Fabal wound his arms around his parents and sniffled.
Doogan hefted the satchels and settled one over Keeyla’s shoulders and the other over Fabal’s. He snagged rolled blankets and wedged them under each of their armpits. He stooped to Fabal and in his fatherly voice decreed, “Little man, you will take care of your mother. She’ll need you more than ever until I return, understand?”
“I’ll do my best, Dad.”—And he nodded with a stiff upper lip.
Keeyla slipped Fabal the jackknife. “Put it in your pocket.” Her voice faltered as she said to Doogan, “I hardly remember what Fulvio looks like. It’s been over fourteen years.”
“My mom always said I was Fulvio’s exact replica,” Doogan stated, banging shut the trunk. “So think of me, only thirty years older.”
She gazed at him, painting his image in her heart. Raising her hand, she traced the outline of his mouth with her thumb before planting a hungry kiss on his lips.
Doogan reluctantly pulled back. “Now go.”
It was Fabal who yanked on his mother’s arm, drawing her away. Sidestepping a puddle, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed his father an encouraging smile. There was no turning back. A new adventure, whether hellish or life saving, loomed before them.
Chapter 4
Doogan watched his family till the last remnant of clothing winked past the outcropping. He started the ignition, and at that precise moment, heard a systematic whirring. The Mediators had returned. He thumped the gear into drive and sped over the rills to the base of the ridge.
The heliocraft landed in the pathway of the racing vehicle, halting him from going any farther. Rapid gunshots rang out riddling the side of the car. Doogan ducked over the front seat.
When the gunfire ceased, he exited the car and Mediators converged on the bullet-riddled vehicle with a vengeance. He recognized the men who shoved him against the car pointing AR 15’s in his face. Two other Mediators blocked him on either side.
“Where’s the kid?” said a young man he knew as Ennis. “He’s supposed to report for duty.”
“Where’s Keeyla?” the other Mediator demanded, taking evasive action and not giving him a chance to answer. “We know they’re here somewhere. It’d be easier on you if you just tell us now.”
It’s only a matter of time before someone pulls the trigger. The Mediators stalled in their badgering and turned their sights to the forest. His family needed time to get away and Doogan threw caution to the wind. He sought the man known as Grunt, a cruel Mediator. “Hey, Jackass—” he yelled.
Grunt’s face twisted into a scowl.
“Yeah, you piece of lard,” Doogan taunted. “You’re mama cried the day you were born, you’re so ugly.”
***
Due to the thickening mugginess, pin drops of sweat dotted Keeyla’s face, and her clothes stuck to her body. She watched Fabal slogging onward, slashing at leafy branches with his arms, carving a path. Bypassing him in the cumbersome foliage, she said, “Don’t mark a path for the Mediators to trail us.”
They’d scarcely traipsed fifty yards when explosive gunfire fed their ears. Fabal and Keeyla dumped their cargo and sprang in the direction of the blast. Coming to a growth of concealing bushes overlooking the ridge, the two slumped to their bellies and squirmed on their elbows. As a host of Mediators surrounded her husband, Keeyla bit down on her hand to repress her scream.
***
Doogan’s snide remark enraged Grunt. The towering brute wasted little time and punched him in the ribcage, slamming him against the car. The wind knocked out of him, and gulping for breath, he charged forward. The two men collided.
The remaining Mediators corralled the fighters, letting the scene play. Heckling shouts of abuse and laughter, riling them to a fever pitch. “Kill ’em Grunt. Knock his teeth out.” And, “He’s a pussy ass physician, take him down.” Grunt bludgeoned him with a knuckled wallop, sending him into the sludge. He rolled and rammed his boot into Grunt’s groin. When Grunt hunched, grimacing in pain, Doogan’s heel snapped into his face, teeth flew from the Mediator’s mouth. Gaining a foothold, he jumped on Grunt’s back, Doogan’s arm strangling him in a headlock. Grunt turned in circles, trying to get free. The veins in his temple bulged from the effort, advancing to a bluish-purple, until finally, Grunt collapsed.
Another Mediator, Ennis, prowled into the ring.
