Out Of Darkness (The Starborn Saga) Page 11

  I search everywhere for Dad, but I can’t see him. People barely notice me as I run through crowds of them, searching. I know he’s doing everything he can to protect us, but I’m only focused on protecting him. What good is preparing me for a day like this if I’m not allowed to help?

  He couldn’t have gotten far. I keep running. I make several turns through the village streets, but he is nowhere to be found.

  I come to the edge of another wooded area, but I know that he wouldn’t have gone in there. I’ve moved too far. When I turn, there are at least seven greyskins on my trail. I instantly turn my shotgun on them, but it’s empty. I throw it to the ground and let off as many rounds as I can with the other. I spend all of the shells taking down the group that’s after me. But the repeated gunfire draws the attention of more. I see their heads turn toward me. To them, I’m an easy target.

  With shaky hands, I reach into my pockets and pull out as many shells as I can. I drop most of them on the ground, so I bend down and load the shotgun while on my knees. They both hold eight shells.

  There are at least six greyskins shuffling toward me. I get one shell in. Maybe eight greyskins now. I drop the second shell, and have to pick it up and try again. Maybe twelve greyskins have joined the group. I’ve got three – no, four shells in now.

  Fifteen greyskins.

  The first gun is loaded. I reach for the other one on the ground. I’ve lost count of the greyskins, but I know I don’t have enough ammo.

  What am I still doing here? I should run. I can’t expect to take them all on. The second gun is loaded. I shoot into them and none of them go down. I’ve got to aim for their heads. I shoot, but the shot spreads so thinly that it doesn’t rupture their brains. I’ve got to wait until they’re closer.

  Why am I not running?

  I think they’re close enough now, but this time I aim for the legs. I realize this works better as three fall. Not enough! I blast again and again. I’ve got no chance. I stand to run into the woods, but that’s when I hear more booms behind the greyskins.

  Some of them turn, but the ones that don’t, I take down myself.

  Dad.

  He charges through, firing as many shots as possible. He’s now out of ammo. Two more shots and I will be too.

  He uses the gun like a club to the side of a greyskin’s head, then throws it to the ground. He pulls out the hatchet and knife and goes in for close combat. The ones that aren’t as close to him, I take out with my last two shots.

  When they fall, I can see that there are at least a hundred more coming after us. But that’s not all I see.

  My stomach lurches when I see Mom running from them toward us.

  “No,” I say to myself. “Why?”

  Dad is chopping away. I want to help him, but I’ve got nothing to fight with. I stand to move in toward him, but he screams for me to stay back.

  The greyskins are all over him. I don’t actually see a bite or scratch on him, and I can’t tell if his screams are from rage or pain.

  Mom flanks the greyskins. She picks up the gun that Dad had thrown to the ground and begins to wail on the greyskin behind Dad. He screams for her to get away but she won’t listen to him.

  The others are almost on top of us now. One of the greyskins gets past Dad and moves in toward me. I reach for one of the guns in front of me and hold it by the barrel. I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or what, but I don’t feel the burning in my palms that I’ll have to bandage for the next two weeks.

  I swing with all of my might. The butt of the gun instantly cracks against the side of the greyskin’s head and the creature falls to the ground.

  Vehicles are driving toward us, firing weapons into the approaching horde. It isn’t long until they are all lifeless.

  I drop to the ground again and start to cry. At first, I think my parents are going to scold me, scream at me, but they don’t. They drop to their knees next to me and begin to cry as well.

  This is where I always wish my nightmare would end. This is where I wish my dad or my mom would come and wake me, but it never happens. Always, no matter what, the nightmare continues.

  It’s another hour or more before all of the greyskins are killed. At that time, the people are called out from the tree houses. The dead are counted. I don’t even hear the number, but I know it’s an insane amount.

  All I know is that in this moment, I feel so blessed that my whole family is together. That we are all safe. We’ve all survived another attack.

