Page 58 of Finding Fate

Fate

Before

Blood and snot dripdown the back of my throat, making it difficult to take a full breath. The hand around my neck releases, allowing me to crumple to the ground. I wrap my arms over my head in an attempt to hide from the last ten minutes.

I stare at the ground instead of turning to see. I can’t see what I’ve done to him.

Destiny. Mom. Blue-eyed girl. The woman from the other night. And now Nash. Who else will be affected by me? Hurt by me? Even if I don't wish it, the curse on my life bleeds over to them. Once anyone knows me, their fate is sealed.

The urge to spiral into self-pity and despair overtakes my will to fight. I don't resist as I'm hauled to my feet, or as he drags me limp out the door into the chaos.

Men shout. Popping sounds echo and burst around us, surrounding the entire camp as men run, guns raised.

Dragging me in his wake, the general yells to his men. The spike of pain in my shoulder pulls me from the black hole I dove into, jolting me back to reality.

With my free arm, I scratch at the general’s forearm and kick my feet in effort to slow our escape. And it works, until his second grips my other arm and assists in pulling me across the camp. Screaming and kicking, I frantically scan the thick jungle, hoping someone will barge through and save me.

Instead the two race faster and faster in the opposite direction of their men. The truck door swings open and something hard slams against the small of my back, shooting me forward. Rusted metal rips the pale, exposed skin of my shins as I'm shoved into the cab of a small truck. The general climbs in behind me, preventing my retreat plan. The second-in-command slides into the driver seat, trapping me between them.

Fuck.

As the truck rumbles to life and lurches forward, a deep, soul-trembling panic sets in. If I leave with them.... A quiet sob escapes.

At the outskirts of camp, I lurch across the general’s lap. My fingers graze the metal of the door handle before his elbow slams down on my forearm. I reach again, but something hard smacks the back of my skull and stars overtake my vision. I resolve to stay conscious. I have to keep trying. If I leave here, my fate is sealed.

The desire and will to live spur courage to try again. I lunge for the window, my knuckles connecting with glass. Something cracks and pain sears from my hand up my arm. I scream at the throbbing in my hand and swivel in the bench seat to kick the man driving me to my death. Again and again I kick, at him, at the steering wheel, anything my foot can connect with. Shouting fills the truck as it swerves hard right just as I’m off balance. I roll to the floorboard, my chin nailing the floor first.

With just trickles of energy left, I push up only to fall back down.

This time my brain doesn't listen to my pleas and the world goes dark.

**

ARGUING MALE VOICESspear through my eardrums right into my brain. The back of my skull thumps with its own pulse.

Shit. I have no idea how long I've been out. Minutes? Seconds? Hours? Which means not only do I not know the direction back to camp if I manage to get out of this, but who knows how far away it is.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m going to die.

Breathing becomes difficult. Breaths too short, too shallow. Darkness encroaches in my vision once again.

I need to calm the hell down. I can’t fight if I’m unconscious. Focus. Deep breath in and hold. Deep breath out. With each focused breath, the darkness fades and my vision clears. Staying as still as possible, I keep breathing deep and listen to the continued arguing above me. I need a plan. What would Hermione do? I need to channel all my favorite badass characters’ strength, all the women I've read about, and use it now.

Huh, being a book nerd my entire life now seems more like studying than casual reading.

A smile pulls at my lips.

I’m going to get out of this.

I will live.

My still-throbbing head screams in pain, every bump along the road rocking my limp body side to side. Add in the loud yelling still going above me and my brain is near pulverized.

Or so I thought.

A gunshot booms in the cab, pulling a scream from me. Ears ringing, I shift along the floorboard to look up. The general's lifeless, bleeding body lies slumped against the window. Gaping, I face the man who just killed the man I wanted to kill.

"Get up," he says, staring out the windshield. For emphasis, he motions with the gun to the empty seat beside the dead general.

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