Highlander's Pride: Winter Solstice (Against All Odds Series 1)

by Veronica Wilson

  In no particular pattern optical, electrical and all other sorts of conductive wires covered everything she could see. It looked like the home of some gearhead Neanderthal.

  “So good that you’ve decided to wake up, my dear,” a voice echoed from one of the many passages in front of her. It was deep and a little coarse, as if the speaker had not spoken for quite some time. “I was beginning to think that the meal I made would go to waste.”

  A moment later, stepping in from the rightmost tunnel, a man came into the room. Adorned in a loose-fitting indigo jumpsuit, all that she could make out was that he was tall. His face was clean-shaven and ovular, definitely handsome in a non-rugged sort of way. His hair was a dark shade of brown, worn slightly longer and combed backwards.

  He looks like a dandy crime-boss-turned-hermit. Cynthia chuckled for a second, amused by his unconventional yet rather eye-pleasing appearance. It had been so long since she was alone with a man who was not her military superior. The feeling was new and exciting.

  So this is the Hood? Her memories resurfaced, downplaying the pleasant aspect of the situation. She had been in deathly danger, and the Hood, this man, had saved her life.

  “If you’re going to be busy staring at me for much longer, my dear guest” —he approached, pulling a deck chair from somewhere beneath a nearby pile of cables, before he set it up and placed it next to her bed— “then please allow me to put this somewhere.”

  Smartasses. The world is full of them, even now.

  It was only then that she noticed the large silver plate he held in his left hand, two bowls of stew carefully balanced on it. Greedily, she grabbed one of them with both hands, completely ignoring the cutlery carefully placed to the side. Her stomach roaring like a wild beast, Cynthia sated her hunger by unloading the contents into her mouth. She didn’t care how hot it was.

  That’s going to disagree with me later on, she thought when she placed the bowl back on the plate. The Hood stared at her with a significantly amused expression. His eyes didn’t go well with his face, she noticed. Their shade of brown was similar to his hair, but such a common color seemed kind of off on such an uncommon male face.

  “Care for another?” He tilted his head toward the other bowl, the hair on his head rippling in a synchronized fashion. “I am not all that hungry. At least, not compared to you.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t,” Cynthia responded, ignoring the still-present roar of her stomach. At least she thought it was her stomach and not something beneath it.

  “Are you sure? You’ve been out for almost a day. You could use the protein. Fill out a little bit.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the way you are now.”

  God damn it, he probably got a good look at me while he was fixing me up. The knowledge unnerved her, but not nearly as much as it should have.

  “Yes, please,” Cynthia finally replied, extending her right hand toward the other bowl. A second later, she also raised the left one, grabbing the silver spoon she had missed the first time around. Much more slowly, and trying to reproduce some of the table manners she had left behind long ago, she proceeded to down the meal.

  It’s not bad at all. She concluded, this time allowing herself to actually taste it. Although I can’t for the life of me identify the meat.

  Within a couple of minutes she was done, the second bowl back on the silver plate with the other one. Visibly pleased, the Hood placed it on the floor nearby, having cleared it of a rather sizeable mass of cables beforehand.

  “You have questions,” he said, his expression betraying something between glee, curiosity and utter amusement. “I know you do. It would please me to no end to enlighten you.”

  He’s being forward. Strange for someone who is said to be so reclusive.

  She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Who are you?”

  “An exile of war, down on his luck, struggling to survive in this desolate wasteland, of course.” His answer made sense, but it was still surprising.

  “Why not seek shelter in one of the camps?” She chose to follow up on what he said. “The way you took down that cat, you’d live a good life out there. The military and the state would pay a fortune to know your secret!”

  “And why, my beautiful guest,” his comment made her blush for a little bit, “do you think I would want what they have to give? Or rather, want to help them in the first place?” Dramatically, the Hood rose from his chair, gesturing around him with his arms. “This blasted land is the product of the army you speak of. The land that they—me, you—might have lived off comfortably is now destroyed completely, just to send a message. This area used to be good to them, and look at it now. What do you think will happen to me?”

  That… does make sense, in an offbeat kind of way.

  Slightly confused by the Hood’s way of thinking, Cynthia took a few moments to gather her thoughts. Everyone she ever knew had turned to the state’s mercy, yet this man chose to stay here.

  Stay and thrive…

  “How did you… how did you take down that robot, anyway?” she asked, recalling the way the thing had convulsed while it was trapped in the web.

  “An invention of mine.” The Hood seemed rather pleased to share this fact. “It takes advantage of the machines’ weaknesses. Nothing more and nothing less than that.”

  “I understand,” Cynthia said, doing her best to ignore the tingling in her nether region that this man’s presence so effortlessly invoked. “But that’s not really a good answer.”

  “Then maybe what you asked was not really a good question,” he replied, grinning all the while.

  Alright, I see I’m going to have to do this one step at a time.

