The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 9

Panic wells within me as I search desperately from side to side, continually met with only a cruel, dark emptiness. I can sense nothing but the heavy tread of footsteps pacing across the stone floor behind me, slow and purposeful as my unseen tormenter sizes me up. His callused fingers run along the welts on my back and causes the skin there to prickle and spark.

The whip lands without warning. I arch my back and scream, feeling my throat tear with the action yet emitting no sound. The terror becomes all-encompassing as the now-familiar realization dawns that I am entirely alone with no hope of help.

I try to pull my hands free but they are trapped above my head. I thrash at the manacles, registering the angry red welts encircling my wrists, tearing anew and trickling blood.

Another lick of pain up my back. Every part of my body burns with the fire snaking its way through my body in a single instant before pulsing feverishly into the eternity that follows.

The darkness encroaches further. There is nothing beyond this. There is no dungeon, no torturer, no questions. Nothing exists beyond myself and the whip.

It falls again. And again.

I want to plead. I want to beg. I want to say anything that could end this. I want to die.

It falls again.

There is a sudden blinding flash of white as my eyes fly open and I jerk upwards, gasping. My raw throat constricts my breath while I crumple forward, coughing and choking.

The sand below my hand shifts, shocking me with its realness. Tears well in my eyes at the relief and gradually I am able to get my breathing back under control, my heart hammering desperately in my chest, pulsing the reality of life and safety back into my racing mind.

I am not in the dungeon. I am in the desert. Harmen is gone, dead. No one is keeping me trapped here.

A shadow moves at the edges of my vision and I jolt to the side, rolling into a defensive position and grappling for the dagger in my boot in the same instant.

My hand grasps at empty air and my brows draw together, fighting to focus on the sudden change in circumstance. Luca stands in front of me, a safe distance back and regarding me quizzically.

We remain poised and tensed, sizing one another up until he finally breaks the silence.

"You sleep poorly."

"Yes, I do. Thanks." I straighten cautiously, rubbing my forehead. "Did you take my dagger?"

"I could not know if you would attempt to attack me with it when you awoke, but look here," He tilts his head, seemingly amused. "You did."

"You caught me off-guard." I try to keep my voice light.

"Your reflexes are impressive considering that you are no warrior." His curious, matter-of-fact manner of speaking betrays a slight note of approval and I relax, slightly.

Will.

"I have to find my friends." I hear myself say, snapping to attention as I take in our surroundings, I search wildly, spinning in place. We are surrounded by tall, sloping sand dunes and clear sky, with not a single other person in sight. I stumble backwards as I register the gigantic, deflated corpse of Phoenix.

The airship is half-buried only a few yards from where I stand, its polished wooden undercarriage hidden by the swells of sand. The silver canvas that once housed our helium has collapsed and lies draped over Phoenix as if shrouding it for a funeral. A shudder runs up my spine at the realization of just how close I was to riding the ship directly into the ground.