Eternal Refuge

by Annabelle McInnes

  She smelt of smoke and the toxins that were in that tent where she tended the wounded. Euan breathed in anyway.

  Silent, she gripped his clothing in her fists, allowed her body to be embraced intimately. There was no flinch, there was no reluctance. Lily welcomed his hold. From the back of that truck, Lily had witnessed her father’s death, but had also taken control of her destiny. She was still a mouse, but no longer buried in her hollow. Lily had created her own shield and was now brave enough to endure the daylight.

  ‘Kira?’ she finally whispered into the crook of his neck.

  His arms were still tight around her when he said, ‘They have her.’

  Lily jerked, a full body shudder. Euan held her through it even if the glance Knight cut his way could have sliced steel.

  Everything about this was unbearable. They were in a horror movie, where the heroes died and the evil spread. Euan was a lonely beacon; he knew he was. Even surrounded by people that had fought for goodness, but none would step up. They watched him, waited for him. He was meant to be their fucking saviour. He couldn’t even stand on his own two feet, let alone raise the remainder of the human race above him.

  He thought of that tiny shoe.

  A single brown eye turned to Knight. One focus. One plan. He gave Lily one final squeeze before he let her go. ‘I need trucks, men, women, anyone who is willing to fight. I need what is left of your weapons and ammunition.’ He threw his arms out wide, circled in his spot as the crowd around him grew. He stopped when he faced a child. Her small, angelic face was marred with soot and grime. One of her shoes was missing. Euan’s voice echoed above them. ‘You want to be saved? Then know this. We fight for love. We fight for survival and we fight for a future that transcends tyranny and cruelty. No more fighting pits, no more flesh for trade. No more stockpiles of weapons. If you give me this, I will see you led. I will bring you from this torture into the light. But you must give me this, you all give me this. And I will save you.’

  A prophet’s words. In that moment, he was.

  Chapter 19

  Kira

  The tremor in her hands had nothing to do with the cold. Kira’s body vibrated with a mixture of dread and fear. Her palms were slick. She tasted her own anxiety. A metallic tang that sat on the flat of her tongue. She licked her lips, tasted the blood and endured the sting from a split lip. The wound was softer than the rest, easier to push and worry with the tip of her tongue. It hurt, but the pain was good. It was better than the terror.

  They had journeyed to the outskirts of one of the cities. The road had become more and more impossible to navigate the further in they travelled. Abandoned cars, disintegrating and ruined overpasses, overturned trees and rolled trucks formed a maze that they slowly weaved through.

  The dawdling pace gave her hope. Too much hope, but it was still there. It swelled in her chest. Blossomed in her throat, held her scathing words at bay. She had to live. She’d seen what the man who drove the vehicle was capable of. She was still covered in the blood of the people he’d destroyed.

  The journey had been silent. The two men sat in the front seats. Their eyes never leaving the road. She had been threatened once with that firearm, she didn’t need to be told twice.

  They turned off the highway with a shudder and a shake. Warehouses loomed large and foreboding on each side. Their walls were slashed with red paint, macabre paintings to announce ownership. Bricks and mortar, tin sheeting and steel, even the trees were splashed with the brand. A sickening way to claim every facet of this place, to signify ownership that it was all under rule.

  She wondered if they would colour her so crudely when she exited the vehicle.

  Her hands were now pressed against the glass, condensation misted around her fingertips. When she removed her hand, the imprint disappeared, as if it had never been. Would it be the same for her? After they had ruined her, taken everything that made her whole, would her place in this world be removed as quickly and as readily as that ghost? It was in that moment that she realised how small she was. How insignificant. Billions had died. Billions and billions. Why did her life matter, her suffering more important, more vital?

  It wasn’t. Except to two men. Two men who were on their way to find her, to save her.

  She swallowed the ache that bloomed in her throat. It prickled the back of her eyes and stung her nose. It made her fists clench tighter.

