“Do you know how to kill them?” I ask the duo who has followed me from my sister’s burial. It became evident they were Nectorian after hours of one of them droning on about the dangers of following these monsters and what they have done to others of their kind. The men are blank slates to me, but from what I have found, the majority of Nectorian are relatively kind and decent. These brothers don’t seem to be an exception, though I’d be lying if I say I haven’t remained alert to even their most insignificant movements.
“Kill them?” Jebadyah gawks. He is evidently the most vocal of the pair, impressed with hearing his own voice at all times, day and night. It wasn’t even an hour into our journey until he told me his name, Jebadyah, and his far less chatty brother’s name, Abdul. While it has gotten annoying at times, he distracts me from my thoughts, in turn keeping me relatively sane. “None of us can kill them. They can kill each other without a problem, and a few of our kind can kill them, but to us they are invincible.”
I wait for the man’s brother to chip in, but as I have found, he is not a big talker. The only time I have heard his voice is whenever he agreed to enact revenge. “How do they kill each other?” I ask.
“How much do you know about the origin of both Nectorians and Szorians?” Jebadyah asks. I simply shrug.
“The origin is unimportant. I just need to know what kills them and why,” I state bluntly. All that matters is revenge, and while knowing some information will be helpful, I am uninterested in another history lesson about our friendly—and not so friendly—neighborhood aliens.
“We have nearly the same abilities as the Szorians. But where we were forged from a lighter material and raised with morals and boundaries, our counterparts were created to be darker in every way. I’m sure you’ve seen their true form at some point and it is much darker than ours. Some of us believe their forms grow darker with each life they take, but I believe they were born dark and corrupt,” Jebadyah states. I turn my head and take in his indifferent features. It seems that speaking about his mortal enemy doesn’t impact him in the least.
“That means nothing to me,” I reply coldly. My voice shocks me, but I keep my mask on my face, refusing to erase the look of determination.
Jebadyah doesn’t take my disinterest to heart as he continues speaking. “While it’s in our nature to heal, it is in the Szorians nature to destroy. We are one in the same, but complete opposites. Yin and yang, darkness and light, or whatever else you can think to compare us to. We are one in the same, but the Szorians ability to destroy outdoes ours. It’s why they are stronger. It is why only some of us can defeat them, and of course why they can defeat each other.”
I tilt my head and fall back, walking alongside Jebadyah. “I don’t understand,” I admit.
“I’m sorry. Let me explain more thoroughly. You know how Nectorians have the ability to heal, correct?” I nod and Jebadyah uses his hands to continue explaining, though the gestures are irrelevant and frankly pointless. “Szorians have an ability almost opposite to ours. They have the potential to devour, or that’s how we see it. We can put a piece of ourselves into a being to add to his or her life force, giving the person additional energy to heal themselves more quickly. We don’t actually heal, but we have more of a life force, thus giving us the ability to transfer it to someone else and heal them. It is also why we recover so quickly. That additional power drives our own bodies to heal quickly. When we use it to treat someone else, it takes time for it to replenish.”
Jebadyah’s explanation makes sense, but it doesn’t tell me what I need to know. Before I can speak, he continues. “So, say I were to heal you right now. I am transferring the additional force into you and making myself more susceptible to life-threatening injury, because it takes time to replenish the energy and allow me to heal myself. This additional power is theoretically the reason we are good and morally secure. The Szorians function the opposite way. They lack life force and steal an individual’s energy upon touch. Much like healing, they must choose to do it. It’s an option to drain an individual, not directly triggered by physical contact, but their ability causes the host pain and drains him or her of the very thing that makes a person human. It is also theoretically why they aren’t ‘good’ per say. They don’t have enough of a life force to be good. They must take someone else’s to heal quickly or even act human.”
I shake my head, processing what I am being told. “This doesn’t tell me how to kill them,” I state. I won’t admit it, but I enjoy knowing how they tick and why they are so cruel.
“I’m getting there. You should be aware of everything if you plan on destroying them.” I understand his logic, but won’t admit it to him. Abdul stands slightly behind us, listening to his brother without interruption. “As always, it is a choice for us to heal and Szorians to absorb, and I’m sure some don’t. Our energy is like a gas tank. Humans fall at a full tank, we overflow with the force and Szorians have about a half a tank. If they pilfer energy, they can heal quickly and the host from whom they take the energy won’t feel the impact. Your friend, the one that helped free us from the camp, lived like that. He pilfered enough to keep himself full of the life force and to keep each of you undrained.”
“You two were kept in the camp?” I ask, realizing that I hadn’t known their part in this journey.
“We were held by Abdul’s bounded mate,” Jebadyah says with a shrug. “But that doesn't matter. A few of us have more energy than the others and these are considered warriors. They are the ones who you can trust to kill the Szorians.”
“How do you know if someone is a warrior and how do you find one?” I ask.
“They are typically larger and almost always men. There are a few exceptions, but for the most part this is the case. They have more of the life force, which enables them to heal more easily and have better grasp of their abilities. Most of them can transfer enough energy to a person to not only heal extensive injuries, but to control their minds. A few non-warriors can do these things, but it is highly uncommon,” Jebadyah explains. I reminisce on the female Nectorian whom I was unable to save. She claimed to be too weak to be able to use the mind control. Was it because she used her energy to heal herself or because she didn’t have the ability?
