Page 3 of The Last One
Why do I see bare hands? Where are my gloves?
Shit.
That thief wore a bloodred leather vest, a bloodred hooded cloak, black leather gloves, and black suede boots. All of it hung off her like dead skin.
Why?Because that wasmybloodred leather vest, that’s why. And that wasmybloodred hooded cloak, and those weremyblack leather gloves, and those weremysuede boots that I’d finally—finally—broken in.
Thatthiefstole my clothes. Left me wearing nothing but this bandeau and these black leather breeches.
I need my stuff, especially my amulet, and the longer I sit here, that tugging in my gut fades. Feels like something—my pendant—is pulling me to follow that bandit.
I try to yell, “Stop, thief!” but I can no longer see her—she ran into that copse of gray birches ahead. Words still won’t work in my mouth, and trying to speak makes my head spin. But I don’t need my mouth or words to catch a thief. Just my feet.
Still a bit wobbly, I push up from my nest of grass again, succeeding this time. I take a step…and then another step…and another.
Where did she go? I might not be able to see her, but I can still smell her. That distinct and unforgettable sickly sweetness means…
She’s dying.
Yeah, death stinks. She didn’t have any obvious injuries—besides the one I gave her—but there’s something wrong with her. She looked like she hasn’t eaten in several days. And her rancid breath. Some kind of sickness is eating away her insides.
That’s when I notice it: a golden amber trail twisting through those ghostly trees, swirling over pink granite boulders and clouding the air. A golden amber trail that follows the thief’s route through this forest.
I blink—am I seeing this stream of light because it’s really there or am I seeing this stream of light because I hurt my head?
I squeeze my eyes shut, take several deep breaths, and open my eyes again.
Nothing else glows, not the trees, fallen leaves, or dirt. But that gold light remains, hovering, beckoning me to follow.
Amber must be the color of death here.
But where is “here”?
I push my fingers against my temples as though I can make another memory—any memory—pop into my mind. But nothing pops out. No memories left.
I don’t remember roaming these woods. I don’t remember the events that left me so unconscious that a bandit felt comfortable enough to steal almost every piece of clothing off my body.
I’ll ponder these gaps in my memory later, hopefully with a pastry or two and a cask of rum. I guess some things, rum and cake, are more unforgettable than others. My mind pulls away from treats because I have a bigger problem right now: that cold and oddly empty sensation I felt waking up moments ago is now spreading across my chest and down to my belly.
“Cold” and “empty” are never good. “Cold” and “empty” mean danger. Even the simplest creature senses danger.
I may be near-naked, but I’m far from simple.
Yeah, I need my clothes. And my amulet.
I move faster, and my legs become steadier. Soon, I’m running, and pebbles, sharp rocks, and broken twigs stab the soles of my bare feet. Pain jolts through my heels and ankles, but I won’t stop. Some walking corpse stole my stuff. And Iwillreclaim what belongs to me.
As I dart between the birches, I realize that almost every tree has holes and cracks in its bark. Thin, dying branches poke the sky, and the leaves crunch beneath my feet—more brittle brown than vibrant green, more dead than alive. The jagged rocks jabbing out of the forest floor have more hope of life than these trees.
Where am I?Such a bleak landscape should be memorable, but nothing makes me say, “Ah! Now I know!”
Rain clouds race above, their shadows darkening this dying forest. Swarms of mosquitos and hungry gnats drift through the hot, dry air and prick at me. They want a snack before the storm. Of course, I understand. Who doesn’t like a delicious honeycake in heat like this? Still, these flying pests will have to catch me first.
Because I’m not stopping, not until my hands wrap around thatthief’sneck and squeeze until she takes her last breath—
Spots swirl before my eyes, and then my vision blurs, and I stumble and drop to the hard-packed earth. I’m shaky, and my stomach rolls, and I want to vomit into the piles of dry leaves. My head pounds, and I touch the back of my skull.Oof!Tender. A little swollen. I pull away two fingers. Blood. Not a lot, but enough. I stare at my bloody fingers and wait for this surge of sickness to pass.
What happened to me? Did someone kick me in the head? Did thebanditkick me in the head? Was I pushed? Did I slip? Is slipping even possible in a forest this dry? And whereisthis forest?And why am I here?