  Their destination was an enormous warehouse. A building that loomed before them, it blocked out the sky, where the clouds still twisted and turned, and held the sun at ransom. The door was a gaping maw, a dark omen that spelled horrors, mayhem and destruction.

  Her gut cramped. She swallowed, but her throat only bobbed when there was no saliva in her mouth to take down. She was afraid. So very afraid.

  The truck was brought to a halt. The two men in the front seat shared a glance but said nothing as they opened the doors and exited the vehicle.

  Her door swung open, and even though she had been freighted inside the cab, outside was an impossible labyrinth of uncertainty. She could run, she could. But she’d get nowhere. Over the man’s shoulder, she saw others began to mill, to exit the dark portal and gather around them.

  Her captor leaned in and she reared back. This was no man like the one that had snatched her. This was no inept bad-guy from a daytime movie. This man was evil, a deep malice that made up his bones, formed his muscles, clenched his mouth tight. His eyes were dark, nasty. They scanned her, assessed without wavering before he stepped back to give her space to exit the truck.

  There was her chance. She saw it. He would likely even allow her to run, for a small time. She could speed off into the distance, and into the waiting arms of the horde that now hovered around the vehicle. They leered, they jeered. She saw the open mouths, the excitement, the anticipation. Their eyes glimmered, their lips sneered and their hands rubbed. They were waiting for her to attempt it. They wanted her to attempt it.

  She wondered how many before her had taken the risk.

  So instead she turned to the man who caged her and said, ‘Take me to him. Take me to Parker.’

  The man’s sneer changed, he snorted at her attempt at bravery. She was a mouse, a little creature surrounded by every animal of prey. She was cornered, and he knew it.

  One foot stepped out of the vehicle without her conscious thought. It hit the cement before it was joined by the other. She slipped out of the cab and stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow her. She often lamented her height, in this moment, the disparity between the man that rose over her and her smaller stature was severe.

  As she faced the true reality of the current world, she understood all of Euan’s over-protectiveness.

  Heavens, she missed them. As she scanned the hoard before her, she missed them with a yearning that almost crippled her. She felt the need for their touch, their embrace, their smiles in the muscles that suddenly seized, in the grip of her fingers on the door, in the taste of the ash on the wind.

  She would die here.

  She would die terribly here.

  Their leers turned into catcalls. They gripped their genitals with filthy hands and thrust their hips her way. They licked tongues over cracked lips that hid rotten teeth. Their clothes were ragged and threadbare. Their faces were marred with dirt and their knuckles were bloody.

  Kira had seen Euan spend enough time with his punching bag to know what fighting wounds looked like.

  She took a step. Then two.

  The sound of her boots as they hit the concrete was loud in her ears. So was her breath and her heartbeat. She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. They may kill her, but they would not see her cower. They would not see her afraid. Even if fear was all she felt.

  The man that had driven her here, the one that had killed his four rivals, who wanted to hurt her, barked out a warning her terrified mind failed to comprehend. But whatever was said, it made the masses part.

  They nipped at her like dogs. Mangy animals t
hat scented a female they knew they could never touch.

  It was the bold that came close enough to sniff. It was the fearless that attempted to fondle. That was until her captor lifted the handgun he had never let go of and shot the closest degenerate to her.

  The jolt that shot through her could not be helped. The clap of gunfire, the accompanied ricochet of shattered bone, of obliterated muscle, of exploding blood vessels, meant that there was nothing to do except flinch.

  But she didn’t cower.

  Instead, she was covered in more gore, surrounded by minions of an evil dictator, with her ears ringing as she stepped over the body of yet another man she had just witnessed die.

  She didn’t look. She couldn’t. She would vomit. It was a close call as it was. The blood that splattered her was warm. It dripped down her arms, down her throat to soak the neckline of her undershirt. It oozed between her fingers before it turned tacky. She clenched her fist and pretended the feeling wasn’t real.

