“Nyx, are you okay?”
No response to his words. He readied himself, looking through the trees, hoping he had not lost her to unknown forces once more. Waiting minutes that felt like hours, she crept behind Leander and without warning jumped on top of him in jest.
Laughter escaped her lips, hoping that she gave him a good scare, hoping he found a break from the mundane however small.
“I could have shot you,” he chided through a stifled laughter and accusation, knowing quite well that the joke could have taken a turn for the worst. In the middle of the Apocalypse, creatures swarming from Hades in the midst, her prediction that he would not mistake her as a Chaot and strike was foolish. But here she laughed, not understanding the other possible outcome of her action, or more likely not caring.
“I do my best.”
The smile of fulfillment coloring her face disappeared as a sudden noise stole her accomplishment. It came from ahead, closer than the previous sounds. Straying to Leander’s back, she stayed behind him as if the sound could not penetrate through the soldier.
“Wait here. I think something is out there,” he whispered. He looked back at her, put one hand up as if to warn her of the hidden threat and reason with her to stay. Then he turned away. And as he moved forward, she stayed behind.
Her hand lifted tentatively, to touch Leander as if to pull him back to her. Her gesture came too late as he moved out of her reach into the growing twilight. She could not lose him to chaos, for her own immunity did not necessarily mean his. All fell quiet in the minutes proceeding. Mouth parted slightly, ready to express her wish for him to come back, to stay with her. To break her isolation. But words did not come, as she felt a coiled grip lace around her body and mouth, silencing her.
The call of the wolf lingered in her mind. Already she teased Leander with her ‘disappearance’; this time when danger did arise he would assume she was playing once more. She almost bit down upon the living cage with intent to damn her captor, to smite him with her wrath as she did before. Yet she did not have a chance to bite, as she was spun to face her perpetrator.
“Got you!”
For a moment she almost screamed. The fear had mounted; her heart beat as if on its last pulse. But reality prevailed and she shoved Leander with playful intent, acting as if she was not guilty of the same only moments ago.
“You will never have me.” But despite herself, three other words lingered in her sentiment, never making it to be heard out loud: yet you do. They were lost to her as her focus grew away from the rhetorical and more within the emotional.
Leander standing close.
Again she became breathless, but for reasons much different than before.
“I know that. Though you have me.”
He infringed upon her wish to be unbound by another. He had followed her in the city, despite his promise to allow her to leave. He had come to her rescue, though she never desired to be saved. Despite her sentiments spoken when she exited the cave, he still pursued her. And now he had her. Stealing the one thing she had—being without attachment.
One could never be free if they had an anchor tied to them. And he was becoming the weight that moored her from the open seas. Before she wandered, without rhyme or reason, without anyone for her to turn back to.
Only forward, only present, and care for only herself.
But now?
Now her gaze lay restless on Leander. Stepping backwards, she moved away from her realization and away from him. Another step, yet she tripped on an exposed root, and fell back. The mossy ground pillowed her uncouth landing, stopping her gait, but not her tongue. “Then live under falsehoods.”
The attempt at good humor as if teasing him failed, and the hurt at her comment was genuinely spread upon his face. Her words displayed the splinter of truth that she was terrified at what he could become to her. What else could she do but make him think that she did not want him. Such untruths left her lips dry, for she was a being fueled by passion and not such restraint. But even if she spoke truth, she could not use such restrictive verbal consonance to hold the meaning of her emotions.
“At least I live. And I live more than you,” he spoke, direct in his sentiment. Direct in his affection. “Because I do not fear how I feel for you.”
A pause, as silence was her lone reply to what he confessed. He did what she could not: even confined by human vocabulary, he conveyed his passion. And exposing so much of one’s self was something he had never done before. As a soldier he guarded himself both physically and emotionally. Going against his training, he revealed his emotions, baring his soul for her to strike him down and wound him more than any weapon could. Though she was not the enemy.
He offered Nyx a hand to pull her up; she hesitated for a moment before accepting. Rather than stand, she tugged him down to join her. Off balance, he fell to the dirt. A short laugh followed but was cut short as his gaze found hers again. He cared for her, in his words, in his gaze, it was clear. Yet, she struggled to give him what he wished.
Her hand went up to cover his eyes as she shut her own, whispering to him as she obstructed his vision. “You need not see me.”
Already he knew what she looked like. The dark brought with it a mask of clarity. No longer chained in the sense of sight, for the visible does not always convey the truth. Eyes closed, and blinded to false images, all could be felt. Leander. His breath. His heartbeat. And it was what she desired now, allowing her hunger for his flesh to consume her mind.
He brought up his hand to touch her face. She almost retreated from it, as emotions surged throughout her. She longed to sense him completely, and his caress on her cheek made her emotions uncontainable. Feelings pivoted, for without the confused blur of sight, came the chaos from within.
She moved toward him, close and yet not touching, her own hand benevolently grazed his features, as the blind would do. To be able to see what could not be seen.
The feel of his breath seduced her. She leaned forward to sense it against her skin, to feel each breath against her lips, which were so near to his. It brought such warmth that she moved closer still. As if to taste the forbidden.
