"I've handled myself pretty well in the past," I said, a little smugly, "without your tutoring."
"Yes you have, but you've always had access to a weapon. What if you were caught off guard with no protection? What would you do then?" he asked seriously.
Before I had even had a chance to formulate an answer, Theron was behind me and had me to the ground on my knees in a headlock. I was pinned.
"Get off of me!" I said severely.
"I've seen you with a bow and arrow—and a hair pin—but what do you do if you have nothing to grab?" He wasn't letting up.
"Okay fine, I'll play your way." I tried to scratch at his eye, but he dodged that easily and laid his head on my back. I couldn't get to his groin or his nose. Great.
"Come on, Freya! I'm a Taker. What are you going to do?"
"Get taken," I said sarcastically.
"Not an option!" he said severely and squeezed me tightly in his grip.
I felt my pulse react to the adrenaline he had just sent surging through me. But it immediately turned into panic because I couldn't reach any of the vital areas I knew.
"Grab hold of my ear in a firm grip and peel it away from my head as if to rip it off," he instructed.
I reached my hand around me and grasped the soft moon of his outer ear and pulled.
"Don't really rip it off!" he said as he rolled off of my back and to the right side of me. Without hesitation he locked his hands around both of my wrists like a vice. "Now what?" he challenged. "And no groin kicks! You've already proven that they have armor there."
I tried to break free conventionally, but he was too strong.
"Solar plexus," he instructed. "Drive your elbow with all of your force into the center area of his middle trunk, below the diaphragm." He let go of my left wrist to position my right elbow onto the top of his vulnerable solar plexus. He continued, "Use your momentum to propel you. You'll disable your attacker and have a good chance to get away."
I nodded, "Okay."
"Now," he continued as he helped me to my feet, "remember, I will never hurt you, I promise." With that, he girded his fingers around my throat and threatened to choke me.
Outstanding, I thought.
"To break out of this, lace your fingers together like you're going to pray," he explained. "Only firmly. Then thrust your hands up as hard as you can into the bottom of your attacker's chin. The hit will knock him off balance. When that happens, you push against him with all your body weight and bring both arms up into the crooks of his inner elbows and slam outward."
We worked through the movement like a dance. When he was pleased with my performance, he smiled proudly. "Very good. That move will also work if you can break the hold first." Again, he showed me how to maneuver my arms into the bend of his inner elbows. "But this time come down forcefully on the bridge of his nose with your linked hands."
I demonstrated that I understood, placing my double handed fist on his nose bone.
"Perfect," he said. "Another… The Taker secures you from behind." He had me in another hold before I could stop him. "Try stomping down hard onto his instep." He shook his foot to indicate where I was to stomp. "If that doesn't knock him completely off, bring your knee up and force the sole of your foot into his shin. And if that doesn't do it, work your hand up behind your head and plunge your thumbnail in between his tear duct and his eye socket. He'll let go."
He proceeded to show me how to throw a punch to the vocal box, putting all of my weight behind it. He positioned my legs for proper balance and stability during fighting. He taught me to center my body and which foot to use as an anchor and which to use for pivoting and when.
Theron had us drill these moves and hand-to-hand combat skills every day. They became as routine as my runs. Soon each maneuver grew into muscle memory. No longer did I have to think about which position or stance to employ—Theron grabbed me, and I automatically knew what to do.
One afternoon, as we were practicing, something more intimate occurred. He was describing to me what the knife side of my hand was—the flat side of the hand when the little finger is tight against the other four fingers.
"Like a Karate chop," I said, taking a ninja stance.
He shot me a this-isn't-playtime look. I stood straight, and he took my hand in his and set it, blade side down, onto the precise place where his neck met his collarbone.
"You'll stun the carotid artery and possibly render them unconscious." He locked his eyes on mine to make sure I got it. But our faces were so close—like they had been the night we had danced.
Neither of us pulled away. In fact, Theron kept the hand that was over mine where it was and brought his other hand up tenderly to my face. He caressed my jawline with his fingers, continuing until his hand came to rest sensuously over my collarbone.
"You are so beautiful, Freya."
I wanted him to kiss me. I had been frightened before, but I wasn't frightened anymore. Could my heart end up broken? Yes it could. But I knew now how much worse it would be to never know. The dull ache had become acute over the past few weeks. I slid my hand gently over the strong muscles of his neck and noted the contrast between it and his soft black hair.
Theron inched his face closer. His lips hovered in the space over mine. Then I saw a puzzled look cross his face.
"What is it?" I hesitated.
He inched back a bit and gestured toward a necklace hidden underneath my shirt. "I know you like to keep things secret, but what is this? I've seen the outline underneath your shirt before, but I figured you had it hidden for a reason and that you'd tell me about it when you wanted. But, Freya, an attacker will use whatever leverage they can against you—that could be a bun or ponytail in your hair or a necklace around your neck. Someone could choke you with it. You might consider removing it."
My eyes widened. Did I understand him correctly? Did he really just interrupt a first kiss moment to caution me on the dangers of… jewelry?
