Authors: KC Klein
Dark Future (15 page)
T
he Elders were here.
My hands shook as I pulled on my clothes. The boots took the longest, since Itify" had to stop twice to dry my palms as I laced the millionth hole. I paused before opening the door, remembering the look in ConRad’s eyes.
He’ll protect me. He promised.
I threw the door open and fast-walked down the hall. I was torn between not drawing attention to myself and doing a full run to get the hell out of here. Find Aura, my white butt; I was in full-out hide mode. The small crawl space down past the three pools seemed a perfect place.
I turned the corner toward the tunnel leading to the infirmary, and stumbled to a stop. ConRad stood underneath one of the numerous metal support beams, his back toward me, blocked by the four men surrounding him. Three of the four were young, maybe in their mid-twenties. They were dressed in identical crude black robes, with V-necks that were low enough to reveal their hairy chests. Their muscled arms bulged from gripping the heavy machine guns, and just in case that wasn’t intimidating enough, long glittering swords were strapped to their backs.
The fourth man was different. He stood in the center, the position of authority. He had neither bulging muscles nor a sword. Instead, his thin graying hair snaked past shoulders rounded with age. His pale face was a maze of lines and broken blood vessels. Like holes cut in a wrinkled sheet, his shifty eyes peered out black against the pasty skin, and missed nothing. His onyx gaze caught mine, and his reddened lips thinned into a straight line. His face didn’t move, didn’t betray one emotion, but his eyes flashed. It a blink it was gone, but not before I read what was in them—jealousy, pure and hot.
All motion slowed, yet everything happened in a span of seconds. ConRad’s body stiffened. His spine went ramrod straight as if the iron in his blood solidified. A roar in my head drowned out all sound, but I swear I could hear the inhalation of ConRad’s breath.
“Is that her?” I saw the old man’s lips move, but the voice sounded a long way off. ConRad turned, his movements rigid and stiff. He looked straight at me with eyes as barren as the landscape outside the mountain. “Yes . . . that’s her.”
Pain shot through my chest and bloomed. I looked down expecting to see a gaping wound, but betrayal only leaves its cuts on the inside. Black shadows pulsed along the borders of my vision. Then everything inside quieted. My vision focused crystal clear and one loud red message shot off inside my brain.
Run!
My legs weighed a hundred pounds each. My feet slipped as I backpedaled and dug in for traction. A swoosh sounded as the swords were pulled from their sheaths, drawing an invisible arc in the air. Reflecting red in the light, the slick metal gleamed high above the heads of their masters. Then their sharp tips lowered and aimed directly at me.
I turned. Fell on my knees, slipped and fell again. I dug my fingernails in, losing a few to the dusty ground below. I crawled back up, gritted my teeth, and forced my legs to move. One step, two steps, three . . . a fist caught my hair from behind. My head snapped back as my body rushed forward. I bit my tongue; my mouth filled with the sweet metallic taste of blood. Hauled back up, I was slammed against the wall.
The men tied my wrists behind my back and rough hands patted me down. Words slipped through my foggy brain. “Direct disobedience and violation of the use of microbiotics.” “Improper use of health care protocol.” And one phrase that really stood out: “punishable by death.”
I craned my neck trying to catch a glimpse of ConRad. I knew if I could just see him, if I could look him in the eye, he would help me. He’d sworn to protect me. He’d told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He loved me. He hadn’t spoken the exact words, but after baring his soul like that, I knew he did.
“ConRad,” I screamed. I caught sight of him. He was stiff. Even from this distance I could see the flex of his jaw. His face was pale as beads of sweat glistened against the smoothness of his brow. Gone were the eyes of burning blue that an hour ago had both heated me and had me whimpering in the same breath. In their place were eyes made up of nothing more than ice and snow.
“ConRad, please help me,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. One robed man attached himself to each arm. As they dragged me down the hall, my legs buckled and my boots dug deep trails in the dusty ground.
I struggled in my captors’ grip to look behind me, and at that moment something inside me died, as ConRad slowly turned and walked away.
