Then I would shiver violently and uncontrollably and that, in turn, would ramp up the pain factor (if that were even possible) to unbearable. I was getting weaker. My lips were dry and cracked. Soon I wouldn't be able to produce any saliva to dampen them with. I could no longer cry and I dry-heaved often with the nausea. I had had nothing to eat or drink since I'd been locked in this death hole. I slipped in and out of consciousness. I never noticed if anyone ever came in.
I could no longer hold onto plotlines in my mind, and dreams and memories merged with each other.
~
My mother and I were walking through a lush green field of tall grasses under an immense stone mountain that rose up out of the earth. I recognized it instantly; we had camped there during the summer—Glacier National Park. The regal cone-shaped flowers known as bear grass tickled my knees while we picked sweet mountain huckleberries.
~
The dream morphed and I was standing in front of a hay stuffed trash bag tied to a tree limb.
"You're getting better but you're still hesitating. Why?"
"I don't want to hurt anyone," I admitted.
"You don't need to aim to kill or maim. Inflicting any wound could easily get you out of immediate danger." Matt Wolf Runner yanked the arrow from the swinging bag. "No one with a good heart wants to take another's life. But there are those whose hearts are so evil they will seek to take yours."
~
Matt, or Wolf as we had affectionately called him, was full-blooded Blackfoot. I couldn't have been more than ten years old when we stayed with him. He was my mother's lover for a little while—and my friend. He was handsome, with deep-toned skin and black hair cut short. I liked him. I had often imagined him and my mother getting married.
Despite my fair skin and light brown hair I was accepted amongst the Blackfoot. There was no prejudice on either side. I ran with the rez kids. I thought we had actually found a family. But my mother wouldn't commit. And soon we were off again.
~
"Come on Freya." He tousled my hair. "Look at it as a big fat deer to feed your community through the winter."
I could do that. Wolf upped the challenge and pulled me further away from the target. "All right then,"—he finally stopped and turned me around to face the target—"show me what you've got."
I positioned my bow, pulled my arrow back, felt the tension in the line and breathed out. I let go. We watched the arrow fly swiftly into the target's center. He let out a whoop! "I knew you had native blood!" he teased, grabbing both my arms playfully and flopping them around like flimsy spaghetti noodles. "Let's go find your mother."
~
I smiled. It was a beautiful memory. But it didn't last long. It got lost in the fear of the present again. They had better come back for me soon or else they'll be coming back to a corpse, I thought bitterly.
The leader had said that Theron was one of his best. I assumed that meant best Taker.
Oh yeah, he won top honors for the miscreant award!
It made sense—Theron showing up at the same time the Takers did in Lexington and again at the bus station. He was sent to find me and he did.
But why did he fight the Takers off of me? Why didn't he let them take me? That was the only part that didn't make sense. And why didn't the leader know about Theron fighting the Takers? Wouldn't one of the other Takers have told the leader? Did the ones he fought die? Or never make it back?
I didn't have Theron's arms to protect me now or to comfort me. Traitor! How could he have done that to me? Was I so stupid? Did I want a real life so badly I couldn't see through his snake act? He deceived me so thoroughly. Stupid girl! Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!
It was probably his fault the Takers killed Blake and almost got Scarlett, Holly and Ben. It was probably how he followed me when I was on the tracks. Trained soldier, I sneered. Trained Taker!
I should have stayed with Kallie. Or Jesse, I thought defiantly.
Now I would die here—wherever here was. And no one would know.
Something still didn't make sense.
I tried to let the hate simmer—it was more empowering than the hopelessness. But every time I did, it succumbed to a deep unfathomable sorrow that hurt even more than the fiery pain. I had loved that boy—and believed him when he told me he loved me too.
'I vow with all of the blood in my body to protect you and keep you safe.'
Deceiver! Harden yourself, Freya. Not feeling has got to be better than this.
