Page 16 of Dead By Dusk

“Just making sure!” I push out as all my breath leaves my body when she lands a kick at my stomach, though I manage to wrap my hand around her ankle before she can pull away. Turning my body to the side, I yank her leg toward me and then knock her other leg out from underneath her. She falls to the ground with a soft thud.

In an instant, I’m pinning her arms over her head while Nate holds her legs down. It’s then that our friend decides to join the party—unharmed, might I add. “So, where have you been, Princess? Too good to fight or what?” I ask the man who, in fact, does not look like a pretty little princess, but I’ll call out the behavior if I have to. Mammoth of a man that looks like he could snap my body in half like a little twig or not.

He keeps his focus on the woman, his body loose, as if he’s unbothered by the whole situation as he responds, “It looked like the two of you had it under control. I’m the one that risked death to give you both an opening. I deserved a good show.”

Unbelievable. Truly.

Would I have done the same?

Almost definitely, but that is beside the point.

“Okay, Princess, I was going to feel guilty about not knowing your name if one of us died, but now I realize that I don’t need to.”

Silence. From everyone. Even the woman that had been trying to break free from our hold stills and angles her head toward me. I look at each and every one of them with one of those “If you have something to say, go ahead and get on with it,” faces. Mister Princess’ whole body just shakes with laughter so boisterous that you’d think I just told the world’s funniest joke. Suddenly, everyone is looking toward him rather than me while he gasps for breath and doubles over with his hands on his knees, shaking his head.

“You really were out here not knowing my name this whole time?” he asks, still breathless from his laughter. My mouth breaks into the biggest grin, and then I’m laughing right there with him. The split in my lip reopens, and the bitter taste of blood dances across my tongue as I suck my lip into my mouth. I’m still chuckling when Princess kneels down beside me and roughly grabs my injured arm, and the dull pain quickly turns into a deep, throbbing one.

“The name is Adonis,” he starts, and his humor fades as he squeezes my arm, thumb digging into my wound. He drops his voice even lower and adds, “And if you call me Princess one more fucking time we’re going to have an issue.”

An issue? Did we—just become best friends? I think we did. It definitely feels like it. So despite the pain now pulsating through my arm like its own heartbeat, I give his own arm a few pats, mimicking his movement. I give him my best smile and say, “Sure thing, Donni.”

He levels me with a glare before we both look back to Nate who looks borderline horrified at the whole interaction but clears his throat and looks down at the woman. He unsheathes every dagger she has strapped to her thighs and hips, dropping them on the ground next to him, but keeping hold of the last one before handing it to Adonis, who just balances it on one finger and keeps his gaze fixed on her. His presence is large—deadly,something even I acknowledge, but she doesn’t flinch away from him either. Even as his deep voice, lower than I’ve heard it yet, cleaves through the now dreary silence with only one word.

“Speak.”

8

It Wouldn’t Be Enough: Silene

The forest can be a dangerous place on a normal day. A day when you know where you are and where to go. A day where you know the risks and are prepared for them. But you take that assurance away, strip someone of their memories leaving them with only their base instincts, and send them out to be hunted? Well, then that danger becomes outright deadly.

Thirty minutes into walking this morning and someone had snuck up behind Carmen, holding a knife to her throat. If it weren’t for the woman’s ability to scream at the drop of a pen, I probably wouldn’t have noticed that she was in distress until it was too late. So when she let out a yelp, quickly muffled by the offender’s large, dark hands, I was quick to respond. Not quick enough to stop the small cut that had just stopped dripping dark red blood down her neck, but quick enough for him to be the one bleeding out on the ground instead. One dagger through his shoulder was what it took for him to release her and drop hisblade. Then, once she had ducked away from the man, I shoved the sharp metallic staff through his neck and twisted before ripping the cool metal out, watching as bright red blood spurted and gushed out of his gaping out of his star-shaped wound.

I’ll never forget the silent sobs Carmen released, the look of fear and panic on her face as she frantically tried to wipe the blood on her neck. From that point on, I insisted she walk ahead of me. I promised her I’d do my best to keep her alive and this is how I do it.

