Chapter 4 #2
The creaking of a door opening, shouts resounding, and feet scuffing freeze me in place.
My scarred hand moves to cover my heavy breaths, the stupid cuffs on my wrists sentencing me.
Nix said to fight, but he put me in this truck.
I inch to look beyond the edge of the dark wall, where the light is spilling.
The loud bashing and the harsh words “swine,” “inbred,” “to death,” surround me.
Shrinking back towards the floor, I seek the pressure that sits between my breasts.
I grasp it. It was risky, wearing it today.
I had to, Mam a heavy weight on my mind. Our treat. Our joy. Dashed. FUCK.
What should I do?
The locket rests leaden in my palm as I release the flood of tears I have been trying to hold back in the musky smelling truck, everything finally pouring forth.
Slam. My body pushes further into the back of the truck, the door we entered the docking bay through abruptly shutting, taking any sounds with it.
I try to focus on what is written inside the heavy locket as I hold it close to my chest. “Hope.”
However, all I feel is anguish.
And… A simmering wrath underneath the surface, my skin prickling.
When I was younger, my favourite story was the one my mam would tell about the phoenix rising from the ashes—Nix’s namesake.
I couldn’t get over the cycle of death and rebirth.
If I had to pinpoint what part of my cycle I am in now, I would say death.
If I know anything about death, we fight for rebirth.
We love beyond life.
Seconds go by before masculine voices enter the space.
Clenching the locket in my hand, I wait.
I don’t know what for. It feels like the right thing to do.
Why push me towards this truck if Nix didn’t want me to stay in it?
I can’t think beyond what is happening at this moment.
Lingering on thoughts of Nix and Mam won’t get me out of this.
To help them, I need to be free. Is that Nix’s intention?
Statuesque, I remain… A shuffling comes from outside the truck. I brace for someone to find me.
Shadows linger over the crates I’m hiding behind, breathless.
The heavy roller doors of the truck bed ring shut, and I release held air.
Perfect. Stuck in the back with a few half-piled pallets in total darkness.
Fingers rub against smooth silver, my heart on a string.
What I still don’t get is why this truck?
I thought I was meant to run far away from Halo.
If anything, I should head to the Fairy Lands.
That’s my only chance at freedom. The colourful creatures behind the line of trees that segment the two worlds.
Fairies… I’ve only ever caught glimpses of them on hollowing days.
A giant blue fairy, my saving grace. If they are willing to lie for us, what else are they willing to do? They are already fighting against Halo.
The truck jolts, and I fall into the wall behind me, pain radiating up my right arm.
“Again?” That’s going to leave a bruise.
Clumsily creeping my fingertips in front of me, I find the mesh encasing a group of boxes off to the side, and I stand, spreading my legs wide to ground myself on the rickety floor, the movement so strange.
In less than a minute, we’re screeching to a stop.
Fuck. I should’ve known this ordeal would be futile. There’s no escaping Halo. Whatever Nix had planned was forfeit when he was found in the truck bay. Surely, they’re checking every single vehicle going through the parking lot checkpoint.
Fight. His voice is in my head.
Noises permeate the air outside. A chill winds up my spine.
Solence pumping with veracity, I breathe deeply, holding the one thing I have left of them. When this is all over, I may have nothing left. The ultimate test. Will I let them have my grief or my rage? Or both?
Time needs no introduction. My mind is made up.
I’m Storm of the lightning fields, and I won’t let Halo have me. If it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let them have this. My hand rests on the thudding organ underneath, the coolness of the locket a reminder.
For Mam.
For Nix.
For all the seronds who came before.
I will be their destruction.
A jarring squeal comes from the hinges of the roller door. Early morning light pours into the darkness. My eyes blink rapidly, adjusting.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
No—fucking fight. Mam would hate to know I’m swearing so much, even internally, but fuck, my life has seriously turned into a steaming pile of shit this morning. Worse than the smell coming off of Noah.
Slipping down behind the boxes, I hide.
“Shut him up. I’m sick of hearing his pitiful moans.
” An irate voice travels through the chamber of the cargo hold.
I clamp my hands over my mouth to control whatever wits I have left.
The harshness of the coarse bandage rubs against my nose from another wound I sustained fixing the rods.
I live with my hands strapped these days.
A sneeze coming on, I hold my tongue to the roof of my mouth—a trick I learnt from Mam.
The sneeze stops. Thank fuck for that.
Who do they need to shut up?