The world swooned around as he spun his left arm forward and a heavy metal door creaked open. The arm across the back of her legs moved, and she let off an involuntary yelp as her weight fell backwards. He caught her and guided her fall onto soft cushions. Althea knew it was a seat; a truck, she guessed, from how he had not stooped to put her inside. A hand on her knee pushed her legs in and she shivered as he reached across and secured some kind of strap over her. It pulled tight and crushed her hips into the cloth, and her wrists into her back.
“Ow.” She whimpered and squirmed in one last desperate attempt to get loose as the door slammed.
At least half of her life thus far been spent as a captive, but nothing had made her feel as helpless as she did at that moment. The blindfold was a scary twist she had not yet been unlucky enough to experience. The ability to see in the dark had left her always aware of her surroundings, always aware of which direction danger would come from―now all she had was blackness.
Still air inside the space carried the scent of wood smoke and flavored tobacco. The fabric against her legs felt soft, yet old. Carpeting, another new experience, teased at the tips of her toes when she strained to feel for ground. Helplessness changed her struggling into crying, and by the time the man opened the door on the other side, the blindfold had soaked through.
The vehicle rocked as he climbed in. “What are you cryin’ for?”
She turned her head towards him, trying to gawk at him for asking such an absurd thing. “You’re mean. I don’t want to go with you, and I hate being tied!” She surprised herself at the demanding tone in her voice as she yelled the last part.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Being mean?” The squirming was not getting her anywhere but sore.
He laughed again. What frightened her more than blindness was the lack of emotional radiance from this man. She knew people well enough to understand the sight of her in her current state should elicit some degree of emotion: Anger, pity, sorrow, greed, or the other one she so feared. To this man, it generated nothing at all. Not even the pleasure of finding a great prize. He seemed in no hurry to run off to whatever master he served, taking his sweet time fussing with something. Minutes later, the stink of pipe smoke carried the thick scent of clove to her. The man exhaled, took another drag, and let the air seep through his teeth.
“I hunt runaway slaves. Be happy you’re a special request; I don’t usually let the quarry ride up front.”
The seat beneath her filled with vibration as the machine came to life. “I’m not a slave.”
His dry chuckle slid under her skin and made her squirm. “I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. Regardless, I have a certain skill set that comes in handy tracking people down.”
She tried her best to sound demure. “Please untie me; I promise I won’t run.”
The rasp of a chuckle came again, strengthening the reek of clove. “Oh, I’ve never heard that before. Nice try, kid, but I ain’t gonna take the chance.”
He ignored her begging and thrashing for several minutes. She slumped forward and bawled. When that failed to elicit any form of response, verbal, emotional, or otherwise, Althea tried one last thing.
“I hate this. Will you please put me in a cage instead?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Nawp. That’s not a natural thing to ask; you’re sneakin’ up to somethin’. You can stay just like that. It’ll only take us a day and such to get there.”
She slouched, the thought of being helpless for so long made her sick. Already, her hands and feet felt numb. “Why did you tie my face?”
“Two reasons.” His voice tinged with a hint of fatigue; he did not seem to like talking with his prey. “One, they glow. The natives out here’ll recognize who you are and create problems. That’s for their benefit so I don’t have to kill a dozen people on the way to Vegas.”
“Vegas?”
“Town called Vegas, north o’ here a ways. It’s where The Freddy runs his place.”
“What’s the other reason?” Her voice grew smaller.
“Yer one of them psionics. Don’t want’cha messin’ with my brain. Gotta look into my eyes for that, and I ain’t havin’ it.”
“You know psionics?”
“Aye.” He exhaled again. “You Scrags think its magic.”
Althea shivered in her seat, unable to contain the fear that gripped her. “Please take it off for a little while. I’m scared. I promise I won’t do anything.”
