“Nope. Can’t say I have seen anyone out here as of late. She’s not with me!”
The man, a sturdy, bald-headed fellow dressed in woodland colors, looked at Miggie, his buddies looking on. “She?” he contemplated. “How did you know it was a female? Never said that.”
Another of the men, this one shorter with a full red beard, yelled, “Are you harboring her, crazy lady?”
Miggie shook her head. “No. There is no one here. Come look for yourselves.”
The men barged in, ransacking the place, then went outside to look. The place was an overgrown mess, the garden all over the place. The leader called out, “We’d be searching for hours out here.” He turned to Miggie, who stood in the door, watching, and pointed at her. “You’d better not be lying.”
They searched for fifteen minutes, finding nothing.
The red-headed guy announced, “There's no one about. I don't see any signs of anyone . . . Wait.” He picked up two teacups. “What do we have here?”
Miggie knew they were in trouble, so she ran out the door to get them all to follow.
The first man, who she now saw had a noticeable crooked ear, grabbed her wrist from behind. Miggie immediately rotated her arm inward and pulled it free.
The bald guy growled. “Oh, so you're going to resist, huh? If that’s the way you want it, devil, you got it!”
The redhead pulled out a curved knife with a thick blade. “You want some of this, freaky lady? I'll slice you into a million pieces.”
A tall, skinny guy took a fighting stance, but it just made Miggie smirk.
The woman grabbed a well-placed walking stick, which was leaning against a tree, and took a real fighting stance.
The last of the four seemed to be the quiet, tough type. He had earrings in both ears and a strange nose piercing. He squinted a bit at the sunlight as he looked at the black woman.
“She knows something,” he announced.
The redhead added, “I think it's time we teach this voodoo woman a stinking lesson. Then throw her into the river for the eels.”
The one with the crooked ear brushed sweat from his shiny head, then pulled out a set of brass knuckles, sliding them over the fingers of his right hand, lifting it up and pointing at the black woman. “Tell us where she is or you’ll feel some real pain. Maybe you should call your spirits to come help you.” He laughed.
Everyone turned to see the cabin door swing open, the young Mystical Slayer charging forward. “One spirit, at your service!” She jumped and kicked one in the chest, sending him flying.
The old woman tried to wave her off, but it did no good.
Karma pulled out her blade and sliced the lankiest of the four across his legs. She was quick. Really quick!
The redhead and his knife came at Miggie. She slapped his hand with her staff, then his leg. He buckled in pain, then straightened, even more in a rage. He drove the knife right at her face, but she again slapped it away and spun the stick to hit him in the temple. He crumpled to the grass.
The last guy tried to hit her with his brass knuckles, but Miggie slid out of the way and swept her stick behind his feet, pulling up, knocking him to his backside. She then thrust her staff into an eye socket. He was out like a light as well.
The one still conscious scrambled up from the ground and ran off down the river’s edge.
Miggie looked about at the other three, all seriously hurt and bleeding. “Oh boy. Look what we’ve done. You really need to leave. There’s no time now. With what we have done, they will kill us both.”
Karma nodded. “But you're going to have to come with me now. There’s no way around it. I can't leave you here.”
The black woman smiled. “You’re a queen, young lady.” She then blew out a breath, frustrated. “Hopefully we can come back so your friends can make a difference in this crazy place. Let me just grab a couple things.”
The women headed back to the cabin. Miggie explained how she knew people who would help them. They had their own boats and would take them back to the inland . . . for a price.
They started on their way soon enough, jumping streams, ducking overgrown vegetation, pushing aside cattails. Miggie warned, “Watch out for snakes. They love this swampy area.”
They soon came to a little boating community. Miggie told Karma to wait as she went up a large dock and made her dealings to get them safe passage across the bay.
Karma looked around, eyes narrowing. Some of the people here were missing limbs, others eyes, ears and fingers. All tried to cover it up, but she saw the truth.
She wanted to scream out, but there were no words. She took it all in and realized that there was no better place for her than with the sisterhood. There truly was strength in numbers, just like Jansa always reminded everyone.
She now wished to be back with them more than ever.
As her mind went to thinking of Gavin, Karma knew the overbearing issues the sisters faced daily sometimes got in the way of emotions one would expect, like being sad over the young man’s tragic death. It could make one feel isolated, like she had. She now knew they cared.
Glancing up, she saw a flyer above her, zooming in. This can’t be good, she thought, yet she had no time to run.
It landed near the dock in an open, sandy area. She wanted to either run to her new friend or back into the woods, but she just kind of just stood there, paralyzed for a moment.
Looking back at the ship, she was shocked to see Barb Deville and Juan walking out of it. This time, they did not have their men with them, but cyborgs. They raised their guns at her as the woman yelled.
“Do not move, kid, or you will be shot down.”
Karma snapped out of her trance and ran for the woods as fast as she could.
They did not shoot at her, but the cyborgs gave chase. She ran for a good fifteen minutes before scrambling behind a tree to catch her breath. She peeked around the trunk, then felt a sharp pain in her head before her world faded to black.
