Jacinda Cross

[Jacinda]

2021

The back of Jacinda's head felt like it had been split open. Her head lolled to one side and it was hard to move. She was on something only slightly softer than the bed of the truck. The room was hot and stuffy. She opened her eyes and everything was blury. She had trouble focusing. The room seemed shadowed in browns and black, though they moved about.

She heard voices but had trouble distinguishing words. Bits and pieces came to her, but made no sense. "....a gift...." "...enjoy..." "....not as food, no..." "...breed..." laughter "...need food. Find..." She tried to focus on the shadows but they remained indistinct blurs.

She raised her right hand to her head and jerked with a start as she realized that it was cuffed and wouldn't rise less than a foot. The sound seemed to bring the shadows attention and they came closer, blocking out the surrounding light.

One came close enough that her eyes could focus. When it did, she screamed as terror cut her to the core. The face was tight and split at the lips and around the eyes, the skin sickly dark red and yellow in the shadows. This was not a newly turning roug. The thing licked its lips disgustingly with a dead tongue and she saw the brown stained sharp teeth. She swung her free arm and tried to kick and it laughed as it caught her arm, brought its face close enough to speak in her ear.

She closed her eyes and turned her head as she felt its wet breath and spittle on her ear and cheek as it whispered in a voice of rustling leaves. "Shhh....You are safe with us. You are ours now."
The sound of its voice caused her stomach to turn and she rolled away, tried to hunch down, bringing her legs up into the fetal position.

She felt a hand seize her breast disgustingly before moving down to press and seize her abdomen just above the groin possessively, lasciviously. The touch made her want to die. That and sound of its coughing coarse laughter in her ear made her retreat into herself. "Ours..."
it whispered as if it enjoyed the whole situation.

This is a dream! This is not real. Oh god, please let this be a dream. Let Regan burst in through the door. She felt tears leaking from her eyes and her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth so tight she thought she might hear cracking.

She felt movement. If it touched her again, she would die. She had to die. She couldn't bear the thought. Regan, where are you?!?! she prayed. Over and over again. More movement and suddenly she felt space. It had stood up but was still looking down at her, she knew. She heard chuckling. "Food first. Then you..."
it promised.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and heard rustling. Heard the door open and shuffling boots. Despite herself, she turned her head and opened her eyes to see the last of them file out.

Relief flooded her but only for a moment. She was trapped with the rougs. She knew what they wanted. But not why. She didn't understand. She thought people were their food. Better to be food. God, so much better. The thought of it, coming to her, one top of her or behind her, touching her, entering her...she pushed the thoughts away. She couldn't think about that. She couldn't dwell on it.

She opened her eyes, ignored the pain in her head. You need to focus! It was Regan's voice in her head. Stop thinking about what might happen. Focus on the now! On what you have. She tried to gather herself and think. Her boots were gone but at least she still wore her shirt and jeans. That was something. She was laying on a pallet on a metal cot, the cuffs linking her to the side bar. She couldn't slide it up or down the bar since metal slats crossed at regular intervals.

Still, she could sit up. Pain lanced through her head but she ignored it. Her wrist felt already bruised to the bone. The floor was rough wood and she knew she'd get splinters. A fire crackled in the hearth. She looked around, trying to figure out what to do. How to get out. The walls were all dressed logs, bark removed and glowing in the firelight. One single window was in the room, inset in the heavy door with a lock.

She looked at the window, studying it. Too small for her to crawl through. She tried to stand and was successful on the second try, though still wobbly on her feet. And she was unable to stand up straight. She tried to drag the cot and failed, jerking and bruising her wrist again against the cuffs. It had been bolted down.

Movement caught her eye and she looked at the window. For a moment, she had seen a face. Regan? It had only been a moment, but was sure of it. Her heart leaped. He came! She waited for the sound of the door being unlocked. Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Nothing. No movement. No sound. Of anyone out there. Had she imagined it? The longer nothing happened, the more sure of that she became. She would have to save herself. Regan's voice came back to her. "I think you could take him."
She latched onto that. Except it wasn't just a him. Them.

But she was not gonna be food- no, worse then food. A fuck toy for them. A breeder, one of them said. Whatever they thought to do with her. She looked at the cot, saw the metal slats peeking out. Grimly, she set her teeth. I die first.

From somewhere inside her, anger gathered, seemed to build up strength, to get stronger. Resolve hardened in her middle. No. I die second. I escape first.

She pulled on the cuff, ignored the pain, felt it tear at her skin where her hand widened at the palm. Not small enough. But close. So close.

She looked around the room. The fire. No. She wasn't going to burn her hand off, obviously. There were no other tools or implements in the room either. She looked at the cot again. The other end of the cuffs clicked against where one slat was welded to the bar. She wasn't going to be able to break those bonds either.

Still....her stomach turned as she realized what she had to do. She breathed deeply. Either I die trying to escape or I am their prisoner, for them to do to me every vile thing I can imagine. There was no choice. Death was preferable.

She sat down, pushed the pallet back to expose enough of one of the slats. She tested with her finger. Not really all that sharp, but enough. It helped there were some imperfections, a few jutting pieces of metal, rusted and sharp. She looked at the door window again, hoping that she saw Regan's face. Nothing.

Stop Jacinda. You can do this. You can do this. You have to do this. It wasn't Regan's voice. But she listened all the same. She mentally prepared herself, then took her right wrist, stretched the cuff as far as it could go and dragged her wrist across the metal slat. The tear was shallow. Not hard enough. Her heart was beating quickly now. They would be back. She might not even hear them.