A minute passed in silence before the desperation in her voice paid off. “Fine. But…” He hooked a finger under the rough cloth against the side of her head. “You keep your face pointed forward or to the side. I catch you looking at me even a little bit, I’m gonna hit you so hard you won’t wake up until Vegas. If I even think you’re trying some of that psio crap, you’re gonna hurt like you’ve never known pain.”
“Okay.” She looked to her right, trembling.
He tugged the blindfold down, leaving it draped around her neck. Terrain zoomed by outside. The bizarre, out-of-place forest was long gone, replaced by a field of sand-brown blurs broken by the occasional flash of a piece of scrub. Careful not to look at him, she ventured a glance ahead at the road. It led off in a perfect straight line before diving into the creeping flames of the setting sun shimmering across the horizon.
After shifting to force blood into her numb hands, she put her feet up on the dashboard, trying to find some way to get comfortable. She studied the knot between her ankles, wincing as she jostled from the motion of the ride. The pressure made the veins in the tops of her feet bulge more than usual. Her attempt to wriggle some blood flow past the bindings left footprints in the dust. Althea gave up and sank against the door, watching the terrain blur past. She looked up from the ground at a mirror bolted to the door, which offered a view of three metal boxes in the truck bed. Scraps of cloth covered bars at the ends of cramped one-person cages. She stared down at her lap, feeling stupid for running away. No fight remained in her. She marveled at how exhausted she was, yet still, sleep stayed so far away.
“You look tired, kid. You should rest. The Freddy’s got a lot of work for you.”
The castoff glow from her eyes sank onto her extended legs. “What does he want?”
The man leaned back in his seat, smiling. “He’s got himself a nice little stable of whores.” He cackled at the face she made. “No… You’re the Prophet, right? That’s not why he wants you.”
He pulled her chin toward him, and she almost wet the seat when she made eye contact with him, remembering his threat.
He appraised her before shoving her away. “Course in a couple of years you’re gonna be a god damned looker.”
Althea cowered away, hoping he did not think she tried anything. “What does he want me for?”
“See, whores tend to pick up all sorts of nasty things, but they keep the gamblers happy. The Freddy likes happy gamblers, so he needs healthy whores. The Freddy wants you to keep them clean. His men get shot up now and then, too.”
“He’s going to keep me in a cage.” Althea pouted.
“That depends, I suppose.” The man leaned out the window, tapping his spent pipe on the outside of the door.
“Depends?”
“On iff’n you accept his offer. Slave or employee dependin’ on how you answer.” He sucked something out of his teeth. “I suggest you say yes. No one says ‘no’ to The Freddy.”
She relaxed. It was the same old routine. They were still bandits and raiders even if they had fancy names and fancy huts. They were still men. Men with minds; as soon as she got where this man took her, she would force them to let her go. Her current companion gave her a dreadful feeling, but she would not allow herself to be owned again. Something about this person frightened her into not wanting to influence him, but The Freddy would have a change of heart and let her go. If the whores were slaves, she would take them with her. The thought of freeing another harem made her miss her friends.
> “It will be dark to you soon.” She looked to the right, out the passenger window.
“Yep. T’will.” He still sounded emotionless.
“I can see at night. Want me to drive?” The silly suggestion came out before she thought it through.
She was not even sure how to work this metal beast.
He laughed, and patted her on the leg. “Again, nice try, kid. I almost like you.”
Pushing her feet into the dashboard, she tried to slide out of the over-tightened seatbelt. “If you crash and get hurt, I will not be able to get out or touch you to make your hurt go away.” The suggestion of her being trapped in a wreck still failed to provoke any kind of emotion.
His silence was ominous.
“If I’m dead, you won’t get paid.”
He glanced at her with a frown. “All right, I’ll give you that.”
Fifteen or so minutes later, the truck came to a halt at the side of the road, near a small decaying building standing alone in the expansive nothingness. Four smashed metal objects in a neat row beneath a collapsed slab of roof told her it was something once called a gas station.
“Is the beast hungry?” She made it a point to keep looking away.
“Relax kid, I ain’t like that.”
