by E. A. Darl
“You do know that you are to be taking me back to my car, right? Pam gave you the location of it?”
The warrior turned his head, smirked, and continued on, picking up his pace to a quick, effortless trot.
Mitch was forced to increase his speed to keep up and said, in a breathy voice, “Hey, answer the question. Where are you going? I need to get back to my car.”
The warrior behind him, red hair bouncing as he ran, said, “Shut up and keep moving.”
Distrust swelled and his mulish, stubborn side kicked in. He stopped dead in the path and his sudden arrested movement startled the warriors. As one they pulled knives and leveled bows at his torso.
Mitch ignored the show of weaponry and addressed the leader, who had turned back, anger drawing his brows into a straight, furious line. Mitch crossed his arms, facing the youth. “Well?”
“Who said we were your escort back to your car? You are really stupid, for a cop.”
A frisson of alarm skittered across Mitch’s nerves.
“If you are not my escort, then what are we doing here?”
“That,” said the youth with a flick of his hand, “is none of your business.”
That moment a burlap sack dropped over Mitch’s head and was pulled tight against his throat. Mitch swore, grabbing the edge of the cloth with both hands as he kicked out at his attackers, but he missed. Off balance, he was tripped, falling heavily to the ground, barely breaking his fall. The pressure on his neck did not ease and he gasped for air. A knee shoved in his back immobilized him. Mitch’s arms were pulled back and a plastic tie snaked around his wrists tightening painfully, cutting into his flesh. He was yanked back to his feet, and the pressure around his neck eased as the sack was tied tight. A rope dropped over his head, tightening painfully against his Adam’s apple, and then the warriors began to run again, in complete silence.
The pace and the inability to see the ground under his feet had Mitch stumbling and falling on a continuous basis, and each time the rope around his neck tightened painfully like a hangman’s noose. More often than not, the warriors pulled him back to his feet by the rope, choking him until his sight tunneled towards unconsciousness. After the third fall, they cut the plastic tie and moved his hands round to the front and rebound them. With his hands now in front, he wrapped his hands around the rope by his neck to maintain the slack he needed to breathe.
The ground leveled out and his falls became less about the ground underfoot and more about his exhaustion. The heat of the sun beat down on him and the rough woven strands of burlap scratched despite the film of sweat that ran down his face. The coarse fibers dug into his skin, a thousand tiny pricks of annoyance.
Around midday, the pace slowed then the party came to a halt, with Mitch in their midst. He stumbled, wavering on legs that quivered with exhaustion. Into the still, heavy air, the drone of a plane split the silence, growing louder as it approached. The drone of the engine identified it as a twin propeller prop plane. A welcomed breeze gusted past them and Mitch realized that the plane had landed nearby. The engine cut, and the crunch of boots grew louder as the pilot approached where he stood, coming to a halt a few feet away.
Not a word was spoken. Mitch sensed that something changed hands between the pair and the murmur of quiet speech reached his ears. He leaned forward to try and catch the gist of the softly spoken words exchanged between the pilot and the braided warrior. Without warning he was struck on the head from behind. The blow made Mitch’s world spin and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The warriors picked him up and carried him to the plane, loading him into the back seat. The tall man in the dark suit spoke for a few moments longer, then shook hands with the warrior and climbed into the pilot’s seat.
The engine turned over and caught with a powerful roar, then taxied down the desert floor, stirring clouds of dust as it sped down the flat, boulder free stretch. Lifting off, the plane made a slow circle as it climbed into the sky, before straightening out, and vanishing from sight.
*** THE END ***
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THE SILENT LANDS CHRONICLES
By E.A. Darl
STEALING SILENCE
SEEKING SILENCE
STINGING SILENCE
SHADOWED SILENCE
By Judith Docken
GHOSTED
By Sylva Fae
RAINBOW MONSTERS
MINDFUL MONSTERS
CHILDREN’S CHRISTMAS COLLECTION
By Susan Faw
THE SPIRIT SHIELD SAGA
SOUL SURVIVOR
SEER OF SOULS
SOUL SANCTUARY
SOUL SACRIFICE
THE HEART OF THE CITADEL
HEART OF DESTINY
HEART OF TYR
HEART OF SHADRA
HEART OF BASTION (COMING SOON)
STINGING SILENCE
BY
E.A. DARL
COPYRIGHT © 2018 E.A. DARL
All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by
any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to,
xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and
retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Judith Docken
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are
either the product of the authorʹs imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is
unintentional.
EPUB ISBN 978-1-989022-06-1
EPUB ISBN 978-1-989022-06-1 (AS PART OF THE SILENT LANDS CHRONICLES BOXSET #1-4)
DEDICATION
We dedicate this book to all of our earlier adaptors, who have dived into the series with excitement and fervour. We hope our words inspire you to think about the world around us. Humanity and nature walk this planet side by side, and neither can exist without the other. Well maybe nature can, It is humanity that is running amok, out of pace with the reality of life.
