The History Runner

6 - Sacrifice

Damon actually slept in a bed that night. No hard ground, no twigs being jabbed into his side. He slept more soundly than he could ever remember. He awoke the next morning with the previous day's aches washed away, like they had never existed.

Rebekah looked better, too. She seemed ready, even eager, to get started on the day's running, despite her previous exhaustion.

"Give 'em all you got," Aaron said. "Be careful out there, and whatever you do, don't go east. There's a fair sized town that way."

"Thanks," Damon said. "Be careful, too."

Aaron pulled out a small, old looking gun that Damon remembered was called a revolver. Bullets shone in its chamber. "I want you to have this. It's old, and loud, and not really long range, but it'll still take a man down. And here's the ammo for it. Just don't put it close to your ear if you fire it."

Damon shoved the gun into his satchel. "Thanks again, I--"

He stopped as Aaron threw him to the ground.

Damon hit hard, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He looked up and saw Aaron in front of him, blood flowing from several wounds. Damon crawled over and put his finger on Aaron's neck. No heartbeat.

Rebekah bayed. A pulsing anger took the place of Damon's shock, clearing the mist of terror from his mind. He dove inside the cabin and took cover beside the doorway just as another spray of rounds filled the air. Carefully, he peeked out and saw a flash of white in the foliage. There. Damon took aim with the revolver and fired.

The shot was a lot louder than he expected, nearly deafening. He winced, noticing the small spray of red that came from the foliage. That was for Aaron.

Bullet holes peppered the walls around him. Damon cowered, dropping his revolver. He picked it up, but as he cocked it the two remaining Preservers stormed into the cabin. Damon fired at one, wounding him in the stomach, then at the second. He missed, however, and the man dropped his rifle and whipped out his pistol.

Damon drew his knife and hit the man in the hip as he was readying to fire. He screamed, right before Damon punched him between the legs with all the force he could muster.

The man fell over. Preservers, it appeared, did not protect their nethers.

Damon whirled around to his right, where the other Preserver was attempting to pry Rebekah's jaws from his leg. He hit her repeatedly, but the wolf simply snarled and refused to budge. Angered, Damon rushed forward and slashed the Preserver across his chest, the advanced steel slicing through the armor like cheesecake. The man growled, reaching for his pistol, but Damon jabbed him in the ribs before he could draw it.

The Preserver stumbled backward, clutching his new knife wound. Damon quickly retrieved his revolver, then shot the man three times.

The man's eyes lost their focus, and he tumbled sideways.

He had just killed a man. A Preserver, yes. A servant of the World Order, yes. Still a man.

Damon shook his head. He needed to run. Reinforcements were likely on the way. But... but there was one more thing he had to do. He forced himself to move, grabbed the man he had kneed and asked, "What do you know about me?"

"Enough," the Preserver wheezed. "You're a traitor to the World Order. An Archivist. You nearly killed two of our scouts." He glanced at Damon, his face bloodless. "We'll be merciful if you cooperate."

Mercy. The World Order's idea of mercy involved a quick death, rather than a prolonged one. "No." He raised his fist and knocked the man out.

"Rebekah, come," he said. The wolf ran to him, then beside him as Damon raced into the forest. Farewell, Aaron, he thought, his throat tightening. Two people dead, one killed by Damon's hand, the other for a noble cause.

Is it worth it? Damon wondered. How many more people will have to die?