“What?” She looked at him before she realized she did, and then ducked away with a whimper. “I mean the metal beast.”
Althea was too worried about his reaction to her unintended eye contact to care what he meant. When he reached for her, she tensed, but he only tugged the rag back into place over her eyes and tightened it.
Blind again.
He laughed, still a sinister sound that made her feel cold. “It doesn’t eat gas. It’s not as ancient as it looks. Besides, old fuel don’t last that long. Nothin’ left here but dust.”
“Raiders use it,” she mumbled.
“Alcohol. They pour the same shit in their buggies that they drink.” Finally, emotion surfaced―disgust. “Cretins. We’re gonna sleep outside so I can hear if shit tries to sneak up on us.”
The man got out of the truck; she jumped when the door slammed. Boots scraped over concrete slabs, around to her door. A rush of warmth chased away the stagnant smoky air inside the cabin. Althea could not help but tremble as he leaned in over her, but exhaled with relief as the belt released her with a faint metallic click. Again, she went over his shoulder, but only for a short time while he collected something from the truck bed and carried her for a few paces.
Gravity upended itself. He set her down against a square metal pole she remembered holding up the roof over the pumps, the painted steel neither warm nor cold against her back. None too gently, he wound a few coils of rope about her chest and snugged it through her armpits.
When she realized she was to spend the night tied to the post, she cried. “Why are you so mean to me? Please don’t do this. What if the bugs find me? What if you die in your sleep? Please, put me in one of the cages. Nothing can get me in there.”
She heard him walk away, ignoring her mewling. She wriggled and tried to stand, but the cord around her chest snagged on something after an inch. Her feet slipped forward, dropping her back to the ground.
He laughed at her from a short distance away. “You Scrags sure don’t give up. Maybe that’s why you’re still around out here.”
“Please, mister… I’m scared. I can’t see if anything is coming over to eat me. I don’t want to die.” She could not stop squirming.
A gravelly sigh slid from his throat. “Calm down. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch ya. I don’t usually sleep.”
She stayed quiet for a few minutes, listening to him reload his pipe and light up. Out here, the scent of it came in small traces. After some time, discomfort made itself known, and she lifted her head. “I have to make water.”
Crinkling plastic preceded the sound of munching. “So make it.”
His mouth sounded full.
“Let me out?” She waved her head back and forth trying to face him.
“Heh. I’ve been trackin’ runaways for longer than you been alive. Don’t cha think I’ve heard that one before, too? If’n you gotta go, go. Yer already filthy; little more gunk won’t change ‘damn thing.”
Not being able to walk off and go made the need to do it stronger. “I’m not lying. I really have to.”
Scratches dragged in the dirt as his boots came closer. She felt him inches away, his face hovering in front of hers, and wondered if he could see blue spots through the cloth.
His breath caressed her cheek with the warm rot of dead meat. “Nice try, kiddo. If I had a sack of coins for every slave that tried the ‘gotta pee’ routine, I could give up runnin’ all over.”
Her voice came a hair’s breadth above a whisper. “Don’t make me sit in it… Please.” The pole refused to allow her to lean away from him.
“Not that I’d give up this life.” A series of pats on the cheek became a harsh pinch of her jaw as he trapped it between his thumb and forefinger, pushing her head against the hollow steel with a bell-like ring. “I love to hear them beg.”
The crushing hand let go, seconds later replaced by a harsh slap that knocked her head to the side; her hands could not cover the stinging hurt. She cried. This man had an emotion now―pleasure.
“Oh… one more thing.”
His leather glove tightened around her throat and squeezed. She strained but could not move, could not see, and could not breathe. Terrified, every muscle in her body tensed.
His lips parted, a finger width away, speaking in a dawdling placid tone that slid into her ear like a disgusting tendril. “If’n you make one little noise and attract anything over here during the night, I’m going to teach you what happens to slaves that don’t listen. Trust me, you don’t want me to. I’m startin’ ta like you… I’d almost feel bad.”
