Eight
OLIVIA…
My head lay on someone’s leg. Fingers stroked my hair. Nothing touched my back, thankfully. The slight vibration under me assured me that we were once again in a vehicle and moving. Not that it would do any good.
“She needs to dream,” I said through pain-clenched teeth.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Winifred said. “Grey swears it looked like something removed the skin from your back.”
I wanted to snort. Now I could travel in the main vehicle? The time for secrets was at an end. And, my patience was at an end, too.
“I told you. There’s a fourth race. I see them. I talk to them. They help me in return for a piece of my flesh. What don’t you get?”
“What help did they just give you?” she asked.
“I asked them to control Blake for three days. Three days for three strips of flesh.”
Not nearly enough time. Had I been sure I could have endured more and still have been useful for the Judgement, I would have tried. Even now, I could feel Blake in my head, his anger at war with moments of soothing calm.
“Holy fuck,” Bethi said.
“Is it true that you Claimed Blake?” Winifred asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Her complete disgust and confusion annoyed me. Hadn’t she listened?
“Because I needed to live this time. Please, just leave me alone.”
No one spoke, and I drifted for the next several minutes.
“They’re just behind us now,” Gabby said, breaking into the peace-filled blanket of oblivion that had slowly begun to wrap around me.
“Where the hell is the city? This looks like Hicksville,” Bethi said.
Their conversation jolted me further into awareness.
“City? No. We can’t be by a city. We need a wasteland.”
“Well, that’s what this looks like,” Bethi said.
I struggled to sit up and grunted at the pain lancing through my back. Winifred’s hand on my arm helped me. That’s when I noticed I wore my sweater again. Weird that I couldn’t feel it on the wounds.
“I butterfly bandaged the gashes once we got the bleeding to stop,” she said. “I didn’t think we had time for stitches.”
Her words held little meaning as I stared at the nothingness around us. The Others outlined an occasional home within the distant whiteness. The rural area gave me hope.
“How close are they?” I asked. Blake didn’t feel close. He still felt like he waited on the east coast, where I’d put him.
“Not far.”
“I’m not asking you, Gabby,” I said, not unkindly.
The groans and moans of the Others filled the car. I listened closely, turning my head to watch the swirls of grey behind us.
“So many,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone in the car. “Please tell me you’ve dreamt something, Bethi.”
“Yeah. I died hung upside-down, throat slit. I’m not even sure which of us that was anymore. Not you. But one of us.”