  My parents instruct me to go with Grandma and Jake to the house to get cleaned up. We have to step over dead bodies along the way. It will all be cleaned up eventually. I know this, because I’ve had this dream before.

  After I’ve showered, and I’m putting on a fresh set of clothes, I look out the window and can see two sets of smoke billowing in the distance. I’ve seen this before. One for the greyskins, one for everyone else that didn’t make it.

  Over the loudspeakers, there’s an announcement for everyone who has been bitten or scratched to come to the front of the village. They don’t ask in a harsh way. Everyone knows what it means. It means this is their final march. Their final walk through the streets of our beloved Springhill. These people will have the option to end their own lives, or to have someone else do it for them.

  In the past, a few have tried to escape this end, only to die during the night and reanimate by morning. Most don’t want it to come to that. Most would rather die before the infection takes over their bodies. I know I would.

  Now comes the worst part of my nightmare. The part where I would give anything to wake up.

  Grandma taps lightly on my door. I know something isn’t right when I see her face. Soft tears fall down in steady streams, sprinkling the front of her shirt. She’s holding Jake’s hand. He doesn’t know what is happening. Neither do I.

  “You need to come with me, dear.” Her voice is raspy and I can barely hear her. My limbs start to tremble because I fear that I know where she’s about to take me.

  In Springhill, after an attack like the one we had today, a line is drawn just near the village wall. Those that have been bitten are made to stand on the other side nearest the wall. Those who aren’t must stay on the side of the village. Neither side is allowed to cross. Anyone that crosses from the bitten side will be shot.

  I take my Grandma’s hand as she leads Jake and me outside. We walk slowly through the village until we reach the shattered remains of the village wall. I can’t believe my eyes when I see how many people are standing on the other side. There have never been so many. There are hundreds, maybe a thousand people who know that their wounds are fatal.

  We walk closer and closer to the wall.

  “Why are we going to the wall, Grandma?” Jake asks innocently. I want to ask her the same question. I can’t see them off. It hurts too much.

  She only squeezes our hands tighter in reply.

  As we come nearer, what I see causes me to drop to my knees. I let go of Grandma’s hand. It’s like someone has punched me in the stomach. Any food that I may have had in my belly is now gone and on the ground. I can’t breathe. I try to cry out, but I can’t form words. I try to scream, but my voice has stopped working.

  Tears and snot drip from my face as I press it into the ground, trying everything I can to hide from this world. This horrible world I live in.

  Standing across the line, closest to the broken village wall are my parents.

  I’m dry heaving now. I can feel Grandma trying to get me up from the ground. I hear nothing. I want to die. It’s all my fault. This is all my fault.

  I don’t know how long it is before I find the strength to stand. I don’t even remember walking to my parents. I just remember opening my eyes and finding them in front of me. At my feet is the black painted line in the dirt.

  Mom and Dad both have tears in their eyes, but they are trying to be strong for us. I don’t hear what they say to Grandma. I don’t hear what they say to Jake.

&nb
sp; A ready gun keeps them from being able to reach out to us for one last embrace.

  “Mora,” Dad says. “I want you to look out for Jake.”

  “It’s my fault,” I say. “I shouldn’t have gotten out of the tree. I shouldn’t have gotten out of the tree!”

  “Never say that,” both of them tell me. “Never blame yourself for this.”

  “But it’s my fault! This is because of me!”

  I’m sobbing louder than anyone. My parents want to reach out to me. They want to brush their fingers through my hair. They want to squeeze me tight.

  When I look up, I can see a long cut down the side of Dad’s shoulder. Mom is bleeding from a slash on her hip. Both wounds are deep into their skin.

  “You are strong, Mora,” Dad tells me. “You must be strong in this world. Never change. You went out today because you’re a leader. I’m so proud of you for being fearless.”

  “But you’re going to die,” I say through sobs.