"It was my mother's. She used to wear it," I started to explain. "When she left me, she fastened it around my neck and told me never to take it off, that it was very special and to never sell it but to guard it. I haven't taken it off since she put it on me. She always kept it under her clothes, so I figured that was what I should do too."
"Can I see it?" he asked.
I unearthed the ornate gold necklace, which was inlaid with precious jewels and gemstones, and laid it against my burgundy T-shirt.
"It's gorgeous. It must be worth a fortune." Theron studied it. "You've been smart to hide it all of this time," he stated, very somberly. "Someone would want to steal it and might not even hesitate to kill you to do it—especially in areas like the train tracks or on a bus." He traced over its intricate details carefully with his fingertips. "Is it a family heirloom?"
"She didn't say," I answered.
"No backstory?" His eyes darted to mine.
I shook my head. "I think it was just the only thing of value she owned. She told me it was made for me when she put it on me. But I couldn't understand if that meant it was made for me because it fit me so well or if it had actually been designed for me, and I was too young to have worn it before?" I shrugged.
"It adorns your throat magnificently." He began to lean back in just a little.
The moment was gone for me. The conversation had brought my mother's face to my mind.
"We've been working hard. Are you ready for some lunch?" I said more than asked and trekked over to our food supply.
~
We sat around the small cooking fire and nibbled on wild turkey, steamed fiddleheads and wild strawberries.
"These have been the most amazing foods I've ever tasted," Theron said suddenly.
"What are you used to eating?" I asked. Soldiers in the U.S. were fed pretty well with three squares a day and plenty of carbohydrates and protein for building muscle mass.
He stopped chewing and stared down at his meal. "We were fed the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner—day in,
day out, all month, and all year long." He breathed out through his nose and sunk his teeth defiantly into the turkey breast. He chewed and swallowed, then inhaled a satisfied breath. "The crap we ate was made for orphans. If we were strong enough and reached the age of ten, they vamped it up with more vitamins and proteins to get us bulked up and strong. But no matter what they did to it nutritionally, it was still a gray-green mush with no flavor and the consistency and texture of mucus."
"I'm so sorry."
"It was their way of rounding out their desensitization regimen."
"What do you mean?" My eyebrows knitted in concern and apprehension. "Desensitization regime" didn't sound good.
"It was experimental. The experts said it would build better soldiers—an unfeeling, unemotional, elite killing force." He continued, staring down at the ground. "The plan was to eradicate our emotions—dull them, make them numb—so they wouldn't get in the way of our orders. For our opponents we felt no remorse, no pity, no mercy, and in battle we were to have no terror or even fear. We were nothing but machines."
I remained motionless. I perceived the pain in his eyes even though he very convincingly masked it with hardness.
"We weren't allowed friendships or any kind of camaraderie. We lived and ate in tiny isolated bunk coves and had no physical contact except during combat training." His breath was even and steady as he explained, "There was no music, no celebrations or family visits, no books or motion pictures. Anything that conjured up any type of emotional response except for violence was strictly forbidden. If you showed any emotion—you'd be punished severely."
"What would they do?" I asked quietly.
"There were other forms of punishment, but I hated the cane and whip lashings across the back the most. They were bad—left nasty scars. You sort of got used to them after a while though."
"How often did they…?"
He found my eyes and answered with a dark smirk. "I was bad a lot, Freya."
I nodded, trying to comprehend it.
He was still as a statue, staring at me. It was like he was trying to say something without words. He stripped his shirt off over his head quickly, as if afraid he'd change his mind, and dropped it to the ground. I realized that, although there was no scarring on his stomach or chest (those areas I'd seen when I fixed him up in the lean-to) I'd never seen his back.
"I've never had someone that I shared… "—he groped for the correct word— "confidences with." He stopped talking, looked away and poked a long stick at the burning logs. He couldn't bring himself to turn around.
I took a deep breath and stood up. His eyes didn't follow me—they stayed fixed on the fire. I comforted myself, thinking, How bad could they be?
I circled around behind him and slowly moved my eyes to his back.
I gasped, startled.
Theron, surprised by my reaction, jumped up and whipped around defensively.
"What is it?" he said, ready. But there was nothing there. When he figured that out he got angry with himself. "I shouldn't have shown you. I'm sorry." He snagged his shirt up and started to thrust his arms through.
"No, don't," I pleaded. "I wasn't expecting it. Please… "
I touched his arm gently, and he froze. I circled back behind him. Both of my hands wandered over his skin—feeling every pore, every line and every muscle—to prepare myself to take in his mangled, scar-ridden back. This beautiful, kind boy had been abused beyond my comprehension. Silver scar tissue, in thick deep grooves and thinner lines, formed a morbid pattern from the back of his shoulders to his waist. My breath became shallow as I traced them with my fingertips—like a blind person perceiving a story scribed in Braille.
"The face perdition was worse," he said quietly, turning his profile toward me slightly. "Though it didn't leave any visible marks"—he swallowed hard—"you wouldn't repeat your error."
I couldn't bring myself to ask what the face perdition was. I felt my heart breaking in my chest. I couldn't imagine such a horrible place. All of a sudden, my side of the tracks didn't seem so bad.