He let go with a contemptuous shove, leaving her to cough on the inrush of desperately needed air as he walked away.
She did not have to make water any more.
ilence surrounded the old gas station save for the rusty creak of a piece of roof drifting in the intermittent wind. Althea shivered, not having even breathed loud enough to be heard for several minutes. The breeze set something above her ringing against the pole, an unmelodic sound that kept time with her heart. Tightness gripping her wrists and ankles reminded her of the ruse from Vakkar’s camp. Tied to a post for real, she wondered if this was fate’s revenge on her for lying.
Until she had met this man, the cruelest thing done to her was being stuck in a cage too small to let her stand, unable to reach a dying man. No one dared strike the Prophet, much less threaten to choke her. Everyone wanted to control her, but she realized now they had all been afraid of her or at least the stories. Everyone that owned her had really been frightened of what she would do if she got angry.
This man was different.
A choice of lesser evils. Though, she would much prefer a too-small cage to being blind, immobile, and completely at the mercy of such an awful man―or whatever else could come wandering by and find her like this. A cage, at least, kept as much out as it kept her in. The shape of his hand still burned along her cheek and she tried to swallow away the soreness from having her neck squeezed. She wanted Den or Rachel to come save her, but worried what this evil man with his strange gun would do to them.
“You’re evil.” She tugged at her hands, voice but a whisper. “You can’t let me sit in it all night.”
The sound of boots came before the cool touch of his coat upon her legs. “Open wide.”
Althea shivered, terrified of what he wanted to do to her.
“Why,” was stuffed back down her throat as a crumbly thing jammed its way through her teeth and flooded her mouth with the flavor of peanuts. It reawakened her starvation; ever since she healed the dog, she had been famished. She half choked on it, trying to chew far more than she should have taken in one bite. Enough remained packed in her cheeks to muffle a scream when cold water fell
in her lap.
“Maybe you weren’t lyin’ bout havin’ ta piss.” A metal pail rattled somewhere in the terrifying blindness. “Still not riskin’ it; yer worth too much. Can’t be too careful with you psionic types. All it’d take is one second o’ starin at me, and you’d have me offin’ myself. Still hungry?”
Althea mumbled through the peanut substance. “Mm hmmf.”
“Eat up.” He patted her on the cheek, lightly this time. “And don’t make a damn noise.”
She shrank away, waiting for the slap, but he did not. When the second nutrient bar touched her chin, she bit it, holding onto it with her lips while her teeth picked at it. If she dropped it, she knew he would let it stay in her lap all night.
Some men just have to die, said Rachel’s voice in her mind.
This was the most frightened Althea had ever been. Trembles ran down her body and her arms and legs rocked with her subconscious need to free herself. Swallowing the last of the ration, she lifted her knees to her face and tried to lick the wet from her skin. The food had been so dry. Her shirt was soaked, and she wanted to wring it out and drink. Asking for water would require speaking, and her fear at making noise mutated into anger at being treated like this.
Wriggling like a fish on a hook had thus far served only to make the rope dig in and hurt, and left her no closer to freedom than begging had. This man aside, the Badlands had enough dangerous things roaming about. She had all she could do to rein in blind panic. Anything at all could come by and make a meal of her, and she could do nothing about it. The cord across her chest crushed her into the metal pole, and the warm concrete upon which she sat had already started to hurt since she could not shift her weight. Despite the complete exhaustion she drifted in, sleep would not come easy.
The agate bounced against her chest as she struggled, reminding her of Den. Her body fell slack; the rope kept her from falling over as despair came. She wanted him to save her, wanted to be with him. Panic reached a crescendo, made worse by her dread at what would happen if she released the scream so desperate to get out of her lungs. Her mind voice shrieked out into the darkness, begging anything or anyone for help. Second to being wifed, being tied was her deepest fear, and that was before she knew about blindfolds.
Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) Page 16