Okay… but… why didn't the Takers get us while we were in the forest? We were there for over a month and were never attacked. And he had wanted us to stay there—“You said the Takers have never found you in the forests' back country? Why don't we stay here then? Never resurface?”
I didn't have an answer and my burning hot brain couldn't stay on task. If I had the Brísingamen I would gratefully exchange it for a drink of water. It was probably a good thing I didn't have it. I had no idea what it could do, but if this Taker leader guy wanted it so badly it must have been something wicked powerful.
But that led me to a new thought—Theron knew the necklace had been on the table. Why hadn't he given it to him? I thought he had. But he couldn't have. The leader had said, "Let her burn," so I would cooperate and tell him where it was. I had nothing to tell. Wait a minute! Maybe Theron didn't tell the leader because he wanted to keep Brísingamen for himself and overthrow the Taker leader. He would become leader himself. That made sense… maybe—I couldn't think clearly.
I took a deep, wretched breath while misery baked my being. The rest of it still didn't make sense. And why were they bleeding me out? What was this leader going to do? Torture me to the brink of death then bring me back to do it again? I didn't know what had happened to the necklace and he would never believe that. I was screwed. I had no bargaining chip, no tactic to work from. I couldn't fight—I couldn't even lift myself from this table. And…
And the leader—he had probably killed my mother.
I let go. My battle was over. I had nothing—no answers, no weapons, no Theron, no mother… I couldn't lift myself from the table to find a phone and call for help. Nothing else existed but my wretched condition. Could I will myself to die?
"Four of you to guard one helpless girl? Isn't that a bit excessive?" the intimately familiar voice jeered condescendingly from out in the hall.
"What's it to you, Hawk?" another voice sneered back.
"I've been ordered to bring the girl to Morag," Theron stated.
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Please no!" I pleaded into the darkness.
One of the guards answered with a huffed laugh. "I doubt she's in any condition to be moved."
"That's no concern of mine." Theron's voice became gruffer, more authoritative. "Orders are orders. Now, are you going to open that door or do I need to inform Morag you were uncooperative?"
I raged, He doesn't deserve anything but a slow death! I wished one of them would give it to him!
"I'll just radio him to make sure you have your time straight," a guard said.
"Whatever," Theron answered.
Suddenly I heard grunts and the sounds of bodies slamming into the door and walls. The door was kicked open. The bright light flooded into the room from the hallway and blinded my dark-accustomed eyes.
I might have screamed from the sheer shock of it all, but my voice had dried up a long time ago.
I felt the pressure from the wrist and ankle cuffs release. A hand came under my head and lifted it as another hand squirted a thick tasteless liquid into my mouth and down my throat. I squinted my eyes. Theron's head was right next to mine.
"Hate… you," I breathed raggedly into his ear.
He hoisted my broken body over his shoulder. I groaned in torment. He shoved me up further for a more secure grip. The impact of his shoulder into my emaciated stomach forced the contents of whatever he had squeezed down my throat back up. I puked them over his back. That made me smile.
His every motion twiste
d me into excruciating misery. So this is the way they treat prisoners here? The least he could have done was wheel me out in a chair or on a stretcher. He walked us out of the room. I squinted again. The four soldiers guarding the door lay motionless on the floor.
What in the world?
Now Theron was moving fast—rounding one corridor and then another. He slung me around with careful speed, cradling me in both of his arms before stuffing me into some sort of slide—no it was a chute. My eyes still hadn't adjusted and keeping them squinted was making me more unbalanced. But he didn't drop me or let go of me. He held onto me as he slid his right leg in, sat, and then contorted his left leg in. He reworked me onto his lap and secured my head to his chest with his hand. Then I felt us falling. We landed in a heap of something soft. It was warmer and much dimmer. I was able to open my eyes completely.
A laundry room? He delivered me to a laundry room? We must have come through the laundry shoot.
I still couldn't talk, and Theron was moving much too quickly. I was back over his shoulder again. In the center of the concrete laundry room floor was a large drainage grate. Theron pulled it up easily and slid it over to the side.