  In an attempt to appear as focused as was possible, Cynthia straightened up while she sat. Her gaze was directed straight into the Hood’s face. If she could avoid blinking, she’d have done so as well. “The finest scientists we have could not figure out an easy way to bring these things down. I’m sure that they’ve already tried electricity, at least several times over. How did you, a hermit who survives in the middle of nowhere, figure out the proper way to take them out?”

  “I aim to please, beautiful. Especially in areas where others have failed.” The way he looked at her while ending that statement somehow managed to both annoy her and make her smile.

  Way to dodge the answer, Mr. Charmer.

  “But I like the cut of your jib, Miss…”

  “Greene. Cynthia Greene.”

  “A lovely name for a lovely lady, Cynthia,” he said, extending his hand to meet her own. Then, instead of giving her his own name, he merely continued talking. “As I was saying, because I’ve grown to like you in this regrettably short period of time you’ve spent here, I will tell you exactly what it is that I’m doing with these cats, as you call them.

  “These synthetic creations are in fact rather well defended against electric attacks. When exposed to such an assault, they move about frantically, trying to disperse the excess energies into their surroundings via an elaborate countermeasure mechanism. If you stop them from moving, however, and keep frying them for a while, the defensive system becomes overwhelmed and goes offline, taking the CPU with it.” The way the Hood talked about the subject was passionate, as if he was describing an act of lovemaking. He paused after finishing the final sentence, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds.

  If he has such passion to spare for cold mechanics. I wonder what kind of explosion he’d make in the sack.

  “But I am sure that someone like you would not be interested in technological banter.” He opened his eyes again, giving her a mirthful look. “I do what I must in order to survive, as I’m sure you’d understand.”

  More than you will ever know, Hood.

  “Of course I do.” She paused a bit before allowing herself to ask her next question. “Which brings me to this: why live here, of all places? Surely you can be a hermit in a forest somewhere? U.S. territory is brimming with deserts, t
oo. Someone with your knack of survival can make it anywhere. Why do it here, where food is scarce and cats still roam in abundance?”

  He started talking but Cynthia didn’t listen, having recalled something. She had been stranded in a dead zone before, the memory etched in the back of her mind. Food was impossible to find. Yet he has enough of it to give me double rations. There was no getting around it. The Hood was not to be trusted. Best-case scenario, he was slightly unhinged. Although he doesn’t appear to be insane, at least no more than the rest of us. Worst-case scenario, he was in league with the enemy, giving them something in return for commodities and his life. But what could be so valuable that he is allowed to destroy cats over?

  The answer didn’t come easily.

  I guess I will have to get it out of him the old fashioned way.

  Trying her best to maintain a constant expression, Cynthia felt between her legs with her left hand, hoping that the Hood would not take notice. As far she could tell, he didn’t, caught as he was in his irrelevant monologue.

  Let’s just hope that he is as respectful as I hope—yes!

  Disguised within what looked like a maxi-pad, there was a small but sharp punch dagger. Carefully, she pulled it out from between her legs, wincing at the thought of scraping herself with it.

  This would have worked so much better if I had the use of my right arm…

  Regardless, she had to try. With a swiftness no one could expect from someone with her injuries, Cynthia leapt toward the Hood, ending her thrust less than an inch in front of him, her dagger right under his throat. The absolute lack of reaction that followed on his side disturbed her to no end.

  He didn’t even blink…

  His grin now even wider than before, the Hood observed her with all the glee of a child in a petting zoo.

  “Now, where in the world did you… oh. You dirty, dirty girl, you.”

  I’m going to be dirty with your blood soon if you don’t tell me what I want to know. A part of her regretted having to do this, but there was simply no other option. Something was off here, and she needed to know just exactly what that was.

  “A woman is never truly unarmed,” Cynthia purred, caressing the skin of his neck with the tip of the blade. She took special care not to pierce it without reason. “Now you will tell me, Hood, who you really are and just what you are doing here.” She practically barked the words out, her intention to intimidate easily evident.

  “Everything I’ve already told you, my dear Cynthia, is the truth. I might have skipped a few more explicit details, but make no mistake, all of it was one hundred percent honest.” Still smiling, he seemed barely even to register her as a threat.

  “How about telling me the explicit details, then?” She smiled in return, albeit mockingly.

  “No problem.” He took a deep breath, pausing for a moment before he continued. “I am actually an alien invader, exiled for conspiring against our leader. As punishment for my crime, I was banished down here.” The Hood kept grinning as he talked, visibly amused by Cynthia’s baffled expression.

  You have got to be kidding me… One would assume that anyone with the stones to live out here would be a little deranged, but this was way too much.

  “As for what I am doing here, well, that is a rather complicated question, don’t you agree?” He appeared to genuinely believe in the madness he was spouting.

  “Humor me.”

  “I am building something. Or, depending on how you look at it, hiding out. A little bit of both, really. The inorganics keep looking for me, and I harvest them for parts. You might even go ahead and call it a mutually beneficial agreement.” The Hood’s face now betrayed traces of sadistic glee.

  He is even further gone than I thought.

  “And what are you building, my most gracious of hosts?”