There is room for us all to co-exist. But if one or the other is to fail, it may just be humanity that goes extinct, for being too blind to see and too stupid to care.
Time will tell, for all.
-The lovely ladies of E. A. Darl
Chapter 1
Kidnapped
THE DRONE OF THE CESSNA’S single engine vibrated the cushion, shaking him awake with a groan of pain. Mitch moaned at the sharp stabbing sensation that throbbed at the back of his head. He reached back with his right hand to examine the lump he was sure stuck out of his hair, but could not as his hands were bound in front of him. His eyes opened to a blue leather pilot’s chair, separated from him by a glass partition. The grey head of the pilot swiveled to the side, glancing into the back seat. Mitch caught sight of a curling grey mustache adorning his upper lip. The co-pilot’s chair was empty.
“Relax, Mitch. There is no place to go and any attempt to attack me will result in both of us dead. Enjoy the flight. We will be landing in about ten minutes.”
“Where are you taking me? What is the meaning of this?” Mitch rolled onto his back and held his bound hands up in front of his face. The tie had cut deep into his left wrist and a trail of smeared dried blood ran down his arm. An inaudible growl caught in his throat at the sight.
“You have been dabbling in things you shouldn’t have. We have some questions for you, that is all. I can feel it when you roll on that seat. Now lay still unless you want to unbalance this plane.”
“Who are we? Who are you?” Mitch ignored the advice, glaring at his captor.
“All will become clear when we land.” The pilot turned back to face the windscreen a
nd ignored Mitch. It was a clear dismissal. He had no intention of passing on further information, and to prove the point he switched on his console and suddenly the plane was filled with the sound of an old rock song. The ADF receiver had zeroed in on the unmanned radio station signal that played continuously from the station located in Melona. Mitch knew it was the case because he had listened to it for years. The song always skipped at a particular interval, and sure enough, as soon as it reached that spot, it passed over an entire verse of the song. He smiled, know knowing his approximate location. He craned his neck to confirm the location of the sun in the sky. We are flying northwest over Melona. If we do not lose the signal, then I know we are within a hundred mile radius of the town, and in that direction lies...the government warehouses. A frisson of alarm skittered down his back. Damn, have they found me out?
The plane droned on, flying into the darkening sky as the sun coursed through its daily track. The music faded away and Mitch’s heart sank. They were going further than he thought. Perhaps it was the government but his first guess proved wrong. Mitch shifted onto his side and his eyes closed, lulled by the hum of engine and the need to escape from his splitting head ache.
He awoke to the sensation of the burlap sack being pulled down over his head once again. He was hauled up off the seat and out of the plane, stumbling for a second as he gained his balance. Hands grabbed either arm and lead him away. Through the bottom of the sack, he could see the runway was grass, not pavement. A rural landing strip, he guessed. He did not resist his silent escort and when he heard a car door open, he paused. A hand on the back of his neck forced him to duck inside the open doorway and he settled onto the back seat of a car. The door slammed and the car engine purred to life and drove away. He tried to peer around under the sack but suddenly it was pulled from his head. Seated beside him in the back of the Lincoln was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Regal, like a queen, she sat straight backed, her nose wrinkling in her narrow, pale face.
It dawned on Mitch that he smelled like a bar fight without the booze, all sweat and blood and that undeniable stench of things gone sour. He also realized that he was parched, his throat drier than a spider’s last meal.
“I apologize for my state of, uh, or lack of a recent shower. The express trip across the badlands had no rest stops,” he croaked, leaning away from the woman.
She sniffed, tucking a stray strand of ebony hair ribboned with grey behind a delicate ear. She raised one brow and said “Understandable. Give me your wrists.”
Mitch held out his wrists. The woman pulled a knife from her pocket and sawed through the plastic strip. He winced at the pressure as she worked on the binding, which snapped, freeing his wrists. The relief mixed with fresh pain and the cuts oozed. She dropped the restraints into a bag and handed him some baby wipes. Mitch washed his injured wrists, depositing the soiled sheets in the bag.
“Hold out your hands again.” He did as commanded.
“Who are you?” asked Mitch. As his voice croaked, her eyes met his. They were a vivid green. I could drown in those eyes, he thought, as she smoothed an antibiotic cream on the cuts, and then wrapped a soft gauze around the wounds.
“I am Maria,” she said simply. She taped the ends and then handed him a thermos of water.
Grateful for the cool liquid, he drank his fill before handing the mostly empty thermos back to her.
“Keep it,” she said ignoring his attempt. She settled back in her seat, gazing out the window. “I apologize for the rough treatment, Mitch. We did not intend to hurt you. Only secure your cooperation. They,” she waved a manicured hand at the out of sight plane, “were meant to bring you, regardless of your wishes, but they were a little too enthusiastic in their instructions.”
“You still know more about me than I do you. Are you government?” At the negative shake of her lovely head, he said “a spy for a faction? The leader of a faction?”