"How did you get away?" My voice was breathy. "Did you turn eighteen and become free to go?"
"There is no way a commander would ever let one of his top soldiers leave, no matter what his age. You don't get to go free. You can only hope to be killed in combat."
"Oh," I whispered painfully.
"To answer your question more specifically," he continued, "I was given a job to complete, but it required me to work alone and to travel a great distance. I simply never went back." He stepped away from me and covered himself with his shirt again.
"Do you—feel now?" I asked slowly.
"I've always felt on some level, but my emotions only became intense that morning you fell and I caught you. Excuse me," he said calmly, and he walked into the tent. I heard him rustle a bit and then everything turned quiet.
I stored our uneaten food and stood silently out front of the tent, trying to figure out what to say to him.
"They can't hurt you anymore, Theron. You did it, you escaped. It was wrong for them to do what they did. It was abuse." I felt tears well up in my eyes. I could see him as a little boy, denied essential loving human contact. I wanted to throw my arms around him, to comfort him, to let him know it was okay and that it was good to feel. "You have the right to be free, to do whatever you want and to be happy. I give you my permission, Theron. You never have to go back to it! You can live your life for real now and experience everything." My voice broke.
I turned and walked briskly into the woods so he didn't see my tears and so I wouldn't make the situation even worse.
While I walked I gathered fresh green pine needles to brew a soothing tea for him, like my mother always did for me when I was cold or sick. I stayed away for about an hour before I came back into camp.
Theron was out of the tent. He had a tarp stretched across the grass and was laying on it with his arms folded behind his head. He was staring up at the bright blue expanse over him. My earbuds were stationed in his ears, the white wire trailing down his stomach and to my iPod next to him. He noticed me watching him and gave me a small smile. I returned it.
Then I filled the cooking pot with water and set it on the stones next to our fire circle. I set a few logs that Theron had split into the pit, along with some twigs and dried grasses I had bundled earlier for immediately reachable kindling. I struck the flint to the steel several times until a shower of sparks cascaded into the bundles of dried grasses. I blew gently till the sparks took. The small flame consumed the tinder, twisting it into ash. Once the logs caught, I set my pot over the flames to boil.
Once the water rolled and bubbled, I dropped the fragrant green pine needles I had collected into the pot in order to brew tea. I let it boil for a good two minutes then removed the pot from the heat to steep. I carried my cooling pot to where Theron was and sprawled out next to him, the scent of warm pine tea perfuming my clothes.
I gazed up into the pale blue sky and watched the floating clouds as if they were from another world.
When the pot was cool enough to touch, I offered it to Theron. "Taste."
He lifted the pot to his lips, breathed in its strong aroma, then sipped at the liquid. A smile spread across his face.
"It's good," he said.
We lay there, taking turns sipping at the tea as we watched airplanes streak through the sky, leaving white ribboned trails behind them.
"If you could go anywhere in the world," I asked, "where would it be?"
"I don't know," he started. "I'm pretty happy right here."
I thought about that for a moment. I'd always wanted to travel through Europe, but right now… I was happy here too.
Suddenly, the sky changed so quickly that we hardly had time to react. The white airy clouds darkened and began to swirl like the contents of an angry stew cauldron. But I recognized what was happening quickly. This was beyond an ominous thunderstorm. The sinister clouds hued with a sickening green tint put me into action.
"Theron, get up quick," I ordered. The wind was becoming furious and electricity charged the air surrounding us.
"What is it?" he shouted against the rising force of the wind.
"Tornado!"
Chapter 10 Waiting It Out
I lamented the probable loss of everything I owned and shouted, "Follow me!"
A super-cell had formed above us. We watched as the dark and deadly funnel extended menacingly from the cloud. Dirt and debris began to whip into our faces; soon it would be trees.
"We only have a couple of alternatives," I shouted. "We can lay flat on the ground or try to run out of its path!"
Whatever his answer was, it got cut off by a new and terrifying sound—an all-encompassing freight train roared in our ears. The black rotating vortex touched the ground. It instantly began ripping aged trees up and out of the soil, causing them to plummet through the forest like massive projectiles, splintering and crushing other trees on impact.
"RUN!" I yelled, grabbing Theron's hand, and we sprinted through the trees that led to the gully.
After we had gone some distance, I quickly turned to check the tornado's path. I found a fixed object (a large boulder next to a maple tree), then I compared it to the movement of the tornado. It appeared not to be moving to the left or to the right, but only swelling. It was getting bigger.
"It's coming right at us!" I shouted as I veered to the right, hoping to steer us out of its deathly path. It was gaining speed. Rocks were whizzing past our heads.
We jumped down onto the steep gully wall and slid on our backsides—half controlled, half falling. When we made it to the bottom, I looked back up behind us to watch the tornado's projection.
Remember the rules, Freya! My mind sped. Spending so much time in the southern states, you had to know all about tornadoes—this was called Tornado Alley for a reason. Okay, fix your gaze on an immovable object. If the tornado appears to be moving to the right, you move to the left. If the tornado is moving to the left, you move to the right.
Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) Page 9