Doogan’s left eye was swelling shut. I can’t hold on much longer. Administering a potent uppercut to Ennis’s jaw, he felt and heard the cracking jawbone. Doogan flexed his achy fingers, then hastily swiped the blood trickling into his eyes.
***
“I got to help Dad,” Fabal said. He parted the shrubbery, breaking their cover.
Keeyla snatched his pant leg, wrenching him backward. “Don’t you dare waste our lives,” she hissed, and dragging him from the gruesome display, she said, “Run.”
***
One Mediator stood apart observing the skirmish with relish. All the while, his eyes searched the encompassing terrain for Keeyla and the boy. A flat beret cocked sideways on his balding head, he chomped on a fat cigar. The thickset man, Basta, with a swarthy complexion and a signature disfigurement: a grooved scar that cut his face in half. Basta commanded his troops with a regimen of exacting discipline. And he delighted in a bout of malicious play.
Perceiving movement on the crest, he barked orders, commanding the men to a stand-down. “Grab him.”
***
A storm of Mediators pounced on Doogan. Four men shackled his arms and legs then wrestled him into an upright position. Escape was never an option. Doogan had already accepted that. And he was optimistic that Keeyla and Fabal were long gone as he stared into the barrel of a shotgun.
Basta paraded to the forefront. “Doogan McTullan, do you think I give a rat’s ass that you’re a physician? You’re no better than us. Remember that.”
Doogan’s swollen left eye impeded his vision, though his right eye tracked the figure of the notorious Basta who found pleasure in other people’s pain. Blood and saliva filled his mouth. He spit, spraying mucus across Basta’s cheek. The Mediator allowed the bloody mix to seep down his face.
Basta removed the stogy from his mouth, his lips curled into a foul leer. He neared and stopped within inches of Doogan’s face. Basta blew over the ashes of his cigar, flaming them to a bright red. His intent clear and cruel, he gutted the cigar into Doogan’s neck, the smell of burning flesh was repugnant.
Baring his teeth, the muscles in Doogan’s neck contracted.
“This one—” Basta said, his tone toxic. “—we need to bring back alive.” A sniggered rumble climbed up his esophagus, as he wiped the goo from his face. “But the Elites didn’t say in one piece. His arms and hands are needed. I suppose a leg wouldn’t be missed.” Unsnapping his magnum from his holster, Basta took aim and plugged a bullet into Doogan’s thigh.
A groaning cry fled Doogan’s mouth as the men held him firm. Then a recovering Grunt took advantage of the situation and jammed the butt of his rifle into Doogan’s gut. “That’s for my teeth,” he growled.
The Mediator’s carted a beaten and manacled captive to the rear seat of the car. On the brink of consciousness, Doogan heard Basta say, “Ennis, you’re good for nothing now. Help Grunt return our good physician to Tallas. We’re going after Keeyla and kid. I saw them on the ridge.”
Chapter 5
The sound of gunfire ricocheted in the vast mountainous region. Fabal choked on a cry and Keeyla’s heart stopped. They killed him! He’s dead! Lightheaded, she breathed deep, be strong for Fabal.
“Keep going—” she half-shouted, half-gasped while applying subtle pressure on his shoulder. “Keep running.”
Since gathering their cargo, they’d managed a steady jogging pace, skirting past boulders, tree trunks, and overly large deer which scattered like a pack of buffalo. Attempting not to think about Doogan, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. They’d gone miles before stalling to
rest. Her breath sawing painfully through her lungs, she bent over and grasped her knees for support, swallowing oxygen. She waved Fabal forward. “Go, go—” Her breathing erratic. “I’ll catch up.”
***
Fabal wavered for a second, glimpsing his mom’s rosy face, then dashed ahead. His legs burned as he adjusted the shoulder pack, which tended to wander the length of his arm. He perused the approaching, lightless grove, to be stranded in the woodland in the dark was frightening. His fleeting skyward glance told him otherwise. A woven canopy of majestic oaks was obstructing the daylight. A gusty current of wind heaved the leafy limbs about, emitting a teasing flash of light here and there. He jumped out of his skin when a hand clamped his shoulder. His mom had caught up with him.