Several hours, a few breaks and no luck finding food or water later, we got our second attack of the day, and I knew while I was fighting that I should keep them alive. Or at least one of the two, as they could offer some sort of help, but I don’t have it in me to dial back my hits while they’re actively trying to murder me. For some reason, I thought all villains liked to tell their life stories before they got on with the hacking of someone’s head and whatnot, but none of these kind folks have gotten the memo, I suppose. The male attacker carried a staff similar to mine, while the woman carried a set of small hatchets, and let me just say, I liked her style. So much that I told her as I plunged two daggers in her sides before quickly dragging them across and through her chest, then plucked them out of her still-warm hands after her body had landed on the soft dirt and leaves, possibly cushioning her hard fall.

Carmen didn’t react the same after this one, probably because I didn’t let either of them get close to her, ensuring that she sustained no further injuries. Though her hands still shook, she didn’t look as horrified as I thought she would’ve at the death of the woman. It was far more brutal than the first in my opinion, though maybe she’s getting used to it after seeing so much violence in less than twenty-four hours. While I should feel relieved, something akin to disappointment and sadness stirs in my chest at the thought of her acclimating to such amacabre way of life so quickly. As necessary for her survival as it might be, I hope that she doesn’t let these moments define her when we escape. Oddly enough, I sincerely believe that, despite her softness and oddities, she deserves a chance to not just survive, but live.

Maybe more so than me.

I get the impression that I’ve done some terrible things in this life of mine, and that should I die, it would be the only proper way to atone for these atrocities I’ve lived by. Eternal damnation may be the only way to redress the balance of lives I’ve stolen. And even then, would that be enough? It’s hard to know when you hardly know who you are and what you have done. But dwelling within me are thoughts more confident than the ones sitting at the surface.

I could give everything in myself. Mind, body and soul, fighting to ensure she lives. I could destroy myself in the name of a promise of protection, and it would never be enough. I’d have to live a life much longer than I deserve to in order to properly atone. Even sacrificing myself…my soul is not a worthy offering.

For now, though, it will have to do.

That’s the mindset I’ve carried since we walked away from the last fight, the thoughts that have plagued me as memories continue to slowly make an appearance in the oddest of ways. Memories that play like a mirage of moments falling around me and fluttering through my fingertips like ash, maybe mistaken as snow to those who don’t know a once-dormant volcano has awakened nearby. Memories come to me in the words Carmen says, in the actions I take, in the way the black dagger that I’d found underneath the kitchen floorboard easily twirls through my fingertips whenever we take our breaks.

Each one that appears is a missing puzzle piece, though none seem to fully connect yet, which only fuels my frustration while continuing our journey through the woods that seem to bedevoid of any life other than our own. That is, until I hear the smallest of ruffles through the branches above, leaves heavy with condensation falling quickly in the space between us. I look up to track the movement, trying to find the source of discourse, when I see it.

Two birds, not large by any means, but big enough to supply some sort of nourishment. It’s hard from the distance we’re at to see exactly what they look like, but I know it doesn’t matter when any second they could flutter away, and we could miss the first real chance we had at staying alive.

Lack of food and dehydration can kill just as easily as a blade. Easier if we’re being honest. And while I would prefer water at the moment, I will take anything that I can get at this moment. I put my hand on Carmen, stilling her movements. When our eyes meet, I first motion for her to stay quiet, and then to stay still. When she nods her understanding, I quietly wipe my sweaty hands on my pants before removing two blades from my pockets, prepping one in each hand for the throw. I calm my breathing. I’m exhausted, and the slight tremor in my hands doesn’t escape my notice. This could definitely impact my aim, but I have to pray that it doesn’t.

Looking back up towards the birds that linger in the branches above, I estimate the distance to be about fifteen feet. There’s no breeze; in fact, the air around us seems so still as if the whole world is holding its breath, and it makes me feel as if maybe I should too, but I don’t. I can’t. I keep each inhale and exhale deep, steady, quiet and count to three before I set my arms in motion. I swing my forearms forward from the elbow, ensuring that my arms are just about straight above me and release the knives, making sure my wrists are straight. With the longer distance, this helps ensure that neither knife flips in the air too much.

Waiting feels like an eternity with the hunger that I know not only plagues me, but Carmen as well, and my breathing hitches as I hear the sound of the impact. I take several steps toward the direction in which the birds have fallen to the ground. I hear the high pitched squeals leave their bodies in their descent, and in my periphery I can see the faltered steps of the woman behind me. See the way her face crumples at the sound, and I know that even though she knows that we need this, it still affects her more than she wishes. Even as the two animals hit the ground, the impact solidifying their death, I can’t bring myself to feel remorse in the same way that she does. Not for an action born out of necessity.

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