On the boat, Miggie heard all the commotion. She had no choice but to dive into the water so as not to endanger the people talking with her.
Chapter 4
When Karma awoke, she was strapped to the back of one of the island’s trucks heading down a wide dirt road. Barb Deville slid the back window open and looked at her.
“Just who do you think you are? You come here and think you know what we're doing, but you know very little. Being this rambunctious, well . . . It leaves us no choice but to deal with your antics.”
Karma fired back, her mouth not covered, “What you are doing is sick! No matter what you people think, no one has the right to take parts from people's bodies . . . whether their parents agree or not. You know as well as I do that these kids do not willingly agree to this. You won't get away with it.”
“You’re a sassy little one, aren’t you?” Barb smirked. “We'll get away with anything we want. There is safety in numbers. This is what we've created here, and sad to say, young lady, you're going to be right in the middle of it. Someone's going to want some piece of you. Before, I might have groomed you as a leader here. Your willpower is impressive. But now, I'm going to let the highest bidder take what they want. You probably have some fresh legs, maybe some firm thighs. Perhaps the women here would like those cat-like eyes of yours.”
Karma just shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. What had she done? Why had she ever left home?
They eventually pulled up to a long building and carried her inside. They passed several small operating-like rooms. In one room, she spotted a man, perhaps in his late fifties, having an arm placed into his shoulder socket. The doctors heard the commotion in the hall, turning in their masked faces to look out, and then one quickly shut the door.
Karma was placed in a holding cell.
Late morning the next day, they came for her. One of the guards, who had long black hair, threw her a gown. “Put this on. You’re about to go up on the auction block. I guess you're special. They’re not going to
wait for a normal night. It’s going down now.”
He then pulled out a cow prod, making electricity shoot out of it. A second guard appeared in the hall, brandishing a machine gun. He grinned at her.
“Don't try anything. I don't want to have to shoot you.”
As they opened her cell and grabbed her by the wrist, she resisted, so they zapped her. Karma still fought, being shocked in the side of the neck multiple times.
Finally able to pull her arms free, she raised an elbow into one’s teeth, then kneed him in his inner thigh as he fell to his knees, releasing the prod.
His buddy came up, pointing his machine gun at Karma’s face. “Stop, or I fire.”
Karma raised her hands.
The other guy groaned as he climbed to his feet. “I think you knocked out my front tooth.”
The men dragged her down the hallway, gun pointed at her head. Just as they rounded a corner, a tall, lean black man appeared.
The guard with the gun said, “Josiah, what are you doing here? Get out of the way.”
The dark-skinned man shook his head. “I can't do that. This has to stop.”
The long-haired guard pointed his cow prod at Josiah. “That's not how it works, big man. Move aside. Don’t make me slap you with this thing.”
Josiah moved just a bit to the side. As they tried to pass by, he grabbed the cow prod right from the guard’s hand and zapped it into the other one, who shook about, dropping his gun. Karma knew it was her chance and strode to the gun holder, head-butting his face. He staggered back.
The remaining guard backed away from Josiah. Karma kicked him square in the balls. With a groan of pain, he crumpled to the floor as she turned to her rescuer.
Josiah grabbed her by the hand. “You must come with me. Miggie, my wife, is waiting for you. Hurry. Please.”
As they ran down the hall, he took her to a side door, then they ran down another hall to the back door, shoving it open.
“Follow me,” he said as they ran down a dirt trail. “Run like the wind!”
Karma began to feel like she had come to this island for exercise. She ran everywhere. When she heard sirens going off, she forced herself to run faster.
“I know who you are,” she panted, “and your wife is so sad to have lost you though all this.”
“Yes, I know. I have made wrong decisions. They were for a good reason, but I couldn't let it happen to you. I couldn’t.”
When they came upon Miggie waiting on the path, they embraced, and Karma thanked him for doing this.
“We can talk more soon. Let’s go,” said Josiah. “We have to keep moving.”
He led them down a path, soon reaching another side path. Josiah shoved away brush to open the trail for them to pass by.
At the river's edge, a large rope, connected to trees on either side, ran across the entire length of water.
Josiah tested the rope and turned to the ladies. “Grab hold of the riding ring and I’ll shove you across.”
Miggie looked at her husband. “We will all go.” Then they began crossing.
First Karma, then Miggie and Josiah made their way across, just when some of their pursuers came to the edge. They began firing. Before Josiah had made it, he was shot in the back.
“Ayyyhhhhhh,” he cried out, as did his wife. The shots kept coming. Slowly, he lost his grip and fell into the flowing water below.
Once Karma and Miggie got to the other side, they looked down, neither seeing Josiah’s body anymore.
Having no choice, they ran on, eventually coming to a boat. An older fellow with a drooping mustache and wearing a large-brimmed cowboy hat stood waiting.
The black woman shook her head to make it known that Josiah did not make it. The man frowned, then spit tobacco juice onto the ground.