“Can’t all of you heal a person?” I ask.
Jebadyah shakes his head. “We can each heal minor injuries—maybe a scrape or a bruise—but it takes a lot of energy from us to heal. The energy we give away is energy we are unable to use to protect ourselves, but even if we gave away all of our excess energy, it wouldn't heal a significant injury.”
“Can you heal only your soul mates?” I ask, recalling that Hayden had treated a life-threatening injury on me at one point.
“No, of course not. If our soul mate is gravely injured, we can transfer more energy to them. If they are near death, we can still do our best to transfer enough energy, but we can’t heal only them. On the other hand, if someone other than our soul mate is on their deathbed, there is nothing that can be done, warrior or not. We can’t heal the practically dead, no matter how much energy a Nectorian has. A person’s body just won’t accept foreign energy at a certain point, unless of course it is from a soul mate,” Jebadyah explains.
I look at the ground and sigh. There really wasn’t anything that Hayden could do for Charlie, and Ross could not heal her, even if he wanted to above all else. “What if a Nectorian’s soul mate was shot and her heart stopped beating, but he still healed her to the point of no injury and still had enough energy to appear healthy?” I ask. Hayden had healed me when I was practically dead.
“That Nectorian would be an incredibly powerful warrior, because I have never heard of that being done,” Jebadyah responds.
My breath catches in my throat. “And warriors are the only ones able to face the Szorians?” I clarify.
“Other than royalty, warriors are our only hope,” Jebadyah state, confirming my greatest fears. A lump forms in my throat and I find myself unable to breathe for a m
oment. Why is it that everyone I love is directly in the path of death.
“I know where to find warriors,” Abdul says, shocking both his brother and me. “But if we keep following the Szorians, it looks like they are heading in that direction.” His voice is clipped and masculine, but if he knows where to find the people who will destroy the Szorians, I will follow him to the ends of the earth. Going back for Hayden is the last thing I will consider doing, even if it does sway the odds in our favor. I can’t lose him, too.
*****
Chapter 4
Mary
Mary stands in the middle of the nearest abandoned town, Red by her side. This is the first time she has ever done anything of the sort alone. She is terrified of running into Szorians or cannibal problems with Red at her side, but she has no food for the child and they both need to eat. Mary’s instincts are telling her to turn around and return to the solace of the forest, but her most primal instincts are telling her something completely different. She is starving, dehydrated, and terrified for both herself and her child.
“We just have to find some food and water,” Mary explains to the child who follows her around trustingly. Mary briefly wonders if she has what it takes to raise this child, but she knows she has no other choice. If it weren't for her, Red would be alone.
Red runs ahead of her and Mary watches her like a hawk, thankful for so few bodies strung along the streets. The ones that are left are not noticeable in the least. They are covered in dark goo and debris from the disintegrating buildings. She wonders how much longer the buildings would last with the acid rain pounding them with toxic waste. The rains didn’t occur too often, but when they did, they were insatiable, claiming everything in their wake for days at a time.
Mary is fortunate that she has avoided the rain for so long.
“Honey, stay with me, alright,” Mary chastises when Red turns a corner and evades Mary’s sight for a mere second. The child rushes back and follows Mary's orders obediently. They make their way into a store on the opposite side of the town and Mary swoops Red in her arms. The child isn’t yet used to walking, let alone the distances required for survival, so Mary had to carry not only their bug-out bags, but also the child herself.
They enter a store, just as trashed as the rest and Mary immediately looks over the shelves. The fact that she no longer has to acquire baby formula is highly helpful, as the formula was never easy to find. Now water is the most difficult supply, and there was never a guarantee that they would find any, especially with so many people previously living near this town.
Mary sat down the child and allowed Red to explore as she knocked invaluable supplies from the shelves and stuffed any nonperishable food into her bag. If it is sealed or otherwise edible, it will do. There is no room to be picky in the situation they have found themselves. There is no place for anybody to be picky.
Mary is fortunate to find two water bottles and a few cans of food—ravioli, green beans, mixed fruit, and a lot of tuna. In her previous life, she wouldn’t have gone near the bitter fish, or any fish, really. It’s amazing what changes when you are starving and envious to have any type of protein in your body. Red needs protein more than anything, so each can of tuna finds its way into Mary’s bag along with anything else on the shelf.
When she lifts the bag back over her shoulder, it bites into her skin and weighs down her back. She takes a deep breath and adjusts the straps as well as she is able, but realizes quickly that no position will be comfortable. “Okay, Red, we have to go,” Mary shouts through the store, expecting the soft patter of feet to accompany her voice.
Everything remains silent.
“Red?” She asks, feeling her heart accelerate and face redden in nervousness. The bag biting into her shoulders is all but forgotten as she begins searching each of the aisles of the grocery store. Where could Red have gone? She’s little and her legs don’t move fast enough to carry her far. “Red, we need to leave,” Mary shouts once more, her voice met with the isolating breeze of silence.