  “You need to remember something, Mora,” Dad says. “A world like ours is desperate for good leaders. A world like ours needs more people like you. You are special. You’re going to do great things, and people will follow you because of it.”

  “I love you both so much,” I say. I don’t care about black painted lines. I jump across it and wrap my arms around both my parents. I know they aren’t sure if they should return the embrace. They don’t want to get me infected. But I only squeeze tighter.

  I can feel little Jake next to me, holding on to Mom and Dad too. Men are coming to break us apart. The last thing I feel is a tender set of lips kiss my forehead. I look up and see a single tear fall from Dad’s eyes.

  I squeeze tighter.

  Foreign hands grip my shoulders and wrench me and Jake away from Mom and Dad. We’re next to Grandma on the village side of the line.

  Nothing is said as my parents turn from us and follow the others outside of the village toward the fires.

  Through tears, Grandma tries to get us to follow her to the house, but I run away from her and Jake, despite her protest.

  There’s one specific tree in the woods that overlooks the plains and allows me to see far distances.

  Already there are gun blasts.

  I climb the tree higher and higher. My dad showed me this tree when I was just a little girl. I’ve never seen anyone near it before. He called it our special tree because near the top there are two thick branches strong enough for two people to sit.

  The shots I heard were the beginnings of the voluntary executions. I don’t want to see it, but something is calling me to watch. It comes time for my parents to step forward.

  I don’t try to stifle the sobs that escape my lips and throat. I know I will miss them. I know I will think about this moment everyday for the rest of my life.

  Mom and Dad step forward. They’re holding hands as if walking on the beach. With one last embrace, they lean into each other and kiss.

  My dad then looks to the gunman in front of them and nods.

  This is when I close my eyes. This is when I hear the gunshot that will never leave my memory.

  This is when I wake up.

  Chapter Nine

  It’s eight in the morning when Trevor calls my room to let me know that the meeting will start in an hour, and that I should meet him in the front lobby five minutes before. I take my time getting out of bed, and even more time taking a hot bath. The variety of soaps and sweet fragrances make it difficult to choose how I will spend my time. Ultimately I decide on the lavender scented soap. We don’t get luxuries such as these in Springhill and I may never get a bath like this again.

  Soaking up the bubbles and warm water, I take a look at my leg. Somehow it has healed up pretty well. With some tweezers and my knife, I dare to carefully pull the stitches out myself. It hurts a little at first, but I get the hang of it about half an inch down. It’s sealed now and nothing but a really hard blow would reopen it. I decide to keep the bandage on it just in case.

  When I’m dry, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and put on my same old clothes and strap my knife to my thigh. I don’t know if they’ll let me bring it into the meeting, but I’m not just going to leave it here in the room.

  Once I’m ready, I set the key on the bedside table, grab some bread and sliced ham from the cooling box for a quick breakfast, and go out into the hallway. I half expect Aaron to be waiting, but he isn’t anywhere to be found. He’s probably already waiting downstairs.

  On the way to the lobby I finish the small amount of food in my hand and wipe the crumbs away from the corners of my mouth. My assumption is proven correct when I make it to the grand lobby and see Aaron in a chair across from Trevor.

  Trevor stands and claps his hands together in a warm welcome. “Mora,” he says loudly. “It’s so very good to see you. I trust your sleep was sound?”

  “I’ve had better nights,” I say, thinking of the reoccurring nightmares.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “I’m sure you will be comfortable sitting with Aaron while I go see if Jeremiah is ready for the two of you.”

  I nod to him and he leaves, looking a little too happy for the occasion.

  “Interesting guy,” Aaron says as I sit across from him.

  “I think he’s nice.”

  Aaron shrugs. “Did you give anymore thought to our conversation last night?”

  “Actually no,” I say. “I told you I’d think about coming back to your colony to meet your leader, but that’s all I can promise right now.”