“Sorry, Miggie. Consider this the favor I owe him. He was a good man. I know what he did was for your daughter, not himself.” He ushered them onto the boat. “Get in and let’s get out of here.” Both women kept looking to the sky, waiting for something to fly after them, seeing nothing.
Forty minutes later, they neared the far shoreline.
As they walked onto shore, the man tipped his hat and sailed off.
Miggie began to babble, saying Josiah was a good man and they had a daughter, which was why he felt like he had to work for them. Karma just listened.
As they began walking back to Washington, Karma learned that Miggie’s daughter was currently being held prisoner. Now she really did understand her new friend’s dilemma.
It was a long walk back home, but one that found Karma realizing that the long road away from home had led her back, and there was nowhere she’d rather be.
She turned to Miggie. “We'll go back. I promise. We will find your daughter and stop what those people are doing.”
The woman tried to smile through the pain of losing Josiah. Who were these women Karma spoke of? These so-called Mystical Slayers? She could only hope that this sisterhood was all the young woman had spoken of—strong, courageous and compassionate.
Karma couldn’t wait to send her sisters to this dreaded isle.
The two of them walked down the road.
The End
About Michael W. Huard
Michael W. Huard lives in beautiful Maine. He’s a second-generation martial artist, Dungeons & Dragons game master, and a huge fan of the Boston Celtics. His debut novel, LAND of the FREE, is a female-empowered dystopian, futuristic, fantasy tale that is gathering rave reviews all over the world.
The Mystical Slayers
To check out the “Mystical Slayers” book series, head on over to Amazon.
Come and say hello on . . .
The Pod
Chris Ward
Young Lemmet Wells leads a simple existence of childhood survival, avoiding the local bullies and living out his fantasies in the woods around his home. Then one day he finds something buried under his favorite tree, something that may have come from the future or the past, and may or may not be connected to the growing unrest that seems to be taking over his town.
Dad had two voices, angry and post-angry. This was a new one, however, a kind of high-pitched wail that almost didn’t seem angry at all, but more a voicing of his desperation.
“They’ve pushed it though! I can’t believe they’ve pushed it through!”
Lemmet Wells didn’t understand what Dad meant. Mom was in there with him, patting him on the shoulder, trying to wrap her arms around his waist when he would stand still long enough, but Dad was in a circling mood, marching around the room with an intent look on his face that suggested the carpet had done him a personal slight and would be worn through for its troubles.
Standing in the corner of the room, the TV flickered, its sound down, like a mediator that was ignored.
“People won’t stand for it,” Mom was saying, her hands moving intermittently from her hips to her chin and back. “You can’t just segregate people like that.”
Lemmet didn’t know what “segregate” meant, but it sounded important. And since he never felt important when his parents were having some big discussion, he turned and headed down the steps and through the garden, into the trees beyond.
Muirford was called a village but was actually more of a town. The main street stretched between two hills that mirrored each other in an S-curve, with a river following alongside it and little roads leading off into the forested hills on either side. The Wells family home was at the end of one such road, perhaps half a mile from the town’s central artery, on a steep section of hill that had squeezed their property into a thin rectangle reaching around a curve in the hillside. If Lemmet ran more than a couple of hundred meters into the forest, he was completely out of sight of his parents’ small house, and with a quick shimmy up a nearby pine he could get a panoramic view of the valley below.
He had a favorite tree for this. It was a redwood pine, just thin enough that he could stretch his arms around it and touch his fingertips on the other side. H
e had been able to do this as long as he could remember, and it had only recently occurred to him that while yes, the tree was growing, so too was he, but perhaps one day one or the other of them might stretch ahead.
The tree he had named Savior. At church Mom always told him that the Savior was the one who would one day absolve the world of its sins (whatever they were), which made it a fitting name for a tree that had saved him in his direst moment.
Unlike most of the surrounding plants, at some point Savior had been caught in a storm and blown half over, part of its root system ripped out of the ground, so that it now angled skyward at a little over sixty degrees. With a running start, it was possible to climb the tree by kicking off at the trunk’s base and propelling oneself far enough to get a handhold on the lowest branches. From there you could climb right out until the foliage of the surrounding trees hid your presence from anyone on the ground.
The Wells’ property bordered that of the Cales’, which was just along the hill and down, as Dad would have said. Jim Cale was alcoholic and trigger-happy, which was something of a contradiction in Lemmet’s view because the other alcoholics he knew (Mom’s sister, Helen, and his best friend Mark’s dad) were a long way from anything resembling happy.
Jim Cale had two sons, Ben and Jim Junior, both of whom rarely lasted a week at a time in Muirford Elementary without getting sent home or kept late. Both were cabbage-brained but had fists as hard as their skulls and an absence of judgment as to when it was best to use them.
It wouldn’t be right to call them bullies, because if Lemmet stayed out of their way they left him alone. They rarely even bothered him in the corridors at school, perhaps giving him a casual push into his locker or a couple of lame insults they had probably got from TV, but it was nothing personal.
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