She had to force her body. It was resisting. She just had to. She did it again, dragged harder, pressing down with her free hand. She felt more tearing. It fucking hurt but she tried that thing she remembered. Just nerve signals. Just information. Just a signal. Maybe it helped. Maybe. Or not.

Again, she dragged, this time imagining that sick face against hers, the feel of its mouth on her, its grimy gross hands groping her. The anger and disgust fueled her, masked the pain. She dragged back and forth, again and again, just under the palm, again and again.

She felt wet spurting out. With her other hand she used her nails to try to tear the wound open, to smear the blood. She needed more fluid. At one point, she brought her mouth to it and used her teeth. The taste of salty iron filled her mouth and she felt the wet on her chin.

She tore and dragged until her hand ran red, then pulled on the cuffs, pulled on them against her hand, let the lubrication get between the metal and skin. She felt movement and her heart leaped even though she also saw skin ripping as it tore against the metal. She pulled hard, ignoring all the pain, the skin, the terrible pain on her bones, everything, instead imagining she could hear them coming. Too late. Too late. She told her self and pushed and finally

finally

finally

her hand came free. It burned. The pain of the slash, the tearing of the slash, the bruising, and the skin around her hand. She looked but found nothing she could use as bandage. Well, there was the bedding but her hand wouldn't work enough to rip into a bandage.

She did gather it up and blood dripping all over it, was able to manage to wrap it around her left elbow. She went to the door and tried to break the window with her elbow. The blow felt like it shattered her elbow. Maybe not. Hopefully. She was going to need at least one working arm. But she needed to get out first.

She grit her teeth and swung her elbow with all her strength. She felt it shatter, glad of the bedding that protected her, Mostly. She felt some stabs of glass. But that was livable. She reached her good hand- the pain was sharp, but at least wasn't her elbow wasn't broken, she hoped- to try for the locks. It was too far down. She had to get right against the door and put as much of her arm through as possible, ignoring the jutting broken pieces of glass digging into her armpit.

Her fingers brushed the look. She pressed herself closer against the door, stretched out her arm, slightly nudged the latch, turning it. Movement. She was breathing hard and sweating despite the cold air coming in from the window. The smell of wood filled her nostrils as she face pressed against the door as closely as possible.

Again, she tried, the latch now almost completely unlocked. It was nearly horizontal, needing one final turn, and she just.couldn't.reach.it. Fuck fuck fuck!!!! So close. One final click! She took a breath and jumped up, jamming her arm down as far as possible.

The move cut deep into her armpit and bruised her badly, but she barely noticed, feeling the last click into place. She pulled her arm in, trying to avoid cutting it on any more glass, and tried the handle. The door swung open, the cold air rushing at her. the smell of trees and freedom.

She stopped, tried to still herself to listen. Nothing. She hoped. She stepped outside, ignoring the cold rough ground against her bare feet. Where should she go? Part of her wanted to go haring off into the woods.

She wasn't a rabbit, though. Now, more than ever, she wanted them to die. All of them. Every fucking last one of them.

She was Atharim. It was her job. No matter what.

She crept around to one of the other buildings. They wanted food. So they might be out hunting for someone. But they wouldn't leave her alone. So probably one or two stayed behind.

But she needed a weapon. Something. She wasn't as good with her left as her right, but it would have to do. She hunted around and found a length of wood about a foot and a half long and maybe the width of her wrist. Roug were strong, but with surprise, it might do the job.

After a moment, she noticed the truck. The bed was still open. She carefully went to it, eyes wide and scanning everywhere- then closed it, holding the latch open until she could manually shut it, so that there was no sound.

She waited. The roug from the restaurant came out and stood outside to light up a cigarette. She watched him, the smell of smoke drifting toward. After a moment, she heard movement and shifted around the tree as he approached the truck, looking at it curiously. He had taken the bait.

In that moment, she struck, swinging her club as hard as she could. It hit him and his head thudded against the back of the truck- the bumper, she realized. She smiled and then, used her right heel to stomp on the back of his neck with all of her weight. Two more times. She didn't hear a snap, but the way his head lay to the side said it was broken.

She looked around. The night was lit up by the moon, shining blue over everything. She tried to drag his body away from the truck and her bad hand hurt so bad she could only hold for a few seconds at a time.

It seemed to take forever and she was sure the drag marks were a dead giveaway. After a moment, she pulled his boots off and pulled them on. A bit big, but it was good enough. She'd be able move around.

One dead. She didn't know how many more. She tried to remember. There had been three in the room. Maybe four. And now down one. If that had been all of them. She tried to remember how many rougs made up a nest. Four seemed the number. Maybe. Hopefully. Still too many to take on her own.

She heard the rustle of movement and dropped and hid herself. Two men- rougs- were walking, dragging a body. The shirt seemed purple until the door of the house opened casting light on it. Red.

And then she realized. Regan. It was Regan. He was out cold.

Fear shot through her. But she didn't move. Her feet were frozen. They had Regan. And there were at least three of them. If he was here, so was his truck. She could escape.

Leave him and escape.

But she couldn't leave him. She couldn't. The reason seemed obvious. And yet there was more to it. She didn't understand.

She couldn't leave. And she couldn't go forward. She was frozen.


Edited by Jacinda, Jul 3 2018, 01:41 PM.