She searches the store thrice, rushing down each aisle meticulously, paying extra close attention to the small places in which a child of her size could easily fit. “No, no, no,” Mary mumbles to herself, running rampant through the store. When she is positive that Red isn’t inside, Mary runs out the door, looking around the deserted street. She catches a glimmer of an army-green coat from the corner of her eye and turns toward it.
Immediately, her shoulders slouch and her panicked breathing and dangerously fast heart rate begin to settle. Mary rushes toward the little girl and swoops her off of her feet, squeezing the child to her chest. “Baby, you can’t run away like that. You had me worried,” Mary softly chastises. She had never been good at discipline. Mary was always the softer-toned individual who saw discipline as a faint chastising.
“Momma,” Red mutters from her arms, pointing to a heap on the ground—clearly a body. Mary briefly wonders if Red knows exactly what she is pointing at, but instead takes notice of her first word—a word that doesn’t belong to Mary. She wonders how Red knew to call her such a name. Nobody had ever addressed her as a mother to the child, even if she had taken ownership of Red nearly immediately.
Mary finds a tear falling from her eye and she takes a deep breath, terminating the possibility of another falling. “Yeah, baby. Let’s get back up the mountain,” Mary says, thinking about the safety of herself and the child—her child.
They make their way back up the mountain far slower than ever before. This time, Mary has a bag of heavy food and a child to carry on her hip, which is more than she has had to carry before. By the time they are nearly to the top, Mary knows exactly where they are and lifts Red into her arms. She walks in the direction of Charlie’s burial site and as she breaks through the brush, her breath catches.
“I thought you would have left, too,” Mary whispers to Ross, who sits alongside Charlie’s hole. It has yet to be covered and Mary is confident that nobody but her and Hayden will be strong enough to do it. Because Hayden left, and will likely not come back, that leaves her.
Ross shrugs and Bosco lays his head in his lap, marking the first time in days the dog has done anything but stare at Charlie or her hole. Bosco hasn’t moved even an inch. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he whispers. He looks frail and weak, a sharp contrast to his previous demeanor.
Mary sits alongside him and Red sits beside her, arranging herself every few seconds. A child of her age—or appeared age—can’t sit still, but she is evidently trying. “Me either.” They sit and stare at Charlie’s hole for a moment, neither of them speaking. Mary finally breaks the silence. “You loved her,” she states. It’s not a question.
“I wasn’t supposed to. My race is expected to kill their soul mates to grow stronger, but how could I do that to her? She wasn’t a typical human. She was special.” While everyone saw their bounded as special, Mary could attest to the fact that Charlie really was. She was amazing in every way. “She didn’t deserve to be killed. If anyone deserved to live, it was her.”
Mary didn’t even flinch at the revelation that Szorians were meant to kill their bounded humans. It wasn’t a surprise, though Ross never seemed like a bad guy. She would have never guessed his intentions. “Is that why you followed us to find Charlie?” Mary asks.
“I planned on killing everyone until Hayden rescued Jo and they said that they were on a journey to find another human. I planned on killing you all and I wouldn’t have had a problem doing it,” Ross admits, tears gleaming in his eyes. “When I first met Charlie and we were left alone together, I tried to kill her.”
Mary gasps and turns toward Ross, whose head is in his hands. “You tried to kill her?”
He nods. “We were left alone and I almost did it. I had her against the wall, hand around her neck and I could feel her heartbeat. If it were anyone else I wouldn’t have hesitated, but when she looked up at me, do you know what she said?” He asks with a bitter laugh. “She could hardly breathe, but
she told me to do it and the look in her eyes made me stop.”
“She stayed by your side, even afterward. She didn’t leave you, even though you planned to kill her,” Mary says, shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation. Charlie may very well have been crazy.
It’s almost like Ross can’t hear a word she is saying. He knots his fingers in his hair and continues. “I didn’t move, didn’t snap her neck like I planned. I didn’t do the one thing that my kind is supposed to do. I didn’t kill her. I stood there, feeling her heart start pounding beneath my fingers and listening to her strained breathing. I didn’t move as she placed one of her small hands on my wrist, not even in discouragement. She wanted me to do it. She was ready for me to end her life.
“She stood there, struggling to breathe and feeling the pain that I had to have caused her. When her heartbeat started to weaken and she genuinely started struggling for breath, grasping my arms that held her in place, I pulled back. I didn’t do it. If I had stood there for another minute, she would have died and none of this would have happened,” Ross exclaimed. It didn’t matter that Ross had his face hidden. Mary could sense the tears in his eyes.
“You wish you would have killed her?” Mary asks, breath catching in her throat.
“If I had done it, I would have never known her and I wouldn’t have changed for her. I wouldn’t be so willing to help the Nectorians and I wouldn’t be feeling this way right now. But if I would have killed her, I never would have known what it was like to love someone as selfless and beautiful. I would have never witnessed her smile or heard her laugh. I would die a thousand times to hear that damn laugh one more time, so looking back, I do wish I would have killed her before she died on her own,” Ross says.
Final Impact: A Dystopian Trilogy (BOUND Book 3) Page 2