by Lyn Lowe
A clang at the door brought him back to himself, banishing the girl like a gust of wind catching dandelion seeds. Kaie sighed and rubbed his eyes clear of the last traces of the dream. He sat up slowly and picked up the tray of food.
It was always the same. The slot at the bottom of the door would open. A tray would slide through. It was always the same food. Greasy broth with chunks of salted pork. Stale bread. Tepid water. It would come again later.
He figured the intervals to be about ten hours, but that was only a guess. There was a lamp on the wall. It barely flickered. Useless to keep time with. He couldn’t see through the foggy glass well enough to tell how it burned, and didn’t dare take it apart and loose his only light just to figure out how often they tended it. He saw no one save his large–eyed phantom. The trays were taken and the bucket he shat in was cleaned while he slept. If he didn’t sleep, they weren’t cleaned.
He kept time by counting. A constant, steady beat. Always in the back of his mind. 1,382,101. 1,382,102. Even in his dreams, he counted.
He finished eating. Kaie set aside the tray and began his routine. First, running in place. Knees high. Fast as he could. For a count of 600. 1,382,721. He was working his way up. The first day he could remember, he only managed a count of 97. Now, he was starting to feel like he could manage running away, when the opportunity came. And it would.
After that, he rested. Not because he needed to. Not anymore. But there was so little to occupy his time. It was better to break up his tasks.
Next, he did push–ups. Until his arms shook. There wasn’t much room for them. But he found that if he angled his body properly in the cell, it worked just fine. 1,383,621. Then another rest.
Sit–ups followed that. Those weren’t as easy. The food didn’t sit well in his stomach. Crunching it over and over made things worse. Kaie did them anyway. 1,384,521. Rest.
Squats now. They made his legs burn. More than the running. 1,385,444.
Another rest. Then he hit the wall. Even breathing. Light punches. The scabs on his knuckles broke open. Soon, the wall was covered with his blood. It hurt. It all hurt. But he kept going.
There wasn’t enough to do. Not to fill the hours. His body got tired. Less every day. But he needed to be careful. Couldn’t push too hard.
He trained his mind. Math problems. Logic puzzles. Riddles. Escape plans. Lots of escape plans. Anything he could think of. Anything his memory could summon up. When the time came, he was going to be strong. Strong enough to run. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to escape.
1,420,514. The door clanged. Another tray slid into the cell. He ate everything. Just like always. It wasn’t enough. He was too thin. Kaie chuckled. Another thing to complain about.
Really, people. If you’re going to imprison someone for 1,420,995 seconds, couldn’t you at least try to feed them properly?
He would bring it up before the rest of his list. He wanted to make sure it sank in. After, they would be distracted. Very distracted.
Kaie set the tray on top of the other. He stacked the bowl and cup. It was time for the final part of his routine.
He picked at the drying blood on his left hand. A glob of fresh stuff welled up underneath. He walked to the door. Kaie carefully coated the first two fingers on his right hand. It was time to write what he knew.
All memories of his past were gone. He knew general things, like the name of the world and what the moon looked like. But not about himself. He didn’t know where he came from or why he was in the cell. He thought he was there before he could remember, before the Namer and the girl Kissa. Not for any particular reason. It was just a feeling he got. He didn’t know if it was day or night. He didn’t know if the girl in his dreams was real, or just a product of his imagination.
But he knew two things with absolute certainty. And so he wrote them on the door with his blood. Before he went back to sleep. It was gone when he woke. That was good. Because it meant they read it. That his captors saw the things he knew.
I am Kaie. I will be free.
1,421,268.
KAIE’S STORY CONTINUES IN:
Blood & Fire Saga Book #2: The Forgotten (Coming January 2018)
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Acknowledgments
First, we need to thank everyone else who helped me build this world. There are so many, and I don’t know names for at least half. But there are a few that deserve special attention: Kate C., Phil S. and Larina W., you guys breathed life into something flat and over–done. It’s only because of the unexpected (and in one case, terrifically traumatic) paths you took our world down that we have anything to write about at all. Kate especially; you poked, prodded, nagged and encouraged, whenever we needed it. We can’t even imagine where we would be without you.
Thanks to Nathan, who was under no obligation whatsoever. He spent hours picking apart every bit of this book. He says he was mean, but don’t you believe it. And to Lindsey Williams, our terrific editor. We came to you a bit late, but there is no question that you’ve brought out the best in this story.
Thank you Anthony, for being absolutely the best cheerleader anyone could hope for.
Finally, and most importantly, you. To everyone who’s gotten this far (and those who didn’t, but took a chance on us all the same) THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. There is nothing we could ever say or do that could touch how grateful we are.
About the Authors
Lyn lives in Kansas City, where it’s often far too sticky for her tastes. She spends entirely too much time there playing video games and watching Netflix. Sometimes even with people! She might be the only author you’ve ever heard of who doesn’t own a cat, but makes up for it by borrowing her best friend’s, who is named Beta Ray William III. Or just Bill for short.
When she was six years old, she met a girl younger than her who could read the whole menu at a restaurant, and she could barely spell her own name. That was just unacceptable. Within a month she was reading chapter books. Four years later she started writing a horrible story about vampire orphans. Since then, she's devoured just about every book she’s come across and found better things to write about.
She's a fan of amusing t–shirts, shiny new electronics, sci–fi TV shows, and cartoons. It’s also a safe bet that she’s into anything remotely dorky. And Batman. Especially Batman.
Michelle lives in New York. She is not amused by the moodiness of Mother Nature there. She has always loved writing and reading and started out writing poetry, of which only two were ever sent into poetry competitions. The first story she ever written will never get published, because she wrote it in grade school and it is full of angst and impossible things that somehow happen in the real world and is absolutely terrible. But that didn't stop her from trying (obviously).
She's a gamer and loves old school horror movies. She refuses to die unless Vincent Price comes to her as her Grim Reaper. She's also a fan of British television, because nothing causes so many feels as British television.
Table of Contents
Solution
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Vaughan
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Vaughan
Sixteen
Seventeen
/> Eighteen
Nineteen
Vaughan
Twenty
Twenty–One
Twenty–Two
Twenty–Three
Vaughan
Twenty–Four
Memories
KAIE’S STORY CONTINUES IN:
Acknowledgments
About the Authors