Oblivion, Page 7

"Don't ever call me that." My icy cold tone startles both the stranger and myself.

  "You're different than the last time I saw you." He yanks the collar of his shirt back over his mouth, the fabric muffling his voice. "That is going to make things more complicated."

  "What things?" Blaise demands, positioning himself in front of me again. "Answer me or--"

  "You'll make me. I know, I know. We've been down this road before, and it never ends well for either of us," the guy sneers, rolling up his sleeves. "All right, time to move on from this little charade. I have the perfect idea."

  "If you do anything to her, I'll break every one of your damn fingers," Blaise warns with his fists balled.

  The man opens and flexes his fingers. "Oh, I'm not going to do anything to her. Just you."

  "Go ahead and try," Blaise retorts. "You won't get very far."

  "Blaise," I warn underneath my breath. "Be careful."

  While I don't know what this man is capable of, I've felt the strength of his hands around my neck and breathed in his desire to kill.

  "Maybe not then, but I've changed a lot since the last time we did this." The stranger stares at Blaise as he raises his hands to his sides. "It's a shame you don't know this part yet, because it's by far my favorite. Although, not yours."

  Wiggling his fingers, the ground begins to alter beneath us, shaking and rupturing apart like cracked glass. The sky follows, cracking and splintering into uneven squares that shift around and reposition, the stars quickly fading in a wave of red, erasing the night--the world. Then buildings begin to crumble, evaporating into a cloud of dust that glides across the ground and obliterates the asphalt and cars. A dust devil funnels around us at a powerful rate, yet somehow we remain in place.

  "You're sending us back to the red sky world?" I shout at the stranger over the screeching of the violent wind. "Is that how you're going to kill me this time? Send me back before I'm healed?"

  "Healing isn't what you have to worry about." He swishes his hands downward and the wind dies, the changing scenery freezing.

  I wipe the dust from my eyes. "Then how are you going to kill me this time?"

  He draws down the top of his jacket to reveal his smirk. "I wasn't here for you. Well, not completely. I'll return when the time is right to destroy you before the Grim get ahold of you, like I always do."

  With a blink of his eyes, he vanishes into nothingness, leaving me standing in the middle of the desert of the red sky world, confounded, lost, and alarmingly on edge "Now what do we do?" I ask, twisting around toward Blaise. Where he stood a few moments ago is now vacant.

  I spin around, shielding my eyes from the glinting redness of the sky. The flat, bare land allows me to see for miles. And nothing. Absolutely nothing is around me, except for the occasional tumbleweed and shallow hill.

  Blaise is gone, and the awareness of what the time traveler meant smacks me in the stomach, nearly bringing me to my knees. The stranger wasn't here for me. He was here for Blaise. Why?

  What exactly did he do to him? Send him out of the Oblivion? Send him someplace else?

  The worse realization comes next, like a blow to the heart.

  Did the traveler kill Blaise?

  Is Blaise dead?

  Chapter 10

  Before the Branding of Flesh

  I stand in disbelief for way too long before panic gushes through my veins and pummels straight into my heart. My skin beads with sweat as I reel in a circle, looking left, right, up, down, refusing to accept that Blaise could be dead.

  "Blaise!" I call out, my panicked voice reverberating across the deserted acres of sand. "Blaise, are you here?"

  A breeze whisks through the air, blowing strands of hair into my face, and flakes of dust spray against parts of my exposed body. But as rapidly as the wind picks up, the air unexpectedly goes still.

  I cup my hands around my mouth. "Blaise!" I shout as I head toward a speck of silver glistening in the distance; the Broken City, I'm assuming. "Blaise, please, if you're somewhere close by, answer me."

  Deep down, I know my search is useless. If Blaise were nearby, I would see him. But giving up seems like a horrible decision. Besides, I have no place to go. I'm stuck here, alone, until Reece figures out how to bring me back from the brink of death.

  Not knowing what else to do, I begin trekking across the desert. The longer I walk, the more the thick soles of my worn boots scuff against the dirt, my footsteps becoming lethargic. The sunlight blasts down, coating my skin with a sticky layer of sweat, and the dust in the air clings to the dampness, making me feel icky.

