Page 55 of Rok's Captive
JUSTINE
He staggers as he walks.
Each step seems to cost him more than the last, his movements jerky and uneven where before they were fluid and sure. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter. Just keeps pushing forward, one foot in front of the other, his arms still cradling me against his chest as if I’m something precious.
I can’t take my eyes off him. Off the firm line of his jaw, clenched tight against pain. Off the unwavering focus in his gaze. This miraculous, impossible creature who found me in the sand and has somehow, against all logic, decided that I’m worth protecting.
Worth bleeding for.
And heisbleeding—his dark, shimmering blood has soaked into my clothes, staining the fabric in patterns that might be beautiful if they weren’t so terrifying. But I don’t care about the stains. I only care that each drop means he’s losing more strength, moving closer to a threshold I don’t want him to cross.
The gratitude and pain twisting in my chest is so intense it leaves me speechless. What do you say to someone who’s willing to die for you? Especially when they can’t understand a word you say?
“Thank you” feels woefully inadequate. “You’re an idiot for carrying me when you’re injured” seems ungrateful. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave me here” is too raw, too revealing of the fear clawing at my throat.
So I say nothing. Just watch his face, memorizing each alien feature, each mark, each line. Trying to capture the way his eyes had looked at me in the cave, the raw hunger in them mixed with something…softer. Something that made my breath catch and my heart pound even now, despite the exhaustion and fear dragging me down.
I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I find I no longer have the urge to ask, to challenge, to question his decisions. All he’s done since finding me is protect me. Apart from that one strange incident where he sniffed my underwear—which, in retrospect, was probably just him trying to understand what I was—he’s been nothing but…good to me.
My fingers curl gently around the edge of his shoulder, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries. I hate that he’s bleeding and still carrying me, but somehow I know with absolute certainty that he won’t put me down. Won’t let me walk beside him. It’s there in the set of his shoulders, in the way his arms tighten almost imperceptibly whenever I shift my weight.
For whatever reason, carrying me is important to him. So I let him, even though it goes against every independent bone in my body.
We walk for what feels like hours. The sun climbs higher, its heat bearing down with an intensity that seems to press the very air from my lungs. I hadn’t realized just how much protection the emergency blanket had offered. How much it had shielded me from the worst of the sun’s wrath. Now, without it, the rays beat against my skin like a dom with a whip, drawing the moisture from my body, the strength from my limbs.
And I’m not even the one doing the walking.
“You need to rest,” I murmur, knowing he won’t understand but needing to say it anyway. “You’re losing too much blood.”
He doesn’t respond, of course. Just keeps moving forward, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing step.
Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to remain vigilant, scanning our surroundings for any signs of those shadow creatures. The memory of them is too fresh, too terrifying to allow even a moment of complacency. And there are other dangers here too—like whatever made that tunnel I fell into. This planet has things. Hidden things. Waiting things.
I wonder briefly if Jacqui and the others are facing similar horrors, or if they’ve somehow managed to avoid the worst of what this alien desert has to offer. I hope they’re okay. I hope they’re doing better than we are.
After what feels like an eternity, a dark shape appears on the horizon. As we draw closer, it solidifies into a rock formation—not the one I’d been aiming for when I first set out from that bus, and something that must be my heart drops. I push away the feeling, eyes cast on the formation ahead. It’s a flat, mesa-like structure rising from the endless sand, its surface weathered and pitted by whatever passes for erosion on this planet.
Rok’s pace changes slightly, becoming more determined, more focused, and I realize this must be our destination. This must be where he’s been struggling to reach all this time.
For a moment, hope flares in my chest. Maybe this is where his people are. Maybe he’s been taking me to his tribe, his family, others who can help him, heal him and also help me, Jacqui, all the others. My heart skips a beat. The thought of more beings like Rok is both thrilling and terrifying, but right now, I’d welcome any help we can get.
As we draw closer, though, I see it’s not a settlement or village. Just a cave entrance, dark and forbidding against the brown stone.
My hope flickers but doesn’t die. Maybe his people live inside, hidden from the sun’s relentless glare. Maybe there’s a whole community in there, just out of sight.
But a nagging doubt whispers otherwise. What if heisalone? But…he can’t be. Where did he come from then? How has he survived out here, in this harsh, unforgiving landscape?
Rok carries me to the cave entrance, his steps becoming more unsteady the closer we get. By the time we cross the threshold, stepping from blinding sunlight into cool shadow, he’s trembling with exertion, his breathing ragged and shallow.
The entrance reveals nothing but sand and stone, no signs of habitation, no indications that anything has ever lived here. My heart sinks further. But Rok continues deeper, past a curve in the rock wall that hides whatever lies beyond from immediate view.
And then the world opens up.
The narrow passage widens suddenly into a chamber that takes my breath away. It’s enormous, far larger than it appeared possible from outside, with walls that curve upward to form a dome. Directly above, a circular opening in the rock reveals a perfect circle of yellow sky, letting in just enough light to illuminate the space without the harshness of direct sun.
And there’s foliage. Sparse, but foliage nonetheless in tiny patches scattered across the otherwise barren floor. Small plants, nothing like the lush vegetation of Earth, but vegetation nonetheless—spiky, resilient-looking things with thick leaves and stems that seem designed to conserve every drop of moisture.
There’s no visible water source, at least none that I can see, but the air feels different in here. Cooler, yes, but also somehow…damper. As if the very rock exhales moisture into the chamber.