I
woke in a dark room strapped to a metal chair. My hands were tied behind my back, my fingers numb. The few memories I had were colored with a daze of shock and pain. After being given up by ConRad, the men in black robes had dragged me through the prominent double red doors in the command center. The doors swung open to a huge swirling vortex of lights. Bigger than the side of a house, its circular shape sucked at me, pulling at my clothes and hair like a greedy lover.
The portal to Earth increased its pull the closer we came to the energy field. My hair whipped at my face as I fought against the force. The men on either side of me tightened their grip and strained their bodies. They ducked their heads and sucked in a huge breath of air. We stepped through the vortex. My chest burned, as I tried to claw at the metal band that seemed to be clamped around my lungs.
I must’ve passed out, coming to only when the scream in my head rose to the audible level of a shrilling siren, and broke through my unconsciou myn Pro" colsness. My tongue stuck to my palate like a dried piece of leather, two times bigger than normal. Molten heat shot down my shoulder to my wrist, making me groan out loud.
“She’s coming around,” a voice said from somewhere in the thick blackness. Instinctively, I knew it would be better for me to slip back into the quiet sea of nothing. I let myself go, half hoping never to surface again.
Cold shocked my system as ice water slapped my face. I sputtered. Adrenaline flooded my blood; fight or flight sharpened my senses. Above me a mess of copper wires washed my vision in crimson, shining down on me, keeping the rest of the room’s occupants in shadows. The small circle of light didn’t allow me to see much—a dirty concrete floor, my boots bound with thick rope, red splotches showing bright against the camouflage of my pants. I found myself in the classical interrogation scene from every spy movie I’d ever watched. Hero beaten and tied to the chair, 100-watt bulb swinging overhead, dark mysterious voices in the background. The muffled rustle of cloth on cloth and heavy breathing sounded loud in the darkened room. Knowing I wasn’t alone didn’t comfort me.
I was scared out of my f-ing mind.
“That was a surprising show of defiance you put on earlier. I hope you aren’t thinking of pulling anything like that again,” said the Voice. Its owner was male, his voice husky and sickly sweet at the same time.
If this were Hollywood (which is based in reality I’m sure), this would be the part where the hero/heroine pulls out a hidden nail file, cuts the ropes, and does an impossible Kung-Fu move that simultaneously frees herself and kicks butt. Me, on the other hand, I couldn’t swallow my own spit. No worries here, Voice, no show of defiance, at least not from me.
He seemed content to take my silence as a response. “I guess we’ll have to convince you to talk. But don’t worry, we’re good at that.”
I shook my head, but blazing white pain shot to the base of my skull, ceasing all movement.
“Ahh . . . defiant to the end. Excellent.” Without hesitation he raised his fist and swung. Bam! Right across the face. Pain exploded in my orbital bone, my head snapped back and to the right. Warm fluid filled my mouth and I waged a war with my stomach to keep from vomiting. The battle was quickly lost with another solid hit to my abdomen. Vomit spewed projectile style o
ver the robed figure, onto the floor, and my boots. Objectively, I realized my nose had been broken since blood trickled down my face, soaked my shirt front, and began pooling between my legs on the chair.
No! I wanted to shout. Not defiant. But the piece of leather that was masquerading as my tongueg a colo wasn’t cooperating. Then it was too late. I heard a door close and he was gone.
I hoped, at a later time, I’d be able to tell him I was a cooperative prisoner. I’d be willing to say anything he wanted. Hell, I’d gladly sell the soul of my own mother, because no matter what my strong suits were, courage was not one of them.
But what I didn’t know is that when later came, all my confessions wouldn’t matter anyway.
B
raided hemp cut into the flesh of my already chafed skin. Blood oozed out between the rope and my skin. I watched a small red stream trickle down my upraised arm, find its way past my ribs and finally fall off my big toe, contributing to the growing pool beneath me. Stripped naked, hung from an iron hook by bound wrists, I’d been left to “cool my heels.” They were cool alright, my heels and every other part of my body. I had long since ceased the protective response of gooseflesh, and now was blessedly numb.
Can’t breathe.
I couldn’t fully inhale hanging like I was.
Can’t think.
I had no more fight left. I’d lost. The dark shadows were mocking and dancing on the sidelines whispering cruel whispers.
You’re gonna die die die. They’re gonna kill kill kill you.
