Softness. Soft and cool, and comfortably dim. Adal opened her eyes, moving, her pain reduced to dull aches. There was a ceiling above, and she sat up, head spinning. Had they taken her? Found one last Walker for their march?
She clawed at the blankets on her, falling from the bed to the floor. She pried at the bandages stuck to her skin, ignoring the pain as they tore away. She grabbed at the stranger’s clothes she wore, a long, loose shirt, her sturdy hides gone. There were other beds, all empty, and she forced herself to her feet, slamming into the door at the end of the long room. It refused to move, and she spun, panicking, spotting a window behind her. She couldn’t run, legs stiff and sore, but threw it open and tumbled out.
Buildings outside, and daylight—a town. People were walking in the street, and one started, pointing at her. There was a voice from the room with the beds, rising from curiosity to alarm. Fear gave her strength, lurching away from them. Run. She had to run, get away to safety they had wanted to keep her once they used her, fuck her as she screamed and fought but was weak, too weak, the Red men, the Red blood on the road, bodies hacked apart—
A man stepped into her path as she ran, hands held up, saying something calm, low. She wheeled and charged for a gap between the buildings, more people in her way. They scattered, and she came up short. A wall. There was a wall around the town, and she followed along it, legs starting to tremble. They gave out under her, and she crawled instead. Up or they would drag her there, choking on the neck of her own hood.
She fell in the grass and weeds along the wall. Maybe she would die, after all. It was cool where she lay, in the shadow of the wall, among the green things. She would die there, and her shame with it.
And Alam…?
She curled up on herself, waiting. This time, darkness didn’t come. Instead, footsteps crunched up on the path, turning soft on the grass. She wiped at her face with the ridiculous shirt, looking at the man crouched out of reach. “Hello,” he said slowly, clearly. She stared at him, dead. “We thought you wouldn’t wake up for a while. You should go back to bed.”
Adal forced herself to speak, tongue thick and slow. “Don’t speak townie.”
He chuckled. “But I understand you, so you can probably hear me just fine.” He tipped his head, trying to catch her eye. “What’s your name?”
“Just kill me, Legion man.”
“Legion…” Something dark passed over his face. “Miss, you’re in New Canaan. I swear on God’s name you’re safe here, even from them.” He held out a hand. “My name is Isaac. Please, let me help you up.”
“Kill me.”
“No! Miss—” There was distress in his voice. “You’re sick, please…”
“Then let me die!” she screamed, voice breaking.
“I…” He sat back, rubbing his face. “What… what happened to you, miss?”
They were marching away, across the blood and bodies. “They took my boys.”
“Where? Who?” The voice was from somewhere far off, unfamiliar, maybe one of the Red men…
“Took them.” She ground her teeth until they creaked, grinding her fingers into her eyes. “Took them, took—”
She flinched away from the hand on her arm, patting awkwardly at her as she cried. He was reciting something, measured tones that made her think of a walking jody, but too varied, too low. When her throat grew too raw, and she was empty, she managed to listen. “…in his mercy may he give us a safe lodging, and holy rest and peace at the last.” Rest. Peace. Let her die…
“Are you… done?” he asked, back to awkward, losing that strange formal tone.
She didn’t respond, cried hollow. Her body was heavy and light at the same time, a doll with no hands to move it. She couldn’t fight as he helped her stand, slowly, taking her weight on an arm as he walked her back to the bed.
Crossroads (9a/9)
She clawed at the blankets on her, falling from the bed to the floor. She pried at the bandages stuck to her skin, ignoring the pain as they tore away. She grabbed at the stranger’s clothes she wore, a long, loose shirt, her sturdy hides gone. There were other beds, all empty, and she forced herself to her feet, slamming into the door at the end of the long room. It refused to move, and she spun, panicking, spotting a window behind her. She couldn’t run, legs stiff and sore, but threw it open and tumbled out.
Buildings outside, and daylight—a town. People were walking in the street, and one started, pointing at her. There was a voice from the room with the beds, rising from curiosity to alarm. Fear gave her strength, lurching away from them. Run. She had to run, get away to safety they had wanted to keep her once they used her, fuck her as she screamed and fought but was weak, too weak, the Red men, the Red blood on the road, bodies hacked apart—
A man stepped into her path as she ran, hands held up, saying something calm, low. She wheeled and charged for a gap between the buildings, more people in her way. They scattered, and she came up short. A wall. There was a wall around the town, and she followed along it, legs starting to tremble. They gave out under her, and she crawled instead. Up or they would drag her there, choking on the neck of her own hood.
She fell in the grass and weeds along the wall. Maybe she would die, after all. It was cool where she lay, in the shadow of the wall, among the green things. She would die there, and her shame with it.
And Alam…?
She curled up on herself, waiting. This time, darkness didn’t come. Instead, footsteps crunched up on the path, turning soft on the grass. She wiped at her face with the ridiculous shirt, looking at the man crouched out of reach. “Hello,” he said slowly, clearly. She stared at him, dead. “We thought you wouldn’t wake up for a while. You should go back to bed.”
Adal forced herself to speak, tongue thick and slow. “Don’t speak townie.”
He chuckled. “But I understand you, so you can probably hear me just fine.” He tipped his head, trying to catch her eye. “What’s your name?”
“Just kill me, Legion man.”
“Legion…” Something dark passed over his face. “Miss, you’re in New Canaan. I swear on God’s name you’re safe here, even from them.” He held out a hand. “My name is Isaac. Please, let me help you up.”
“Kill me.”
“No! Miss—” There was distress in his voice. “You’re sick, please…”
“Then let me die!” she screamed, voice breaking.
“I…” He sat back, rubbing his face. “What… what happened to you, miss?”
They were marching away, across the blood and bodies. “They took my boys.”
“Where? Who?” The voice was from somewhere far off, unfamiliar, maybe one of the Red men…
“Took them.” She ground her teeth until they creaked, grinding her fingers into her eyes. “Took them, took—”
She flinched away from the hand on her arm, patting awkwardly at her as she cried. He was reciting something, measured tones that made her think of a walking jody, but too varied, too low. When her throat grew too raw, and she was empty, she managed to listen. “…in his mercy may he give us a safe lodging, and holy rest and peace at the last.” Rest. Peace. Let her die…
“Are you… done?” he asked, back to awkward, losing that strange formal tone.
She didn’t respond, cried hollow. Her body was heavy and light at the same time, a doll with no hands to move it. She couldn’t fight as he helped her stand, slowly, taking her weight on an arm as he walked her back to the bed.