She hesitated at his words. He could see that she was struggling with what to say. “Not in the way you think.” She watched the passing scenery out the window for a moment, then with a sigh, turned back to Mitch. “A long time ago, my identity was changed, to protect all involved,” she said in a quiet voice. “I go by Maria Mainz now, but I was born Ellen Maria Gainsborough. I believe you have been looking for me.”
Mitch stared at her in complete shock. Avalon and Alexa’s mother?
Her eyes flicked over to him, gauging his reaction, and then she looked away, embarrassed.
“I don’t know what to say. Believe me, this is a first. I searched for you for years! Every lead went cold. Every trail a dead end. I had the full might of the police department at my fingertips. We finally closed it down as an unsolved missing person’s case.” Mitch shook his head. “Was this all staged? Was the kidnapping fake? Was your disappearance a fraud? You left your children behind, to starve!” Mitch’s voice rose in anger. “Avalon, Alexa. How could you abandon them like that?” The last words came out in an angry shout and Mitch heard the click of hammer on a gun being cocked, ready to fire. He made himself relax, pushing himself back into the seat, but still his fists clenched with anger.
Ellen had tensed at his tirade, but she hadn’t turned around. At the click of the hammer however, she leaned forward and put a hand on the shoulder of the man in the driver’s seat.
“Don’t, Albert. He has the right to be angry. He does not mean to harm us.” She squeezed his shoulder.
He tensed under her touch, then took his right hand off the gun and placed it back on the wheel. He did not relax his guard. Angry black eyes stared at Mitch from under heavy dark brows, reflected in the rear view mirror.
Mitch’s narrowed eyes moved between the pair. “You have a lot of explaining to do, both of you. Is this why you have gone to such lengths to get me here? So you could talk to me in secret away from prying eyes?”
Albert answered his question. “Yes. You are being brought to our hideout. It also doubles as the headquarters of the SOS. We have questions to ask you, but we couldn’t risk being seen in the open, not for you, not for the kids. The world must believe we are dead.”
He spun the wheel, taking a rutted lane off the quiet road, and meandering back through the underbrush to the base of a railroad trestle. Mitch’s eyes wandered the scene, trying to figure out where they were headed. It looked more like a good place for an execution, than a hideaway. His gaze settled on Ellen’s rigid profile. She was the very likeness of Avalon, a child she had not seen in five years.
“You look just like Avalon,” he said. “She is a miniature you.”
Ellen’s face turned towards him. Unshed tears, held firmly in check, sparkled in her eyes. “Thank you. I am sure she is very beautiful.” She turned away again, to stare out the window as her husband steered the car underneath the trestle and straight toward a wall of stone. “How are they?”
Alarmed, Mitch did not hear her reply. Instead, he cried out as he ducked behind the front seat, but the anticipated impact did not occur. The car shot right through the wall. Heart beating very fast, his rationale caught up to his instincts and he sat up. “What the hell was that?” he gasped. They were inside a cave hollowed out of the hillside. The large metal structure could have housed the plane they had flown him here in, not unlike the silo facility he had just left. People in farming gear and lab coats moved to and fro, pushing carts loaded with burlap sacks or driving tractors hauling plows or seeders. No one paid them any heed. They went about their duties unconcerned about the stranger in their midst.
“A hologram. It is a very expensive piece of deception. We stole it from the government,” said Albert.
The car eased to a stop by a door. Albert put it into park and then turned around to look him full in the face for the first time. Lines of worry had dug deep furrows into the once youthful face and his hair was liberally sprinkled with grey.
“Welcome to the secret facilities of the SOS, the ‘Seeds Of Survival’ initiative. It is our most important f
acility.” Mitch took a deep breath to slow his racing heart, then nodded acceptance of the welcome. He had found them, or rather they had found him. Avalon and Alexa would be so happy. Their parents were alive!
Chapter 2
The Initiate
AVALON LAUNCHED ALL one hundred twenty pounds of enraged female from the couch like a rocket, lunging with outstretched hands to grab Magnum’s throat. All Avalon wanted was to choke the girl where she stood. She was tired of being pushed, prodded, and goaded into reacting, yet here she was again, attacking the taunting teen.
Magnum laughed as Avalon bounced off the plexi-glass barrier and was tossed to the floor. She crossed her arms, eyes glinting and lips twisted into a mocking smile. “She doesn’t handle the drugs well, does she?”
Trench leaned up against the wall picking his nails clean with tip of his switchblade, watching Avalon rage. “You know, I wouldn’t get on her bad side. That girl has some serious anger management issues. They might even be worse than yours.”
Magnum stuck her tongue out at him and went back to smirking at the out of control Avalon through the safety of the plexi-glass. The room where they had secured Avalon was an old office space tucked off the back of the main kitchen. All furniture had been removed long ago, except for a rolling cot that they used as a place to crash and get some sleep. The window’s blinds had been pulled up, giving a clear view out into the kitchen. They had moved the unconscious Avalon into the room and laid her on the cot, after she had passed out from the branding. Trench had given her a shot of Oxycodone to ease the raw pain of her burnt arm, and then they had wrapped the wound and left her rest.