Page 1 of Unmasked Anarchy
PROLOGUE
Mud, cold and clammy, presses into my cheeks as I pull my body forward.I don’t recall how many times I have passed out, and I can’t feel a single ounce of pain, even though I know what happened to me is bad.The white-hot feeling of the knife being plunged into my stomach replays over and over in my mind.
They left me for dead.
Only they didn’t complete the job.
With each ragged breath, I make a vow to myself that I won’t die out here.I won’t let this be how I go out.
My body doesn’t even feel like mine anymore.The strength inside me is the last thing I am clinging to, praying it is enough to get me to the road.My fingernails are caked with dirt as heavy rain falls around me and, inch by horrifying inch, I manage to drag myself closer.
They could be there, waiting.
Every inch feels like it’s killing me.I am leaking; I don’t know how much blood I have lost, but I do know it is a deadly amount.My legs slump behind me, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much I will them to move, they don’t.My arms are the only thing taking me closer to the light above the dark shadows.
Don’t pass out now.If I lose this, I loseeverything.
With effort, I lift my head.My hair is plastered to my face; the blond strands stuck to my battered skin.A deep breath, another lurch forward.I press my palm to the soft flesh above my hip.The wound there is big.Something soft grazes against my fingers, and I fight back the urge to vomit.
I know what that is.
That is my insides.
I’m going to die out here.I’m going to die.
Panic grips my chest as I reach for my shirt, slowly removing it.A task that should take only seconds takes me so long I wonder if I am going to pass out again.When it is off, I have to force myself onto my side, and with my teeth I tear at the material until it rips in half.Then, another long stretch is wasted as I tie it around my wound, praying it is enough to keep everything in.
The shirt knots against my side, pinching tight and wet, not as secure as I'd like but better than nothing.
One elbow at a time.My hand sinks into something cold and slick, gravel presses against my skin, but it is a stark reminder.I’m still here.I’m still breathing.Above the tree line, I can see the glow of streetlights.It feels so far, but I know that it is mere yards, if that.
It’s uphill, in the dark, and I try not to think about how my body won’t listen anymore.My knees scrape beneath me like dead wood, and my shirt is already soaked with blood, my back sticky with it.The rain is heavier, and I fear that soon the chill will make me pass out once more, only this time I might not wake up.
Another hour passes.
Then another.
Until finally, I make it to the shoulder of the road.A highway so empty it feels abandoned.My heart is pounding in a terrifying way, as if it is about to give up.I roll onto my back, head pounding, and I press my hand to the blood-soaked shirt.This is as far as I can go.
I have nothing left.
My fingers twitch, useless.I half laugh, and the movement tears at my gut, pain flaring so bright I think I’m going to black out.Not yet.Not here.Down the highway, a flicker.Headlights?Probably a hallucination.But the sound is real, an engine, big and throaty, such a familiar sound.I wish I could move, but the truth is, I can’t even lift an arm.
The rumbling gets closer, and then the engine stops, the light from the bike looming over me.
Heavy boots crunch on the gravel as whoever has stopped comes closer.
I try to focus my eyes so I can see the man above me, but my vision is blurring.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
That bad, huh?
Rough hands press against my cheeks, and I blink, but I still can’t focus enough to see him.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
I want to say yes, but my mouth simply won’t move.
