Chimera

Chapter Twenty-eight: Camila

Camila woke with a pounding in her head, an incessant, dull thud as constant as background static.

For a second, she was disoriented and confused. Was she in the glade? At home? The smashed windows, the smoke... that must have been a dream, right? Right?

But then with falling hope and a sinking feeling in her chest, she realised that the shattering windows, the Head Slayer, the dark figure that attacked her... they had all been real. Now, she was in a dark room. It was cramped and she had to pull her knees to her chest to fit. The only source of light came from a barred window, but even that was dim.

"Hello?" she yelled.

A voice came from nearby, so close that she felt like she could reach out a hand and touch it. It belonged to her father, and it made her heart ache.

"Camila? Is that you? I'm-"

There was the sound of clanging metal right beside her. It reverberated into her own cell, shaking the walls and the iron bars.

Something came into sight by her window. It was a Slayer woman, armed with a metal spear. Camila realised that she must have banged it on the cell door next to her to silence her father. The Slayer's lip was curled and her eyes bored into her malevolently.

"Forget it, Camila. You and all your treasonous little friends are safely locked up in the Sentry compound," she hissed, her voice dripping with poison. Then she spun on her heel and left.

Camila's mind worked double time. From what she had heard, she was in the Slayer compound, near the town square. And from her father's voice right next to her, they were all trapped in the same area. She had to escape somehow.

Ideas went through her mind, one after another. For hours and hours she sat, thinking. Time went by, maybe minutes, or maybe hours. Maybe it had been a day. The metallic taint of iron all around her stung her eyes and tongue. Still, time went by. She was aware of how uncomfortable the cell was. Her back ached and her legs grew numb and sore. She was weary and desperate. Her throat was dry and scratchy. Her stomach rumbled.

"Please! Please, some water, some food," she cried pitifully, banging on the bars.

But nothing came. She sat still. Eventually, the light that filtered through the bars grew meager and then vanished. Night.

Camila tried to sleep. It was near impossible. She caught minutes of rest, fading in and out of nightmares. Nightmares plagued her. Both when she was asleep, and awake.

Eventually, more light came through the bars. It burned her eyes. She had a faint hope that today they would bring food, but no-one even came to watch her. She knew she would die.

Her mouth was as dry as the desert sand, her tongue pleading for just one drop of moisture. Her stomach broiled and shuddered, threatening to eat itself. Her mind began to fade, losing its grip on reality. She imagined a million times the door exploding, opening, letting her out. She would cheer with hope and reach forward, only to be met with resistance and darkness and iron.

Who was she? What was she, except a thin, insane waif trapped in this starving shell of a body? She wanted to cry, but it would be a waste of water. At least, that's what she told herself. But she knew that she didn't even have the energy to manage even one sob.

Suddenly, something hurt her ears, the sound of twisting metal. There was a blast of blinding light in her face. The iron door fell away and clattered to the ground. There it was again: the hallucination that she was free.

"Hooray," she said weakly. Except she didn't think she was actually saying it... it felt like it was more in her mind. She had imagined her own voice, but her throat was too sore to permit any sound to leave.

"Come on. We're getting you out of here," a voice said. Camila laughed, not actually, except she imagined herself laughing.

"Water," she said to her imagination. She had forgotten what it tasted like.

Something hit her, square in the stomach. Her hallucinations had not quite been that vivid before. She was really losing it now.

She unscrewed the lid and held the canteen over her open mouth. She already knew that nothing would come. It was torture.

A stream hit her face. It felt so real... too real.

It could be real, she thought. Though she couldn't quite trust her mind anymore. But Camila decided to give her brain the benefit of the doubt and play along, especially because ignoring her fantasy would leave her feeling even more deprived.

The stream on her face was cold and wet and amazing and oh-so beautiful... it was water! And it was refreshing her and reviving her dry skin and flooding down her dry throat and filling her dry body. It soaked her hair and fell into her eyes and she wanted more, more, it was so amazing, so beautiful and she gulped it down, great big greedy swallows and she smiled and cried.

"Food! Food!" she yelled next.

"No. That Slayer lady's gonna come. We need to go!" the voice said. Something grabbed her hand and hauled her onto her feet. She wobbled a second, and then steadied. She squinted, trying to see the face of her saviour.

Out of the darkness came Callista.

If you've enjoyed reading this story, don't forget to vote, comment and add it to your reading lists. If you have any tips for how I can improve my writing, or what I did well this time, please feel free to tell me. Thanks so much for reading my story!

Thanks again, Sylver!