  Hunger and thirst choke at my throat as dehydration and starvation set in. The feeling reminds me of when I was trapped in the channels and the Wardens would revoke my eating and drinking privileges. Still, I continued to survive, even when I didn't taste the wetness of water on my tongue for weeks on end.

  I never thought about how odd my ability to live off nothing was until I observed the way Ryder and Reece needed food and water at least once a day. At least, that's how I was, but now ...

  I topple over, collapsing onto my knees as hunger pains pinch my stomach. Dryness of the mouth and throat soon follow, magnifying the discomfort in my belly. It doesn't make sense. I've only been in the Oblivion for hours, yet I feel like I'm starving to death and dying of thirst. How is that possible? Then I remember what Blaise told me about how time moves differently in the Oblivion.

  Coldness slinks up my back, bringing on chills, as I become painfully aware that I've actually been here for weeks and my real body could be wilting away into skin and bones. I don't know what to do to fix the problem.

  The city could hold food and water, but it's forever away. And I'm uncertain eating in here would nourish my real body. Blaise did tell me if I died while I was in the Oblivion, my physical body would die, too, so maybe.

  "It could work," I murmur, lifting my heavy head to measure the miles of desert in front of me. "If I could find food and water."

  Do you even want to? A voice emerges in my mind. You could just go, you know. Give up and let the world be saved.

  Don't listen to him, a voice like my own warns. Your death won't save the world. Only destroy it.

  The other voice laughs. Like you know anything. You just don't want to die.

  Allura, don't listen to him. He wants you to die.

  "Who does?" I ask aloud, my head throbbing. "The time traveler?"

  No, the leader ...

  "The leader of who?" I wait for an answer, but one never comes. "Is it the same leader the Orders were talking about?"

  Again, my only response is the wind.

  Sucking in a feeble breath, I shift my weight forward and stagger to my feet. Though my legs gripe in protest as I straighten and trudge forward, I keep moving, one foot in front of the other, determined to make it to the city.

  "Well, well, well, lookie what I found," a raspy voice scrapes at my ears.

  I reel around so swiftly I just about topple over again, but thankfully I manage to keep my footing.

  "W-who are you?" I stammer to the man standing only a handful of feet away from me.

  He's dressed in holey pants and a frayed jacket. The hood lowered from his head reveals thinning hair and a gnarly scar running down the front of his face. His teeth are yellow, eyes bloodshot, and his leathery skin is sunburnt. His aged and worn appearance immediately declares he isn't Grim, but the evil smirk on his face and the gun slung over his shoulder makes me wonder if my life is in danger.

  His grin expands as his eyes scan up and down my body. "It's not every day I come across a woman out in the middle of the desert, all by her little ol' lonesome." He starts to circle me, and I turn with him, not allowing him to get behind me. He comes to a stop and glowers at me. "You're gonna hold still and let me getta good look at ya."

  Shaking my head, I back away from him. "Stay away from me."

  His lip curls as I dare another step in the opposite direction. "Fine, we'll do this the hard w
ay." He removes the gun from his shoulder and aims the barrel at me. "Now come here so I can see how much your pretty little body is worth."

  "No." Spinning around, I take off in a mad run, but I don't make it very far before the gun fires off.

  A metallic scent bites at the air as a fiery pain scorches against the back of my leg. It whips from my leg to my chest to my brain, and my knees give out as my stomach clenches. I crumble to the ground and land flat on my face.

  Coughing up a mouthful of dirt, I flip over and glance down at my leg. Blood gushes out of an open wound and stains the dirt beneath me.

  "I tried to warn ya." The man stalks toward me, gun in hand. "You wanderers never listen." He crouches down and taps the end of the gun to the side of my head. "Not too bright in the head, are ya?"

  Smashing my palm over the wound, I scoot away from him.

  He cackles with laughter. "Man, you're a stubborn one." He straightens his legs, pushing to his feet. "That's okay. I love a challenge." He drapes the gun back over his shoulder and shoots me a crooked grin. "And breaking the challenge out of stubborn people." He ambles toward me, his wicked smile growing as I struggle to get my feet under me.

  Every time I get upright, my injured leg gives out, and I end up collapsing repeatedly to the ground.