  The door of the warehouse was now before her. An infinite black hollow awaited to eat her, consume her, swallow her whole. Her captor directed her without much prompting until she stood beneath the opening, if she stepped through, she would be lost, maybe forever.

  She took the single step over the threshold. She was surprised, and disappointed when she didn’t spontaneously combust.

  It took time for her eyes to adjust. She smelt damp concrete and rust, mould and dank air. It was cloying. Thick, sickening. Her stomach seized, cramped. She tried not to breathe through her nose.

  And then there he was. A King of his domain. The devil made flesh. Death reincarnate. A terrible dictator that sat on his throne of leather and wood on a dais that had been built for the cavernous foyer. He was surrounded by men, soldiers with weapons strapped to their bodies. Guns and blades and clubs as thick as her forearm. They talked strategy and ignored her until Parker’s eyes shifted from the map at his feet to the tiny woman at his door.

  Then their eyes were upon her, and she was trapped.

  She stood fast against the ferocious urge to step back, to turn and flee, to cry mercy and bend at the knee.

  A lush mouth, high cheekbones and a lean throat. Eyes that held sadistic intentions.

  Parker was a sadist.

  But he was just a man.

  A man who sat upon a chair made of wood and leather. A man surrounded by nothing more than the remnants of human life. He was dressed in the clothes of the past. His eyes were still human; his body was not infallible. She may not live through this. But Euan would, and he would avenge her. Parker was no more God than she was.

  ‘One of the last remaining women on this earth. Did you know that?’

  His voice was ice. It sliced right through her, caught her heart and twisted it. This was the man who had brutalised Nick. This was the man who had tortured Smith, this was the man that had terrorised Lily.

  That voice would be the same voice that gave them nightmares. That kept them from sleep.

  It was the voice that would likely do the same for her.

  ‘I understand that to be true,’ she replied. She should rail, threaten, curse. But it would serve no purpose. She wouldn’t win with profanities. She wouldn’t keep her virtue with threats. She certainly wouldn’t escape with whimpers and tears. This man knew tears, he probably got off on them. No, she had to remain calm.

  Most importantly, she had to remain alive.

  The smile that stretched across his lips was beautiful. She understood now why Euan had been so easily fooled. Under all that malice and hate, Parker was beautiful. The face of an angel with the heart of the devil. That grin, that dimple, goodness. No wonder he ruled the new hoard of the damned. If Kira didn’t know of the blood that coated his hands, she would likely have followed him into the bowels of hell too.

  Kira retained her stance as Parker slid from his throne. His walk towards her was as elegant as any catwalk model. His hips danced with each step, his shoulders rolled with the sinuous movement. His hands swung as though they were made of liquid metal, not flesh and bone.

  Her breath was hoarse. She couldn’t calm the clamouring of her heart. She couldn’t stop the sweat that flooded her palms. But she could hold the tears back.

  She would hold the tears back.

  ‘So beautiful.’

  His breath wafted over her cheeks. It smelt of cinnamon and decay. A combination that almost made her gag. She swallowed instead. Her throat convulsed just as he touched the delicate skin there. The skin that was still tacky with blood. The skin that was hypersensitive to sensation.

  ‘Where have you been hiding, little bird?’

  Should she answer? She didn’t, and her lack of response didn’t matter to him. His teeth were white in the light that was generated by biofuel. His jaw clean shaven. There was the scent of aftershave and washing powder that clung to the assortment of garments he wore.

  He might be surrounded by the decaying remnants of humanity, but someone was still cleaning his clothes.

  His fingers drifted over her skin. They played in the blood, trailed through the wetness and smeared the stains. His eyes burned where his fingers travelled. A horrifying light backlit irises of brown and gold. His steps around her were slow. A lazy perusal that assessed her body, scrutinised her features, her figure, her stature.

  She had to look up to catch his gaze. His height was above average, but his lean stature gave the illusion of elevation. She refused to feel small. She refused to feel judged. She would not meet his gaze so that he could look down on her, demeaning her more than he already had.

