back at him. Memories of waking and him being gone came back to her.

  “I’ll try a bit of the broth,” she whispered hoarsely. Happily, Kael poured a bit into a cup and held it to her lips.

  She took several small sips. “It’s good, Kael, but I can’t drink any more,” she said as she weakly pushed the cup away.

  His face darkened with concern. “You’ve got to. You’re dehydrated Mischa, please try to at least drink the half cup I poured you,” he pleaded.

  Sighing weakly, she nodded. “Okay, give it here,” she replied.

  He helped her again by holding the cup, his hands around her shaking hands. This time she took several large swallows.

  “Okay, happy?” she murmured as he peered into the empty cup.

  He nodded. “I am, we can try a bit more later,” he replied as he set the cup down and pulled her onto his lap.

  Wrapping his arms tightly around her, she leaned heavily onto him. He stared into the fire as he held her and she drifted back to sleep. Once she was asleep he moved her gently off of his lap, placing her on the fresh pine bedding he’d made for her near the fire. He still had a drying rack to make so he could hang the rest of the deer meat for the night to let it dry. In the morning, he would pack up their camp and drag Mischa on the stretcher he’d made and head for the nearest town. It was dangerous but he knew he had no other choice. If he didn’t find help for her she would surely die.

  With the meat hung to dry and other things cleaned up, Kael stoked the fire and slipped his body in beside Mischa. He pulled her close, spooning her to give her his body heat and keep her warm.

  She sighed weakly as she nestled against him. “Thank you Kael, I’m so cold,” she murmured sleepily.

  He wrapped his arms around her tightly. His body ached with pain feeling her shake with shivers. “Rest Mischa, I promise you, I’ll find you some help tomorrow,” he whispered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Creed doubled over and stifled a scream when pain tore up the back of his calf. He held out his hands to break his fall. Turning on the bed of damp, musty leaves to see who it was, he clutched at his leg. The dawn, just breaking, cast a gray light across the forest. The early morning fog, heavy and wet, soaked his clothing.

  “Arrrrghhh,” he screamed when hands grabbed onto him and dragged him to his feet.

  Blindly swinging, stinging pain turned his knuckles to fire when his fist connected with a soldier’s face. A feral smile covered his face, his teeth grinding together as he fought, while one blow after another landed on him. Another pain to his calf brought him to his knees and knocked the wind from him. A knife protruded from his flesh, biting and ripping into it, while the soldier held it, twisting it. Howling, he snapped out his good leg. It connected, sending the soldier reeling backward. Stars danced in his vision, pain laced like a fine web through his body. He swallowed a mouthful of blood, choking, and gagging on it. The bitter, coppery taste filled his mouth.

  “Hold that bastard down,” a soldier hissed. Darkness danced at the edge of his vision as he helplessly threw his arms up. An iron grip grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted, sending burning pain through his shoulders.

  First Rank Vincent grinned. It wasn’t a happy, silly grin, it was one filled with venomous hatred. He looked down at the savage on the ground. His fingers itched to draw his weapon and put a bullet right between the man’s eyes.

  Glancing up, he nodded to one of his men. “Pull him up, tie him to that tree over there,” he growled, pointing to a nearby pine.

  The soldier nodded and motioned for a few others to help him. Vincent swallowed back the urge to kill the man. But, you couldn’t get information from a dead man, so he stilled the fire that sang through his gut. He’d kill him, of that there was no doubt, but not until he made him pay for those four of his soldiers he’d murdered.

  “Get some water to throw at him, wake that bastard up!” he snapped while taking a seat on a nearby log.

  One of the soldiers saluted and ran off to do as he’d commanded. First Rank Vincent stared at the dark stranger who was now tied to the tree. He didn’t know who he was, but he would make this stranger suffer deliciously before killing him. He swore he would get all of the answers to the questions asked. Shouting to his men, he sent all but one of them back to the camp. What he was about to do to this stranger shouldn’t have too many witnesses. He didn’t want it getting back to his commanders just how much he enjoyed his little forays into bloodletting.

  He rose and walked slowly toward the stranger. Stopping right in front of him, Vincent reached out and slapped him across the face. Creed offered nothing, not even a wince.

  “Where is the water I asked for?” he roared over his shoulder. His patience for dawdling was about spent. He wanted answers!

  “Right here, sir,” the soldier muttered as he handed First Rank the canteen of water.

  Vincent grabbed it from the soldier’s hands and tossed a good portion into the stranger's face. He grinned as the man’s hazel eyes opened and stared directly at him. What he saw in this man’s eyes was not fear as he had hoped, but rather defiance.

  The smirk on his face turned to anger. “So, you attack me and my men, sneaking in like a coward, for what?” he growled.

  Spittle flew from his lips, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand. “Okay, well… I will get answers one way or another,” he threatened.

  Reaching to his side, he pulled the knife from its sheath. He held the blade up so Creed could see just what he had in mind. Vincent’s stomach curled in anger when he looked up at
him, there was no fear… no emotion whatsoever in his face or eyes.

  “Boy, are you dumb? Or do you just like pain?” he hissed.

  With a long, slow stroke he ran the razor-sharp edge of the blade down his cheek, flaying it open. Blood beaded up and dripped from the wound. Not a hiss or a moan passed Creed’s lips.

  Vincent was growing more and more enraged and felt a slow sizzle of anger building in his gut. His eyes cast to the others watching in horror. “All of you, go back to camp,” he commanded.

  “Okay, so let’s start over. Name?” he asked turning back to Creed.

  The man was a mystery, but one he was willing to get to the bottom of. He grinned as he pushed his face closer to the captive’s face and peered into his eyes. Startled surprise showed in his eyes when the man spoke.

  “My name is Creed. I am a warrior of the Keepers of the Light.”

  Vincent felt his stomach drop, a queasy kinda feeling. He’d heard stories of these savages and he’d also heard they never travel alone. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, peering out into the woods.

  “How many are with you,” he hissed. Creed continued to glare at him, his expression unchanged.

  “We are many,” he replied.

  “Well, you will be one less by the time I’m through with you… Creed,” he sneered.

  His fingers clutched around the hilt of his knife and he raised it. “Why did you attack me and my men?” he asked.

  Creed glared at him. “Because, you attacked me and my people,” Creed replied.

  Vincent nodded. The village. Where they knew these people were hiding Kael. “Where is Kael?” he asked.

  Creed shook his head. “I don’t know of any Kael,” he lied.

  Vincent growled. “I think you are lying to me, boy,” he hissed.

  A quick flick of his wrist and he plunged the knife into Creed’s bicep, drawing a moan of pain.

  “I will slice and dice you until I get what I want,” he chuckled, once again taking the tip of his knife and plunging it into the fresh wound and twisting. He felt a rush of heady pleasure tickle through him as Creed moaned again.