  He nods in understanding. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  He’s persistent. But what I told him is true. I haven’t thought about last night’s conversation much. I’ve been too busy soaking up the royalties of Screven’s hospitality. Really, the food, the bath, and the comfortable bed are probably standard in every household here. I never expect to enjoy such luxuries in my future, nor do I hope for them. All I want is to keep my people safe from the greyskins.

  As the thought comes across my mind, Trevor marches into the room and announces that Jeremiah is ready for us both. My heart leaps into action and nearly beats out of my chest. For some reason, I feel frozen to the chair. Aaron gets up to follow Trevor and stops when he notices I’m not moving.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “What if he’s not interested? What if he doesn’t want to help me?”

  “Well, you’re not going to find out sitting here,” he says. He reaches out a hand and squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, Mora. You’ll be fine.”

  For some reason, Aaron’s grip and reassuring words are just enough to make me confident. I suppose that if there is anything that I actually like about Aaron it’s the fact that he isn’t trying to make me turn from Jeremiah, and is even encouraging me to go. It’s as if he knows I have no quarrel with Screven, and that it’s okay if I don’t think the way the people of Salem feel. Yet in the back of my mind, I remember his secret meeting with Heinrich. Aaron had said he wanted to know if I was on their side. Surely he knows that I’m not on anyone’s side but my own.

  I look up at him and he smiles warmly. Standing, I follow Aaron and Trevor down a long hallway and up a flight of stairs. He shows us to a large room that serves as a foyer to Jeremiah’s office. At the doorway, Trevor turns to us.

  “You are welcome to go in,” he says. I can’t help but notice his eyes linger on the knife strapped to my left thigh, but he says nothing about it as I reply my thanks and walk through an ornate set of doors into a room I wasn’t quite expecting. The office isn’t an office at all, rather, it’s a library, a sunroom, and den all in one. From floor to ceiling there are bookshelves filled with more volumes than could be read in a lifetime. Leather couches and chairs are placed in various locations, each with polished wood coffee tables or side tables. To our left is a set of stairs with a wooden banister leading up to a comfortable seating area. The floor to ceiling windows light the entire room, and I can see that it is raining outside by
the slithering streaks of water washing down the sides. In front of one of the massive windows is a tall man with his back to us. He is covered from head to toe in clothing. A long sleeve button up shirt, tan pants, and boots laced up past his shins make him look like he’s ready to trek across the plains in a hunt, like I had once seen in a storybook. He is even wearing a scarf, leather gloves, and a brimmed hat. All he is missing is a rifle and backpack to complete the explorer ensemble. On both sides of him are two men who are watching our every move. His bodyguards.

  As we make our way up the stairs to the windowed area, the man does not turn to us, but calls out. “I didn’t think it was going to rain today,” he says. “Pity. I was really hoping to go out.”

  A strong cloud of sharp, flowery smells waft toward us as he moves. There are so many perfumes and colognes in the air that it gives me an instant headache. Why in the world would someone want to put on so much?

  “I hate it when I can’t go out because of the rain,” he says, placing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

  I think he sounds like a spoiled child.

  The man, who I presume is Jeremiah, motions Aaron and me to a white couch. He takes his seat across from us in a matching chair that sits slightly above us.

  “The two of you have journeyed far, from what I hear,” he says.

  We are distracted by Trevor who walks up the stairs and places hot cups of coffee and a plate of cookies in front of each of us on the table. He bows briefly and leaves.

  “I am Jeremiah,” he says. “Leader of Screven and of the neighboring colonies.”

  Aaron says nothing, and I am almost too polite, though I have to stifle a cough when I talk because of Jeremiah’s flowery smells. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Mora and I come from the village of Springhill.”

  “I know who you are,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I know who both of you are.”

  I don’t understand his demeanor at all. He seems so smug. I’m able to look past the stout fragrances, and the eccentric clothing style that only allows for us to see his pale cheeks and gray hair that sticks out from under his hat, but it’s hard for me to look past the condescending attitude. I’ve come here to get help, not to be ignored.