"I pried it up earlier," he said as he lowered us down into the hole and eased down a ladder—slowly, one agonizing wrung at a time. It smelled damp and dank. I couldn't move my body at all and I scraped constantly against the rough concrete tubing.
Once we were at the bottom, he laid me on the cold, hard floor and shimmied quickly back up the ladder.
I wanted to get my legs up underneath me and run—and never stop! But I was so debilitated. I tried making a fist. If he came back I could give him one right across that mouth of his that had kissed me, full of lies. I was too weak. I could barely control my fingers.
I heard the grate scrape across the floor and connect back into place. I tried hard to get a bearing on my surroundings. Concrete (or rock?) and water—that was all there was. We were in an underground drainage tunnel. I lay on a raised rock wall while the water rushed past me in its channel. I had no idea how deep it was. If I could just roll…
Theron was back. "You're burning up," he exclaimed, feeling my cheeks and forehead with his hands.
He frowned and forced more of that thick liquid stuff into my mouth then swiftly but gently pulled a pair of soft pants onto me, then a pair of socks. He must have had them hidden down here. What was he doing? He looked angry—and scared. He grazed my shoulder slightly with his fingers and I cried out involuntarily. He contemplated the black, blue and purple bruises covering my forearms from where they had stolen my blood and the infected gashes from where Mikkelsson had cut me. He wrapped a thick, warm blanket up and around my shoulders then squirted more of that stuff over my tongue. I realized I was famished for it and began to gulp it down fervently.
"Not too fast—just a little at a time. Your body can't take too much of it yet," he said. He picked me up in his arms, wrapped the entire blanket around my body and trudged through the thigh-high current.
"Not… bringing… Morag?" That's the name he had used with the guards.
"No, Freya!" He didn't stop to talk or even look at me. He was intent on his footing.
I swallowed. The leftover moisture coated my throat. "You… came… for me?"
That stopped him in his tracks. He gazed down at me with pleading, agonized eyes. "Of course I did." His voice broke. "We can talk later; right now I have to get you out of here."
I couldn't compute it all. I was tired, confused and afraid. I felt like I could lose consciousness again at any moment. Theron began running at full tilt. I didn't know how long we went or how far, but the water seemed to be getting louder. It roared in my ears and made my head throb. That's when I heard the voices shouting from somewhere behind us. "Search in both directions," I heard echo through the tunnel.
Just then we came to the mouth of the system. Theron was holding me as we stood on the edge of the world. The tunnel emptied and water dropped in a massive waterfall at least forty or fifty feet high.
"No… I can't." I whimpered to Theron.
"Please trust me again," he said in the softest voice.
I swallowed. The voices were getting closer. Theron put my legs down into a standing position. We both knew I wouldn't be able to support my own weight. He secured me to him with his right arm, turned my head away from the leap and covered my mouth and nose with his left hand.
I closed my eyes. I would have died anyway. Better this. It was quicker.
We were dropping in slow motion. I could feel each droplet and stream of water soak into my skin and hair. I was freezing cold, yet it did nothing to quench my fire.
I heard Theron's heart beat in his chest and felt as he hitched in his own breath. I followed his lead and sucked in air as deeply as I could. As I did, his hand clasped over my mouth more firmly and he pinched my nose closed.
My feet broke the surface of the icy waters, and I lost consciousness.
Chapter 24 Alien
I danced an exquisite dance with death.
I was listless and powerless as the music played outside of me, under an alien sky.
In one moment, the colors of the world around me spun out of control. I couldn't balance it.
I was dead. Dead, gone—drifting away through a pink-hued sea.
At least the fire had ceased. Cold tendrils enveloped me now.
But Theron was shouting at me.
"Breathe, Freya! COME. ON. AND. BREATHE!" He pushed on my chest and leaned with great force into my lifeless corpse.
A deluge vomited from my dead body. Theron swiftly shifted my head to the side.