For the hundredth time I glanced around the room. Concrete walls, a window barred with wooded shutters, the zigzag of copper wires overhead, a small bowl of heating coals, and me. Numerous iron hooks were bolted into a wooden beam across the ceiling. Brown-stained concrete beneath each hook stood as a witness to the men’s sweat and blood that came before me. I’d have shuddered at the thought if I had any energy left. After weeks of beatings, starvation, and sleep deprivation I couldn’t imagine what more could be done to me.
Kill kill kill you.
I was ready.
The door opened timidly as if the intruder had been taught a recent lesson in manners. A robed figure slithered in, silent in slippered feet. If I hadn’t recognized him by his thinning hair and pasty face, then his lecherous stare would have sealed the deal. He was the Elder who had ordered my arrest back at the compound. The same older man ConRad had given me up to.
My heartbeat skipped. I’d thought I used up my quota of fear, but itoken heighs prickling wormed into my belly anyway.
“I’ve heard some very interesting things about you in the past few weeks.” His voice wasn’t what I expected from an old man; instead, it was sweet, calm . . . seductive. “Time travel, prophecy nonsense, location of another portal. Seems like you haven’t stopped talking since you came to visit.”
He walked over to the window and methodically opened the shades, securing each to the wall. Dusk was approaching and a fading pink light fell across the concrete floor.
“I’ve wanted to see you like this.” He turned to face me, sunken black eyes sweeping over my naked body.
“Ever since I heard about you, I wanted to see what ConRad had been so protective of. After years of steadfastness, what had him dividing his loyalties?” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Can’t say I’m impressed though, but I have heard some of the other men talking.” He circled my suspended body and with a well-manicured hand brushing the curve of my back ending with a squeeze to my bottom. He paused in front of me. “Did he tell you who I was? No? Typical. ConRad likes to keep our relationship secret.”
I could see his eyes had softened at the mention of ConRad’s name. A small forlorn smile touched his lips.
I’d heard numerous times that when an animal is caught in a trap, he gnaws on his limb for days to escape. My eyes shot to my bound hands. I kicked my legs, trying to reach my mouth to my wrists.
“Ahh, like bait on a hook. Cliché, I know, but I still love the classic saying. Don’t you? But maybe not quite fitting for this situation. You’re not bait really, more like retribution. ConRad knew the consequences. I’m just shocked he took the risk.” He stepped away and began to unbuckle a thick black belt he had cinched around his waist. The wide leather strap cracked as he snapped the folded the halves together and placed the belt along the floor. He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew a foot-long metal rod. On one end was a leather handle, on the other was metal formed in the letter “S.”
There was something I should be piecing together. Alarms of warning were going off inside my brain, but I couldn’t think past the red horror that was brewing in my mind.
“Did you notice the view?” He turned to the window and rested one elbow on the small sill. “I had this chamber made specifically for this reason—spectacular sunsets. I always get a little thrill as the last of the sun dips below the Earth.”
He shook his head and came back toward me. “Have yome.her strapu heard of the Winter Solstice? It’s the longest night of the year. They say it happens only once every three hundred and sixty-five days. But they’re wrong. The longest night is every night we spend here.” He chuckled quietly and placed the metal rod, letter side down, in the center of the heating coals.
“I thought about placing the window so we could watch the sunrise instead, but I found that my guests were more concerned with when we would begin than when we’d stop. Of course, I’ve had more grown men weep at the last ray of sunset here than any other place. But I must confess I’ve been moved to tears more than once by such creations.”
He stretched his neck from side to side cracking the joints back into place. “Kind of embarrassing to be babbling so, but I haven’t been this giddy in a long time.”
Waves, alternating hot and cold, rushed over me. My gaze shot to the perfectly framed sun as it sped to its setting. My insides turned to liquid. If I had anything left in my stomach, I would’ve lost the remains on the floor.
He turned his back toward me. I watched as his black robe fell in a puddle around his feet. Shirtless in black cotton pants, he reached behind and secured his stringy hair with a tie.
He faced me.
On his upper right peck was a pink puckered scar—forming a large letter “C.”
The brands. Suddenly, it clicked.
Oh God, Syon.
I screamed.
