“Gideon," he continued, "did Rolanda ever tell you what it was like when she was working for me?”
The fingers clutching at Gideon's back shook; he could feel her entire body quiver behind him.
“I'm guessing not. Despite what you may think, we run a fairly tight ship where disease is concerned. After all, you can't keep selling something if it kills the consumer quickly, can you? I bet she never told you how often our doctors spread her open and looked inside.”
“Huh?” Gideon said, cocking his head to one side.
“You see, it's much too early to tell by the naked eye, but my doctors knew right away. Gideon, did you know that Rolanda has a baby growing inside of her? How does it feel to have another man's seed in the womb of the woman you were planning on marrying?”
The world swooned and fell away from under Gideon, giving him a weightless feeling as his stomach floated up into his throat. It was just too much, too large of a thought to pass across the little synapses in his brain, and so they all fired at once and then stopped, leaving him unable to think. The only things that he experienced were little tactile sensations, the tightness of his jacket from where Rolanda was squeezing it, the little waves of heat and faint smell of smoke coming from the forest fire, the thickness of his throat as he tried to swallow, the darkness edging in on the corners of his vision.
“Steady, Gideon,” a voice whispered in his ear. Leanin's hand on his shoulder brought him back.
“The spiders,” Rolanda whispered, “the spiders are real. The spiders are real.”
Akem laughed again. “So which is it? I give you the choice, who do you want to take to safety, and who will you give to me?”
Gideon's vision gradually came back into focus. “I can't,” he said. Rolanda tightened her grip on his back and Leanin turned her head towards him. “I won't. You always give me these choices, but they aren't yours to give. You've made me participate, made me play your games, but I won't anymore.” Gideon drew his own pistol. “This ends now.”
Akem turned his head to the side, his smile faltering. “Well that's a shame,” he said.
Gideon fired first, the loud crack of his gunshot deafening, aiming at the small man in the center. Leanin followed suit, squeezing off a shot at the man holding the flame thrower. They ran towards the chicken coop while they fired, the quick staccato of gunshots following them.
Gideon felt the pressure before the pain, like someone pressing hard on his legs and stomach, and then a fiery bolt of agony shot up his leg and he fell. The shadows were coming, blurry against the wall of flames. Rheannon was laying by Harold, Gideon wasn't sure whether she was dead or grieving, but it didn't really matter now. The ground came up to meet him hard and the pain spread through his entire body. The grass felt cool under him, a soft pillow to lay on. They were closer now, and everything was blurred. Gunshots rang out, but they were distant. He could see the fire belching out of the end of their weapons, but the sounds came from so far away. Darkness crept in from the edge of his vision and he lost consciousness.
...
He opened his eyes and dirt fell in, stinging him. He tried to move his arm up to brush it away but found he couldn't. There was pain throughout his limbs, and an even pressure blanketing over his body. Every few seconds the pressure increased as something was dropped on top of him. He was cold; he opened his mouth and dirt cascaded in, finding the sudden gap that was created. It fell over his tongue and down the back of his throat, he shook and choked but nothing dislodged it. Though his lungs expanded, every breath seemed to draw him less oxygen. He had been there before.
A cold splash of panic gripped him and gave him a momentary strength; he struggled again to lift his arms or legs, but the feeling was fleeting, and soon gone. As he tried to move loose bits of dirt fell in through his nose, filling every crevice available. Oxygen stopped coming through.
His last thought before he lost consciousness again was to hope that Leanin and Rolanda made it out safely, although he knew, even in his delirious state, that hope might only be a dying man's comfort.
The End
About the Author:
Andrew J. Krause is currently at work on his third novel, which is tentatively scheduled to be released in March of 2013. He resides in Minnesota and is a life time lover of dystopian and speculative fiction. To see more works available by Andrew visit his website at www.andrewjkrause.weebly.com
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