  When he reaches me, he stomps the bottom of his boot against my chest and shoves me back down. "All right, play time is over." He pushes all his weight down, pushing the oxygen from my lungs and pinning me to the dirt. "Now I just need to figure out what to do with ya." He cocks his head to the side as he studies me with greedy eyes. "Keep ya for myself or turn ya over to the Grim and get a hefty reward."

  Refusing to surrender, I reach up and stab my fingernails into his leg until I can feel his skin peeling apart. He cries out in pain, his face contorting in agony as he trips back. Seizing the distraction, I smash my boot into his kneecap and the contact makes a sickening crack. He groans as he buckles over, grasping his knee.

  "Ya stupid bitch," he seethes through gritted teeth. "I'm gonna make ya pay for that."

  I launch to my feet, but I move too eagerly and tumble right back down. Gritting my teeth, I flip over, put most of my weight on my good leg, then gradually stand up. Once I'm fully standing, I hobble across the desert, leaving a trail of blood behind me.

  "Ya ain't going nowhere!" the man shouts over a click.

  I throw a glance over my shoulder and cringe as I see him reloading. Quickening to a sloppy jog, I battle the wooziness funneling through my mind and stomach, and run as fast as I can. What really makes me sick is knowing I already lived this scene before, but I can't recall the conclusion--if the guy captures me or not--so I'm left blindly running into the unknown.

  The gun goes off again, and a bullet tears through my shoulder. As the wound sputters blood, I drop to the dirt, gasping for air.

  I roll over and blink fiercely against the sunlight.

  Get up! Get up! Get up!

  I try to obey the voice, but my legs and arms remain limply sprawled across the dirt.

  "Told ya not to run," the guy wheezes as a shadow casts over me. His face is screwed up in pain, his skin pale, and a glare is etched into his features. He stares at the blood spurting from my shoulder and leg then glances down at his knee. "Goddammit, I think ya broke my kneecap. Do ya know how much of a pain in the ass it's gonna be to get home?" His eyes blast daggers at me. "Guess, I'm gonna just have to leave ya out here to rot in the sun." Maneuvering his leg awkwardly, he plops down beside me and reaches for my face. "Such a shame."

  I flinch as his fingertips graze my cheekbone and turn my head away from him. With his other hand, he roughly grabs my chin and forces me to look him dead in the eye. Then he leisurely traces his fingertips down the side of my face to my neck, collarbone, lingering on my shoulder.

  "Such a pretty thing." He sketches a trail down my arm to my wrist. "Too bad you're gonna die. I coulda made bank on ya." He lines his fingers with my pulse, and then his thin brows pinch. "Awfully steady for a dying woman." He rotates my branded wrist upward, skimming his thumb along the inside of my wrist, causing a foul chill to coil across my skin. "Pretty little unmarked flesh."

  Unmarked?

  Angling my head to the side, I catch sight of my wrist. Nothing but a few clusters of freckles mark my skin.

  This is before I was captured.

  "Ya know what?" His eyes gleam with desire as his fingers roam toward the button of his pants. "I think after I'm done with ya, I'm gonna drag ya to the nearest channel and turn ya in for a reward." He flicks the button undone then drags the zipper down. When he notices my expression, a pleased smile lights up his face. "Yeah, keep looking at me with fear in your pretty little eyes. I think I like it." Keeping his bad knee locked, he slides his leg around then leans forward and places his hands beside my head, trapping me between his arms. His tongue slips out to wet his blistered lips. Then he lowers his mouth toward mine.

  For a wildly, reckless moment, I contemplate allowing his lips to touch mine so I can suck his life dry until nothing is left but a bag of saggy flesh and broken bones.

  Do it! Kill him! Make him hurt for what he's about to do to you!

  I inhale deeply and crinkle my nose at the pungent taste of the man's life. He may be living, breathing, and moving around, but death has contaminated him. The taste of approaching death tastes bitter on my tongue and floods my lungs with a stench so potent that I dry heave.

  "That's it," he purrs. "Shake with fear."

  "No." My loud, steady voice startles us both.

  He snarls, but then his gaze zips to my shoulder. "What the ...? How the hell did you heal?" He slants closer, getting distracted by the freshly grown skin over the wound.