  ‘You’re not from Mickey-O’s camp. I’ve collected those. Another man perhaps? Maybe several of them? How many men have you spread your legs for to keep you safe, tiny bird?’

  A voice hoarse with fear said, ‘They’re coming for me.’

  His smile was beautiful, and it was terrible. ‘I bet they are. And pray, what are their names? Maybe I know them, maybe we can strike a deal? Do they like to share?’

  She closed her eyes and wetness escaped. They shared. They shared everything, including her heart and soul.

  She opened her eyes. This man had been afraid of Euan once. He’d fled after they’d hurt Nick. Maybe he was still scared of a man who held vengeance in his heart, who would never stop until he freed her. She held the gaze of brown and gold that would witness her death and said, ‘Euan McKay would never share with you. He’ll see you dead first. You’re a walking corpse, Parker. He’s coming for you, and this time, he’ll find you and have his revenge.’

  The air in the room was gone. One moment Kira was breathing, the next the oxygen was obliterated. She choked as the hand that had hurt Nick squeezed around her throat.

  ‘You’re McKay’s woman?’

  She couldn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question anyway. Even as she fought for breath, her nails raking the skin of his forearm for purchase, Kira lifted her chin. Held his flinting gaze and didn’t flinch when a frown turned into a malicious grin. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘You are McKay’s woman. I thought he only went for ass, but Southerland had that same look.’

  He let her go and she gasped, coughed. Hands were to a bruised throat, and she caressed the skin that burned. She swallowed and almost threw up.

  Parker was with his men, surrounded by many, but Kira knew he was afraid, she could sense it, feel it as physically as the fire on her neck. Hands were tightened on weapons and clubs were rolled in palms.

  Parker blinked and the mask was back. ‘McKay always gets the pretty ones. It seems he has a talent for it. Yes?’ He licked curved lips. ‘I heard that my partner had captured him, tortured him, ruined his already ugly face. He survived what was done to him? Did he cry, weep tears knowing that his body would always portray the mark of my men?’

  Kira couldn’t hold in the shudder, the tremble of anger that vibrated through her. The fury was visceral. A physical emotion that almost made her snap at him. Tell him that Euan was never ugly, and he was beautiful sti
ll. He would always be beautiful, no matter what they did to his face or the rest of his body. But she held her tongue.

  Confidence back, he was upon her again. He gripped her chin and forced her face to tilt skywards. His eyes roved her face. He saw her anger, her disgust. He also saw the love she held there. She was as open as a book, and it terrified her. But it pleased him.

  The grin that blossomed across his face in answer was almost as terrible as the gunshots that had killed the men before her. It had the same effect. It shocked, horrified, sickened. She trembled in its wake, her lips quivered, her fists shook. Her eyes watered of their own accord.

  ‘And what about my little Nicky? Does he still hold the scars I gave him? Does he talk of me? Does he call my name when McKay is deep inside him? Does he whisper words of love for me in his sleep?’

  The tears she had held in for so long now dribbled freely down her cheeks. The air on her skin was cool in their wake. His eyes left hers to watch them descend. He bent his face to hers, and just before they reached her jaw, he licked them. Two slow slides of his tongue from jaw to cheek.

  She wanted to sob then. But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t. Because although the tears leaked from her eyes, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he frightened her, that in his presence she was terrified, for both herself and the men that would attempt to rescue her.

  Her face scrunched tight, Parker finished his cruel attentions and stepped back. Despite her efforts, his eyes glinted with malevolent joy at her distress, and Kira knew, right then, that even her worst nightmares were never going to contend to what was waiting for her in the company of this man.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said as he took another step back. His eyes glided from her trembling body to the man that had brought her to his lair.

  ‘Well done, Lucas. See to it that she’s locked away. I have a little plan for our little bird and the men that hunt her.’