Rather than give in to a fate of inhibition, she pulled back. Her movement made no sense even to her—to restrain herself in order to not live in restraint. But somehow the nonsensical contained a reality, for he already burrowed in her heart. Her fear was that he would completely engulf it and bore throughout it. To move so close to another was to lose yourself. A cage would fall upon her if indeed their lips met, sealing their fate forever. Sealing both destinies.
“I cannot.”
She said in a failed attempt to break her desire. Her hand left his eyes and she opened her own, to bring her from the sensual to the concrete. What she saw was a reality where she could never have what she desired and feared at once. The weight of desire unrequited remained thick, though she thrived to be immune to its effects.
“I don’t ask anything of you, Nyx.”
“I know. But I cannot, I need to live,” she whispered, completely within a downfall spiral of her fervor. All she desired was to taste his lips and flesh. But yet she denied it all to herself.
She was so fervent within desire, but unknowing in devotion. Love was an anchor, trying to tame the untamable. Never could he truly understand. He asked for nothing, but it would be everything.
“Then live.”
A quiet persuasion escaped his lips, holding an undertone of passion. She moved close again, lacing her body near his own. Tremors ran cross her fingers as she caressed his face and trailed her touch along his features, this time with open eyes.
One truth stood alone, despite her conflicts of intimacy. She desired the moment, as only she could, but the concept of love seemed unattainable. He had stolen a piece of her, with him her spirit mused no longer in isolation. The warmth that radiated from him called silently to her, her breath a shivered pause of bemused appetite to want what she should not have.
Why limi
t the limitless? How could she place boundaries on her actions? Her heart pounded as his breath intermingled with her own. Even the air had difficulty in stirring between the two as their mouths moved closer. All uncertainty was set to the wayward; she could not restrain herself. She needed to feel his touch, to be consumed by it. But as their lips were about to become one, as they were about to kiss for the first time, a scream intruded. Through the jungle it resounded, loud and foreboding. Its call originated back toward the camp, causing both Nyx and Leander to jump to their feet, the moment between them gone. The kiss never transpiring, now lost in the folds of time that never was.
“Stay behind me,” was all she heard from the Thalassic captain as he started running back through the forests, gun held at a ready in response to the haunting cries.
Chapter Fourteen
The end of the unfulfilled passion was left with her, but was replaced by concern. The cries they had heard, could still hear, felt as if they would never leave her mind.
Flooded emotions swept within Nyx as a river dammed for eternity to never reach the sea. As Leander left her sight, the dam collapsed and the water rushed through. For if she found love, the story would end. If happiness came then so did stagnation, desiring to forever be in its eternal bliss. But to her that was death. Love was the executioner and she was not ready to head blindly to the gallows. But now, even as lust dampened its hold on her, she knew it would rage again. Now though, she was given a chance to ignore that desire, and pretend heads would not roll.
Allowing the carnal urges to subside, she began to run behind the captain to the camp. Screams of peril filled the air, as beacons through the forest. Scenes played out in her mind of bloodied massacres as she followed. Though even her imagination could not brush upon the brutal realism as they approached the camp.
Hector’s right side was covered in blood. Not his own, but of a Chaot whose insides now stained his hazmat clothes as well as his military knife. His expression held rage as he threw the knife. Sailing through the trees, it struck its target, implanting itself in another of the infected. Megaira blindly fired her gun toward the vines, shouting random obscenities to her unseen victims.
Nyx searched the scene, tracing the onslaught of the Chaots and soldiers to try to find the last of the Thalassicians: Diomedes. The nighttime dark impeded her vision, but the starlight mingled with the intermittent light of gunfire helped her search. Yet she could not see him anywhere.
Dead? Off chasing the enemy to amplify his kill-count? Or maybe he was taken as she had been, a captive for later pleasure; at least that scenario allowed for the chance he could be saved.
“Dio,” she said, knowing that her voice through the raging sounds of gunfire would go unheard. By her side Leander had already begun joining in the chorus of bullets now blanketing the raid of mindless warriors.
Did Dio simply disappear from reality as the Fisherman once had?
No, unfortunately not. She saw Dio hidden by the tall grasses. He lay covered with blood. No wonder the aggression which poured from the others—seeing one of their brothers now succumb to death. Death, or something else, which now crept upon the once lively man.
She ran across the shallow stream past Hector in order to be by Dio’s side. But as swiftly as she sprinted to get to the fallen, Hector brought his left arm out to halt her. The pain rose from her chest as her body collided with his outstretched arm. Was it Hector who stopped her now or had he been enslaved by the contagion? Was it solely the Chaot’s blood on him, or alas his own blood that mingled with the prion.
His voice stopped her dubious questions, as speech unaltered by the disease rang within her ears. Hector was not contaminated. Though no relief filled her heart in the meaning of the broad tone.
“He is lost to us.”
“No—I see him—let me go to him!” Her voice filled with denial, for it was impossible for her to believe that one so amiable could succumb to a dismal shell.