“We passed a corkscrew looking white birch, rare in these parts,” she wheezed. “Another symbol. We’re on track, though I don’t want to guide the Mediators to Fulvio. Let’s head east. Possibly they’ll lose our trail and give up for now.” She withdrew a water bottle and drank sparingly then handed it to her son. “Drink. You don’t want to get dehydrated.” Squinting toward the sun, she said, “Put the sun at our backs.”
They veered from the sun and strode quickly into the lightless grove then halted abruptly as a winging flight of cawing crows indicated the Mediators were hot on their trail. Picking up the pace, they clambered over a huge fallen log.
Keeyla suddenly pulled up short and spun around. Heading back, she fell on her hands and knees, peering into the confines of the hollowed tree. “Fabal, you could easily fit in that hole. They won’t look in there and they’d never think we’d split up. You’d have to remain perfectly quiet until they pass. I’ll blaze a trail and lose them, then come back.”
He shook his head. “No way. That’s what Dad said. We stick together, Mom.”
“Please, Fabal,” she coaxed. “Here.” She handed him a piece of paper. “If we get separated, you walk toward the sun, always toward the light. Keep hidden. But stay put until the Mediators are well past. If I’m not back by dark, then—” She paused, looking around. “Mark a path with a handful of berries, pebbles, or something in plain sight and I’ll follow.”
“Absolutely not.” Fabal peered into his mom’s worried face. “I go where you go.”
Fingering his curls, Keeyla leaned over, smoothing her cheek over his, and drew him into her arms. “Hey, little man.” She pulled back and lifted his chin, gazing into his eyes. “I know you can do this.” A teardrop tripped over her eyelid. “Dad gave his life to save us. Please don’t waste his gift.”
A trampling of brushwood and snapping of branches broadcasted the influx of persecuting Mediators. Out of options, Keeyla tore Fabal’s satchel off his shoulder and stuffed it into the log. She towed him toward the opening and wordlessly demanded him to obey. Dredging up a mother’s severe glare, she pointed at the hollow and waited for him to comply.
Knowing she would not back down, nor flee until he was safely concealed, Fabal slithered like a worm into the decomposing trunk. He pinched his nose at the noxious stench of decay.
Keeyla peered into the log and whispered, “Love you forever.” She then piled rubble and a prickly bush to mask the gap and combed the area for signs betraying Fabal’s enclosure. Satisfied, she sprinted down the steep escarpment.
Murmuring voices hummed on the wind. Keeyla risked a backward glance a nanosecond too long, the toe of her foot struck an exposed root. She tumbled headlong down the hill.
***
Fabal’s legs scraped the rotting bark, scarcely enough space for him to tuck his knees to his chest. He wound his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. Listening to the Mediators marching toward his hiding place, his body quaked.
“Basta,” someone huffed, “it’ll be getting dark soon. It’ll be a hike out of this forest and we didn’t bring night gear.”
“Who’s in charge, Dunket?” demanded a hoarse voice, Fabal assumed it was Basta. “I didn’t ask for counsel.”
A loud thunk resounded into the confines of the log. They seemed to be gathering around his hiding place. Fabal covered his mouth to hinder his rapid breathing.
“They’re here,” Basta said in a hushed tone. “I feel them. Shut your traps and listen.”
Squashing his eyelids, Fabal held his breath, scared he’d be dragged from the log any minute.
“Look—down there,” a Mediator called out.
A rifle blasted, and Fabal jolted.
As the deafening noise dispersed, he heard, “Don’t waste ammo. C’mon, let’s go.”
A race of thumping boots leapt away from Fabal’s logged crypt. Don’t waste our lives. Don’t waste our lives. He chanted over and over as he fought to resist an overwhelming urge to wiggle out. Did the Mediator shoot Mom and is he now finishing the job? He waited, teeth chattering along with the rest of his body, and sweat penetrated his clothing from head to toe.
