Dark Wave

Chapter 6

I let out a breath of quick, cool air as we reached the top, the pathway welcoming us, more trees, and faint hints of snow covered the ground. I walked ahead of Mack absently, my face solemn and concentrated. Touching a dark, bare tree faintly, I gazed at the dirt path, on my knees, and at the rocks, and the imprint of horse hooves and cart's wheels. Sharply I turned on my heels and stood, charging down the dirt path like a bullet, saying nothing, and I guess Mack followed too. I don't remember if he said anything at this time, I just remember the feeling of anxiety over-powering me, swallowing me, as I stormed down the path, the wind biting and spitting at my face. 

Then the darkness came overhead as we charged under a canopy of dark, blistered trees. They grabbed my jacket, and tore at my jeans, and cut my leg. I wiped the blood and stopped sharply, regaining my breath, and laid my hand on a stump for support. Mack caught up later and cast me a concerning glance, and he glanced around in a full circle at the sharp, deadly branches that sort of loomed over us, shadowed us. 

But then, as I lifted my hand from the stump, I saw it. I saw the blood. At first I thought it was my own, from when I wiped my leg, but I used a different hand. I panicked, stepping back, and grabbing Mack's arm and pulling on it, whimpering a little. His words were : "I'm sure it's nothing." 

Of course, I thought. And I looked at my hand, and the blood that I'd received from the hand-print on the tree. I dropped to my knees, breathing quickly and disjointedly, scrambling at the dirt to wipe it off, to clean my hands. 

And I found more blood.

"Oh God, Mack!" I cried, staring at my hands, crying a little, he turned again, to look at me, blank faced. And he scooped me off the floor, he dragged me along the pathway, and again, I didn't hear anything he said. I don't think he did say anything, to be truthful, I didn't even see his face, just the blur of blackness surrounding me as we rocketed through the dead orchard. 

"The trees move." He said suddenly, loosening his grip and cutting through bushes and branches quickly.

"What?" Stumbling around him, and making my way through the branches behind him.

"I don't know. I can feel them moving,  calling." He glanced back, and took a jog-step to quicken his pace. 

"You're mad." I said, but he took no notice.  And then I stopped, and grabbed his arm sharply. I could feel a warmth, and a faint glow coming from between the trees. The ground bore no scars of horse tracks or wheel marks. Pointing, I took a step forward, and saw a thick, acrid black cloud of smoke above the trees, harshly oppressing the dark blue sky. Fire.

---

The woman gazing out the window turned back to the console, and closed the lid slowly, let out a breath of air, and then looked up. And she saw the figure of black in the open doorway, and felt the cool draft lift her hair and let it fall over her shoulders. Her eyes shimmered in the filtered moonlight, and she sighed silently, closing the shutters behind her, and spoke, deep and sultry. 

"What do you want?" She began to open her desk drawer, and reached for the silver gun. But it glinted, right into his left eye, and she saw his dark eye scowl at her. Her face dropped and she moved back as he advanced.

He laughed. Musky and deterrent, and placed his hands on the desk. "I wonder, what shall we do with you?"

She flinched at his words, and took another step back towards the wall. "We?"

He smirked, and spread his arm, beckoning two men to enter the room at either side of him, with straps, belts, bats. She shook her head, and moved back slightly, her hands brushing the wall.

And he came at her. Viciously and quiet as a mouse, he sprang, thrust his hand at her jaw and threw it back, hitting her head against the wall, tracing his long, slim fingers along her juicy pale throat. She whimpered quietly, and gripped the window-sill to her left tightly. Then he threw her. He grabbed her arm tightly and launched her against the desk, leaned in and bit her lip, licking the blood. Swallowing, he stood back, and gestured his arms to the two other men. They were pale skinned, one blond, one black haired, both with menacing eyes, and evil smirks. She didn't even know them, didn't even know the men who would come to violate her and abuse her. Fuckwits, she thought, and glanced at the shutters. The blond one ripped at her skirt, and she squirmed, her legs kicking, but the other one held her down against the cold wood. She whimpered again as he unzipped his trousers, the faint sound of the flies and the whippet of the garment being left on the ground next to her. He was already hard. She went numb as he entered, numb as she was bound and taunted, numb as she was insulted and spat on.

She heard him grunt as he pounded inside her, and it hurt her, because he pulled on her hair and punched her every-time she whimpered or screamed. She zoned out, her vision blurring, she felt her own blood matt her hair, and cover her eye. And she knew that when she woke up in the blood, the drink and the remnants of the night before, that her scars and bruises would be fresh.

The man came inside her. She felt it in her, and she screamed with pain. And he drew out, and pushed her onto the floor, and smeared his hands over her face, leaving her coughing and bleeding. Then he kicked her. And kicked her again, in the stomach, in the legs and the arm. Again and again and again. But she didn't cry. She'd been tricked. Brainwashed into thinking that it was her fault, that the reason this was happening was because of her, because she was useless and worthless. Well she was, wasn't she? She'd killed people; she was a modern Hitler, a murderer. She deserved it. She deserved it...

 --- 

I stepped forward, fighting against my conscience that told me that death was inevitable, and not just my own peril, but the death of others. Mack came after, silently and slowly, we made our way through the dead, crisp vines and bushes, and saw a fiery glow. Orange and red and yellow flicks of light dancing along the inside of the clearing, the ground dark and parched, black. Dead. A romantic love affair of fire and death in an enigmatic surrounding. And it was ugly, so very ugly, because there in the flames, I saw the upturned cart.