  Scrounging up every ounce of strength I have in me, I lift my other arm, bringing my hand around the back of his head and grabbing the back of his neck. I pierce my nails into his flesh and yank him back, but he whips his arm around, smacks my arm, and grabs a fistful of my hair.

  "Nope. You're not gettin' out of this. Not after what I saw." Tugging at my hair, he clumsily stands up.

  My head pulsates with excruciating pain as he yanks on my hair again.

  "Let go of me!" I shout, kicking and writhing my body.

  He laughs and starts walking, dragging me by my hair.

  "Help!" I scream at the top of my lungs as I reach up and slap him in the back.

  He lets out a grunt but doesn't glance back as he takes longer strides.

  I fight for a few more minutes until he begins to whistle a recognizable tune. The same tune Blaise was singing earlier. Wondering if he knows Blaise, I crane my neck to the side to memorize his features. That way, when I reunite with Blaise, I can give an accurate description.

  What if you never see him again?

  Despair burrows through my mind as I turn back around and watch the red-tinted dirt and sparse, shallow hills stream by me in a lifeless blur. A memory of the first time I experienced this moment tugs at the back of my mind. Bit by bit, I start to piece together the journey I'm about to embark on and have embarked on before.

  This is how I ended up in the channels. This man turns me in, and then the Grim kill him.

  Knowing I'm returning to that horrid place ... to relive those wretched days of torture and depression ...

  No ... I can't do it ... Not again ...

  I dig the heels of my boots into the dirt.

  I can't do it ...

  Fight!

  I scream until my lungs are on the verge of combusting, kicking at the ground. I reach my arms above my head, trying to force my hair to rip from my skull. I thrash around, hit the man in the back, kick at the ground--do everything and anything to get free. Nothing works, and all I'm left with is an aching hope that I'll starve to death before we get to the channels.

  "Just a bit longer," the guy announces after about an hour goes by. "I'm pretty sure there's an entrance close by ... I just need to find it ... Oh, wait a minute, there it is." He
accelerates to a jog, and I jostle around, bouncing from side to side. "Hey! I got something for ya! It's real good, too!"

  "If you come any closer, I'll have to snap your neck," an all too familiar voice proclaims, causing my capturer to stop dead in his tracks.

  Lex?

  God, no...

  Heavy footsteps storm across the desert, growing closer, closer, closer. Fear chokes me, making breathing complicated.

  "What do you have?" Lex asks as his shadow falls over me.

  The man rotates around, gripping my hair tight as he gestures at me with his free hand. "Look for yourself."

  Lex's face appears in my line of sight; soulless, dark eyes landing on me. His nostrils flare as he inhales. "Well, isn't this a divine scent. Almost as good as quercu ..." His chest puffs out as he intakes more air. "No ... Maybe even better ..." He tears his eyes off me and looks at the man. "I'll take her from here."

  The man grins from ear-to-ear. "Not without my reward, ya won't."

  One corner of Lex's mouth spasms. "Of course. And a fine reward it shall be." His mouth opens to a toothy smile, then his hands dart out and he encloses his fingers around the man's neck.

  The man's eyes bulge as Lex lifts him off the ground by his neck.

  "Help ..." the man gasps as he releases my hair.

  The wind is sucked out of my lungs as I fall to the ground and on my back.

  "Oh, I'm going to help you." Lex offers him one final grin before kinking his wrist and snapping the man's neck like a twig.

  I scramble to my feet as Lex drops the man's lifeless body. I make it three steps before he catches my hair and hauls me against him.

  "You're not going anywhere." He snakes his arms around my waist and holds me against him as he presses his nose to the side of my neck. Then he breathes in and lets out a euphoric exhale. "You smell delicious ... If it wasn't for the laws, I'd keep you for myself." He sniffs me again before scooping me up and slinging me over his shoulder.

  "Let me go!" I shout, pounding my fists against his back.

  He strides forward, unfazed. "Fight all you want, but this is your new home."

  I fight harder, punching and screaming. Time is running out, and soon, I'll be a prisoner again.

  Please let me die ... Please let me die ... Please let me--

  Abruptly, a wave of numbness crashes over me, starting at my toes and swishing all the way up to the top of my head. A feeling of calmness blankets over me, but it gets chipped away by the feeling I'm being watched.