***
Keeyla tumbled in a mesh of legs and arms. And to top it off, an intense bite of pain rippled through her flesh. Clawing frantically to prevent her downhill spiral, she became aware of fluid saturating her shirt. Her fingers grabbed a brittle root, which slowed her momentum and brought her to a halt.
She glanced over her shoulder to see she was a mere foot from the eroding precipice. Clutching the root, she endeavored to right herself. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to compensate. The root splintered and unraveled, propelling Keeyla over the cliff.
Chapter 6
The Mediators observed the incident from afar as they trekked after their prey. The downward degree was precarious, deterring their hurried pace to where they’d seen the woman. They happened upon a dirt-smudged strip mixed with blood, leading to the crests precipice.
Basta, Dunket, Karnel, and Vanek hedged toward the edge and craned their necks to look over. Expecting to discover a splattered body on the rocks below, the men chuckled when they detected a woman dangling by one arm from a small, jutting tree trunk.
“Where’s the boy?” Basta asked.
“De—dead,” Keeyla snarled at them, while one handedly clinging to life. “He fell off the cliff with me.” Given her predicament, it wasn’t difficult to fake a grief-stricken pretense.
Dunket laid on his stomach with his head and shoulders overhanging the rock face and scanned the boulders below. “I don’t see his body,” he said.
“He’s small,” Keeyla said between breaths. “Must be lodged—in the rocks.”
“I don’t believe you,” Basta scoffed, eyeing the boulders for a sign of blood.
She tried lifting her other arm to hold onto the trunk. “Go—check.”
“Basta, it’ll take hours,” Karnel griped, “to make our way down there and it’s already late.”
From their vantage point, the sun had dipped behind the mountainous peaks. Basta tramped along the ridge and surveyed the increasing gloom. Finally he said, “We’re done here.”
“Wait. What about her?” Dunket asked. “Let me just shoot her and be done with it.”
“Why waste a bullet.” He placed one hand on his hip. “She’s already dead.”
Vanek glanced in Keeyla’s direction. “What if she climbs out, or falls and survives?”
Basta looked down at Keeyla, a woman who’d never look twice at a man like him. “Killing her quickly is more of a blessing than a punishment. She’s bleeding like a stuck pig. There’s no way she can climb up, and if she miraculously survives that fall, wolves will smell the blood and have a feast.”
Dunket hefted the AR 15 on his shoulder and leaned over the ledge. Puckering his mouth, he hawked a wad of spit. The phlegm brushed past Keeyla to the boulders below. “Cool.”
Basta crouched to watch her writhe. As he leaned farther, his scar throbbed as blood rushed to his face. “I know you’re lying about the boy, Keeyla. Still trying to save him?” Even now she looked gorgeous with those beckoning eyes. To leave such a beauty to die was shameful, but what did that matter to him? “He�
�ll be dead by morning, along with you,” he said.
Whether it was her stunning eyes or her trembling lips, he said, “Doogan’s alive. I’ll make sure he knows of your death. Won’t be long before he’s in the arms of another woman.” Basta stuck the knife deeper into her heart. “A new mommy for Fabal. If the boy doesn’t get eaten during the night.”
Snickering, they trudged up the escarpment leaving Keeyla to her fate.
He’s alive! They do need him. She, on the other hand, was expendable. “Why didn’t they just shoot me?” she murmured. Fabal’s hiding in the log, alone and scared, but he’s resilient. Her only comforting thought was her son’s tenacity in finding Fulvio and surviving.
Making several attempts to swing her dangling arm to grip the trunk with both arms, the pain was excruciating, but managed the feat. She then swung her legs toward the craggy mountainside and, after an extensive effort, succeeded in boosting herself upward to straddle the tree trunk.
Her strength waned as blood permeating her shirt. Astoundingly, the weighty satchel had remained intact over her shoulders. The rolled blanket had fallen to the rocks below, along with her stamina. Disengaging the pack was a precursor to certain death, and she wasn’t ready to die, not yet.
***
Fabal smothered a shriek as a centipede the size of a garden snake scuttled with its thousand legs over his face, nose, and into his hair. Mindful of the crawly creatures nesting in his clothes, he shuddered.
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