  “Why, a doomsday device, of course,” he replied, with all the enthusiasm of a cackling madman.

  Alright, then… I see there’s not much sanity left in there.

  “And what are you going to do, H—I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

  “Your expression tells me all I need to know about whether you’d believe me if I told you my alien name. So just call me Johnny… or something.”

  Calling a mad hermit “Johnny” would be almost as stupid as calling him “Or something.”

  “Alright Hood, just tell me what you plan on doing with the so-called doomsday device.”

  “So no ‘Johnny’ for me, huh? Too bad, I was kind of looking forward to being called that.”

  “Please.” She pressed her blade to his throat again, letting him know that her patience was wearing thin. “Are you going to, say, destroy the planet?”

  “The planet?” Suddenly, the Hood started laughing like a madman, his cackle echoing through the surrounding hallways. “Of course not, Cynthia. I am on the planet. The alien armada up there, however, is just ripe for the picking.”

  She stared into his eyes for a couple moments, her stare a glorious achievement in the field of bafflement.

  “Listen, erm… Johnny,” she called him by his chosen moniker despite how dumb it sounded. I figure the poor, sexy-as-hell madman deserves to be cut a little slack, given how crazy he is. “I think you better sit down for a little bit.”

  As if her suggestion had been a command, he sat down immediately, the look of excitement a little bit too apparent on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, still touching his skin with her blade.

  “I actually made you say it,” he replied, grinning maniacally.

  Alright, all I really need is to recover my pistol. After that, I can force him to come to the base with me. There, he will have no choice but to share his way of taking those things down.

  She gazed into the Hood’s eyes once more, the intensity of his stare making her uncomfortable. She had liked him at first sight, and looking at him in this state was not easy. Still, she had to maintain eye contact. Otherwise, who could guess what he might do…

  And if whatever it is that he has built here actually works to some degree, then we could—

  Then, without warning, the light went out. Realizing that she was now sharing a dark cave with a deranged maniac, Cynthia felt her stomach tightening. Trying to subdue her shudders as much as was possible, she stood her ground, prepared for an attack that never came.

  Instead, some ten seconds later, one of the chamber’s neons flickered back into function, shedding some light onto the situation: The Hood was gone.

  What in blazes just happened here?

  As if to answer her question, seconds later the sound of a thundering explosion found its way to her ears. Following it, the cave began vibrating, almost knocking her off her feet.

  Has the power been cut? The possibility terrified her. Finding a way out of this place with minimal or no illumination would most certainly be a horrifying experience. And that would be the case even without the presence of a megalomaniacal madman.

  Then another, even graver possibility occurred to her. Is this place under attack? By whom? She couldn’t possibly imagine a reason for the military to assault it, so it must have been the invaders.

  I have to get out of here! she screamed inside her own head, propelling herself down a corridor. She picked the one to the right, the very same one that the Hood had used to enter the chamber not that long ago.

  It’s the best shot I’ve got at getting somewhere I can orient myself around. Seeds of doubt about that course of action slowly crept up. Unless of course his kitchen is placed even deeper down for some reason, in which case I am pretty much screwed. Still, Cynthia maintained her path. Reasoning has as much of a chance to get me out of here as sheer, dumb luck does.

  It took her about ten seconds of stumbling through the pitch-black hallway before she finally saw the light from the next room. It was faint, but slightly more intense than the one behind her. Picking up her pace, Cynthia tightened her grip around the miniscule hilt of her blade, ready to face whateve
r it was that followed.

  Holy Mother of…

  The chamber she had just entered looked like something straight out of a B-grade science fiction film. An impressive number of cables converged here, piling on top of each other to form some abomination of technology that appeared almost alive. It was black, littered with blinking red lights, and kept undulating like a polyp during its swimming motion. If the Hood was in fact insane, then his was the most productive madness she had ever seen.

  It’s far more likely that he was telling the truth, though. She concluded as she bit her lip. No human mind could ever make this by itself, no matter how brilliant or insane it was.

  Cynthia approached the machine carefully, intrigued by its intricate design. But she was just as repulsed by its living appearance, so she proceeded very carefully. Just as she was about to get a closer look, another explosion came, this one knocking her down to the ground.

  No time to admire the scenery, I’ve got to get going! she reminded herself, rising up with the help of her left arm while clutching her weapon with the other. Once she was up, she swapped it between her hands and ran down a random hallway. She didn’t look back.

  Yeah, like this is going to do me much help. The punch dagger now occupied her thoughts as well as her good hand. Whether the attackers are cats or soldiers, I’m toast either way if they open fire. Still, the knife made her feel better, and that prevented her from dropping it.

  Once again, she noticed light emanating from the next room, this one even stronger than the previous one. Elated, she picked up her pace, hoping that stronger illumination meant greater proximity to the entrance.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The next chamber was by all means identical to the previous, albeit with one exception: most of the cables had been ripped into pieces, the handiwork of the four cats that resided in the room. The contraption in the center kept shaking and shrieking as the other machines ripped it into pieces.