But my wretched human existence had had enough.
I could see the two of them engaged—Theron and Death. It was not a battle of strength or wits—only will. Death cloaked me again in his seductive grasp. Chills overtook me, then my body began to convulse.
"Fight it! You have to fight it," I heard Theron's voice pleading softly. Begging. Desperate.
My body was constricted, so I couldn't move. Something was wrapped tightly around me. I wasn't dead—yet. I knew because I could feel the heat again. I tried to open my eyes. It was a tentative motion. I wasn't sure if the world would be calm and still.
Glimpses of Theron flickered in and out like pictures on an old television set. Bad reception. He was singing to me and jostling me. He was carrying me. I was cradled in his arms. I became distracted by our surroundings. I was hallucinating. I decided I could only be sure of one thing—nothing was real. The sky swirled velvet above my head in shades of royal violet. The trees were dense with metallic golden leaves as if they had each been touched by Midas himself. The trees' thick wide trucks were as smooth as blown glass and painted a rich, deep maroon. Soft pink-tinted clouds scattered across the impossible violet sky.
"It's just a little farther. Freya, please stay with me." My betrayer was wrestling with my dance partner and I couldn't decide who it was safer for me to stay with. Or if I had a choice.
Then I saw my breath. My beautiful breath—as if summer had lost its way and winter had taken its place. I was alive. Mist puffed from my lips just like it did on Christmas morning when the backyard had been dusted with snow and Piper and I rolled in the white crystals until we were so cold we had to go back inside.
My mind protested, It's summer… but as soon as I thought this, powdery snow began to drift down out of the alien canopy. Floating—swirling—spiraling—down, down, down. The delicate icy flakes were like prisms. They caught the light and held it—like shimmering iridescent diamonds. They alighted on my face and into my lashes.
I was Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole. Or Dorothy who had been lured into a lovely field of poppy flowers. It would have been beautiful if it hadn't been a trick—a delicious deception.
Then Theron threw me hard onto the ground and dragged me under a growth of golden bushes. He covered me with his body. I heard an engine. Something mechanical stirred the wind above our heads. But the j
olt of the ground took its toll, and I spun away again, leaving him there alone.
~
Firelight rippled against the stone layers of the walls around us. It was warm. Not fire. Not ice. For the first time I actually felt warm. I could feel the blood in my cheeks. Even my toes and fingers were comfortable—cozy. I opened my eyes wider as they were able to focus.
Arches National Park, I thought. But how would I have gotten there? Where had I been? I forced my mind to remember. New Orleans. Yes, but no. I was on a ship. I breathed out through my nose, frustrated. The walls held the colors of Arches' ancient rock and stone. They were magnificent amber, orange and cream layered with tangible red rusts. My gaze followed the wall to the ceiling. I was in a cave. And I could hear someone crying.
"Please—please don't die. I'm sorry. Oh, Freya, I am so, so sorry. I have so much to tell you—so much to explain—so many apologies… " Theron sobbed. He had been pacing back and forth but now dropped to his knees on the unforgiving floor, burying his face in his hands. "I love you—I have loved you since I met you—I never meant for them to get you—oh, God—I thought I could protect you—I thought I could keep you safe. Freya, please don't die."
He had rescued me and had done everything he could to keep me alive. I wasn't hallucinating anymore. My mind was clear. The fever must have passed.
"Just because you rescued me doesn't mean I'm going to forgive you," I managed to push from my vocal chords.
He pulled his face up from his hands. His eyes were swollen. "Freya," he breathed. He stood up and rushed beside me, sliding back onto his knees. He pressed his hands gently onto my cheeks and then my forehead. He stared at me, wide-eyed, "I thought I lost you."
"Yeah, well, you can start those apologies and explanations anytime now," my voice cracked.
"I'm so sorry, Freya. I love you so much." He wore the expression of a man who had almost lost his whole life.
I suddenly realized I was constricted. "I can't move."
Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) Page 23