“No, Nyx. His blood is now infected.”
With a soldier’s intent, Hector withdrew his holstered gun. He targeted it at Dio. The sounds of war exploded around them as Leander and Megaira continued the slaughter of the raiders, but Hector ignored all. His attention shifted from Nyx to Dio, his gaze portrayed a silent acceptance of what he had to do. “He would have wanted me to end it before it begun.”
Said out loud, but Nyx knew it was said for his own ears as Hector aimed the weapon to his downed comrade.
“I will not let you!” Her arm reached for the gun, trying to tear it away from the warrior. She knew that if the Chaot’s blood did not affect her then Dio still had a chance that he would not turn. Fervent were her efforts to stop Hector, however there remained no question that his strength dwarfed her own.
Again he brought his arm to her, almost as if to push her away so he could clearly see his target. He needed to bring peace to his brother.
“It did not turn me! It may not turn him!” she said, wishing to save Dio even if it meant admitting she had not told him everything. He looked to her, she saw the reprieve he had shatter, the belief it was her blood from before. If he now believed her to be infected, would he kill her as he set out to do for Diomedes?
Before Hector’s decision came, Leander ran over to Dio.
“Stand down, I can neutralize him, we will find a cure out here,” Leander said. Confident words from one who had yet to even find the research station, let alone know exactly what clues it would hold. But he stood strong; his figure dominant from the heat of battle. His leadership blatant. The raiding Chaots had been dealt with. If only he was not off wandering with Nyx, but with his own soldiers, she wondered if he thought this and if he now regretted what was between them. She saw the responsibility of a potential death cemented along his features. And he had heard her, her lie about being exposed to the contagion weighed on him. Though he assumed authority and concentrated fully on righting what had happened.
“Dio will be healed. I will get him back to Thalassic,” Leander continued as he took a syringe from his supplies and injected two doses into Dio’s forearm. It was the tranquilizer once used on her, used now to bring sleep and quiet to the hell that stalked merrily on the eve of nightfall. “Even if he already turned it may be possible to reverse the effects with what we find at the lab. I will not give up on one of my men.”
Gun reluctantly holstered, Hector knew the likelihood of what Leander hoped was near impossible. The warrior would not want the fate that the captain now wished upon Dio. But he would fulfill his duty and do as ordered. He could only appeal to his ancestors that Leander’s optimism would prove true.
“Put a bullet in me if it ever came to this,” Hector’s statement lamented a melancholic chord as he turned from the sight, washing his hands of what was. He scanned the horizon in order to assure himself that the camp was indeed cleared from the monsters.
Nyx did not answer. If it ever came to fulfilling her oath she was unsure if she would be able to. Killing another seemed to be easy, as the death of the fish required for her hunger or the Chaot that was stoned by her hand. Yet, the murder of one close to her held an unique difference. The soldiers were becoming too near to her heart and the consequences of such bonds frightened her.
Her gaze turned from Hector to Dio. Leander set-up a compressed stretcher and pulled his sedated friend onto it.
“I am going back,” Leander said, his expression carried the full brunt of culpability for failing one of his men.
“You stay with Megaira and Hector; you will be safer with them.” Safer. He looked with an uncertainty toward Dio as he spoke. The tranquilizer was temporary, only providing a short repose from the unknown future. Would it be enough time to get back to Thalassic and put Dio into a medical stasis to await a cure? He knew the answer. He had to believe otherwise though in order for hope to endure. Hope that Dio will again laugh his hearty bellow and be by his side in this harrowing aftermath.
“Take this for protection,” he said, as he took h
er hand into his. “I found it back in the city after I first met you.”
She looked down at what he had placed in her hand. The Fisherman’s knife. Did he know what it meant to her, she wondered. Leander then took off his knife holster from around his leg and gave it to her to use with the Fisherman’s knife.
“When I first saw the land after more than a year at sea I was hopeful. But then after seeing the destruction and the decay of the cities, seeing the dead piled in the streets, forgotten, and seeing the Chaots, we almost gave up. But then you appeared and gave us hope that we could survive on this land.”
“There are moments that pass us by, soon to be forgotten. But some are defining,” Leander continued. “Some break what was.”
“Like the disease. And now having Dio bitten,” she said. She could only guess what the soldiers went through—to have your entire life suddenly change and to know it would be something you can never return to.
“Yes. These moments can define the world. But you can define yourself. You keep going.”
Leander hugged her one last time before he took his hand away from hers. In a wordless goodbye, he turned and left. She took one step forward as he disappeared with Dio into the forest, the air a soft breeze whispering nothings in her ears. Go to him. For this would be her last chance.
Then fate intervened: Megaira clasped her shoulder preventing her from following Leander. Her face burned of soiled anarchy at the loss of her comrade. Someone had to be blamed, someone to hold responsible. And it happened to be Nyx. “You did enough already. These were the same Chaots from the clearing, they followed you. They are raiding us, attacking us, to get at you. This is your fault, you should’ve listened to me and never returned. Let Leander go and pray we find the lab for Dio’s sake—and yours.”
Crashing Tides Page 15