Highlander's Love: Winter Solestice (Against All Odds Series 3)

by Veronica Wilson

  I’m not going down without a fight, you poor excuse for a household appliance!

  Opening the holster on the side of her right leg, Cynthia reached for her pistol. But at that moment, the full extent of her injuries rose up and hit her right in the face. The pain in her right shoulder was so intense that she practically fell to the ground. Shivering, her right hand flat-out refused to raise the pistol she was grasping.

  So it seems that my right shoulder is dislocated…

  On the verge of panic, she observed the metallic thing that stared back at her through that ominous, glowing eye. Her heart rate intensified up to the point where it seemed that it was just about to leap out of her chest. Then, all of a sudden, it slowed down as she came to a realization. Small arms fire was, for the most part, completely ineffective against cats.

  Dislocated shoulder or not, it’s taking me with it either way…

  Now ready to face her fate, Cynthia stared into the blank face of the enemy, its eye glowing brighter and brighter.

  The knockout beam, everyone called it. A target hit by the focused ray of light suffered complete shutdown of the nervous system with the exception of certain parts of the brain. Scientists speculated that this was done to enable greater efficiency in capturing humans. Had the beam shut down the entire brain, subjects would suffer brain damage within minutes—not that the process worked perfectly the way it was. People were found from time to time, those hit by the weapon but not taken by the invaders. The results were not pretty. The unconscious state they were put in did not pass by itself. For that, medical attention was necessary. Without it, victims of the knockout beam faced severe brain damage within twenty-four hours, or death from starvation and thirst within several days.

  I guess I’m about to find out just what that’s like, Cynthia tried to comfort herself with some quick humor. Averting her eyes due to the light having become too intense, she mentally prepared herself for the inevitable blast.

  The blast that never happened.

  Surprised, she turned to face the cat again, noticing that the light’s intensity had significantly diminished. Before her stood the mechanical creature, its focus disrupted, apparently trapped in some sort of electrical web. Mercilessly, the bolts of lightning that had ensnared it (not unlike a spider’s web) ravaged the thing’s body and made it convulse as if with some sort of seizure.

  Faster and faster the cat kept twitching, struggling against its restraints all the while. The episode lasted for several seconds, and the unsettling spectacle almost kept Cynthia from noticing the strange figure that stood in the background. It was dressed in a ragged black cloak, its hood lowered over its face.

  The Hood.

  She didn’t have much time to ponder the implications of the new arrival. Apparently in agony (or whatever passed for agony to robots) the cat let out an ear-piercing screech, drawing Cynthia’s attention back to it. A moment later it fell to the ground, its eye not glowing anymore.

  Relieved, Cynthia felt the stress leave her. In its place there came an even greater quantity of all-consuming pain. Surprised by the pain’s sudden arrival, she took a quick look at her shoulder. Instead of the usual, slender joint, there was a mass of misshapen, swollen tissue.

  I guess it was worse than I thought.

  Faced with a horrific view she wouldn’t even expect to see in a movie, let alone on her own body, Cynthia Greene blacked out. The sight of the Hood approaching was the last thing in her memory.

  An unknown location

  She could not remember the nightmare nor even what it was about. All that remained was a persistent sense of dread accompanying her as she woke.

  Reflexively she turned toward her injured right shoulder, the unpleasant sight from before she had fainted still fresh in her memory.

  Someone bandaged it up. The swelling is mostly gone as well.

  Letting out a single sigh of relief, Cynthia felt how dry her mouth was. After that sensation came another—the scent of freshly prepared stew. Sweet and powerful, the aroma completely overtook her senses. Much more importantly, it awakened her interest in her surroundings.

  Turning to face every direction like a disoriented animal, Cynthia tried to analyze the place. She had been placed on a bed, an old and squeaky type, yet still quite comfortable. The floor, the ceiling, and the walls were all crudely made of stone, signifying that she was in some sort of cave. The illumination was provided by several neon lights, tossed around in no particular order. Then she noticed something that didn’t belong in such a place by any means: cables.

  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, too. 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 some
thing. 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.