Slowly, I follow the two goons further into the room. It doesn't take me long to see the big stone table at the far end of the room. My lip curls again, and my pace slows until I stop still a fair distance from what I'm sure is our destination.
The two goons turn and give me a look, so I continue onward, in the off chance that maybe I'm wrong and we're going to move around that table and exit into a different room.
Sure enough, they stop walking right next to that table. I stop between them. One of them motions to the table as if he expects me to climb right on. I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
The same one who spoke previously snarls, “Get on the table.”
Again, I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. “That's not going to happen.”
They glance at each other, and one of them shrugs before they both turn back to me, hands raised to make a grab for me.
I jump back, knowing it's entirely pointless to fight back but not really giving a shit. It's one thing to follow somebody down a long corridor willingly; it's another to willingly lie on a table like you're offering yourself up for free.
That's got to be at least rule number six. Never climb up onto a table of your own free will.
I jump back again, this time my back runs right into another body. Arms wrap around me, pinning my arms to my sides, so I lean back, bring both my feet up, and kick one of the goons square in the chest. This move throws the man behind me off balance, so when I place both of my feet back on the floor, I immediately shift my weight forward, bringing my arms up sharply, so he loses his grip around my torso.
I shift our position, so my back is toward the table and I'm facing the swarm of nasty demons intent on putting me in my place.
Being a realistic guy, I’m aware that my chances are basically nil here. But when I end up strapped to that stone table, it needs to be clear that I did not put myself there with intention. It needs to be clear that I'm there under duress, a prisoner of whatever's about to happen.
I manage to shove the first few away, landing punches on the next few that come at me. But within moments, they swarm, and for every one I knock aside, three more show up, and before too long, I find myself on the ground, taking hits that I quickly lose count of.
I manage to mutter a few ‘nos’ and ‘get off of mes’ then pain explodes in my temple, and it’s lights out.
THIRTY-TWO
NOTHING
Vivian
Jacob hadto lead us out of the damn mountain maze.
And then Cornelius had to lead us back to Zion’s place.
Once there, I went about gathering a few supplies. Unsure of what we’re walking into, it’s impossible for me to even know what we may need, so I find myself tossing in a few extra weapons and some bandages.
Then I head into the kitchen, where Cornelius and Jacob are waiting for me. Still on high alert, I pause for a moment, place my palms on the counter, and close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Anxiety continues to pulse through me, fueled by adrenaline and that deep urgency to see Zion with my own eyes. I grind my teeth together, shaking my head against that crushing feeling of the unknown.
I take a few more breaths to no avail, and then, right when I'm about to give up, a touch of warmth settles in my chest. “What the hell?”
Jacob glances up at me. “What is it?”
I shake my head, holding my breath as if I think that had anything to do with it. Laughing at myself, I shrug, but then, right when I'm about to tell him I'm stupid, I feel it again. Stronger this time.
I place my palm over my chest as I whisper, “What is that?”
Jacob comes to stand beside me, and I look over at him as he asks, “What is what, Viv?”
“I was doing some breath work, trying to calm myself down, and then getting frustrated because it wasn't working. But then, suddenly, I felt warmth right here,” I press my hand against my chest and then add, “It keeps coming in pulses. Slow waves.”
“Zion,” Cornelius responds from the other side of the table. “Wherever he is, there must be a moment of calm. Or at least enough stillness for him to go seeking you.”
A wave of calm settles over me, my pulse slowing as the adrenaline eases, bringing with it my anxiety. A short laugh falls from my lips, and then I ask, “Can he feel me?”
Jacob responds, “Yes and no. He knows you're there and has a general idea of what you're feeling. But it wouldn't be anything intentional on your part.”
“How do I fix that?”
