Chapter 13 - 13

« Kian † Willow »

I awoke to the muffled sounds of metal striking metal. The ruckus had a cadence that, if it hadn't been in such close proximity, it could have lulled me to sleep. In my drowsy stupper, I stared up at the dark ceiling. Listening. Agitation stewed in my gut as I could faintly guess that the disturbance must have been Ms. Agatha from across the street. She was the old mayor of DC. The corrupt hag had been ousted five years ago, she'd caught having an orgy with a couple of wealthy "investors" for her side business.

Despite this, as politics always did, she had a sense of self that usually involved stepping over everyone around her. In that fashion, it'd been an open secret that she was sleeping with half the HOA board to get her way. This allowed her to call in "guests" at odd hours, or last the other week, in the middle of the night. If there ever was a disturbance on his street, it'd almost always been her f.u.c.kery.

As my blood pressure rose, I stared up at the dark ceiling. Had I been in a clearer state of mind, I would have noticed that... Drastic changes in my bedroom. But, an odd fog had settled around my mind and the red flags fell away to my agitation. Flaring my nostrils with a single fed up huff, I decided to get up. I'd be giving that big-titted walking sack of shit a piece of my mind again.

I tried to sit up, hell-bent on starting another fight with the neighbor... That was when it all came crashing down.

Searing pain cut down my back, like tens of molten hot knives. The pain made my entire body stiffen, and I threw myself back down. That'd been my second mistake. From the sudden call, searing hot pain shot across my chest. The pain forced a loud cry from me that turned into a long whimper as I finally began to relax my muscles.

("Relax, keep calm, and breath. Slowly. No matter what, if you can do this. You can get through it.") Jacob's words echoed in my head. Words that he'd always tell me whenever something had gone wrong. That was before he left me alone.

My whimpers turned into staggered breaths as I inhaled through my nose. Exhaled through my mouth. My back continued to burn, but the edge was dulled. Slowly and methodically, I stretched one muscle one after another. I forced myself to focus on breathing and stretching to dull the burning. For the most part, it worked. That was when I noticed the red flags.

As my eyes adjusted, I noticed that the roof overhead was not the neat drywalled ceiling I had seen day after day for my entire life. No. It was a material I could also call straw. Held up by large thick wooden beams that rose high into the air to meet the apex. I wasn't in the McMansion anymore. I was in a cottage.

On my left was a wall. Around the foot of the bed, there was a shuttered window. Closed and latched. That was where the next wall was. To my right, a bedside table with a wooden cup and a chair. Then the next wall. Across from the window, a closed plank door rested. Closed as well. I then noticed I have not clothed anymore. A roughly made thick blanket had been dr.a.p.ed over me.

Everything rushed back in that moment...

Ripped from my bed by my brother. The barking of gunfire in my house. The dead bodies. The barrage of gunfire that skipped around me. Watching someone die. Being evacuated and... The nuke. The rush of memories made my heart race as tears threatened to fall. My breath came faster, my heart rammed against my chest. Then the final pieces slipped into place. The roar of gunfire in the darkness. Illuminated by the moonlight, thousands of red beads in the forest. Their barbaric and guttural cries taunting us.

The large goblin...

I felt fear, confusion, and guilt seep in as I realized, I alone, had survived that slaughter. There couldn't have been any other way. Unless... Was this a goblin village?! Just as that thought floated into my head, the door opened. More light poured into the room and a man appeared in the doorway.

"Are you okay?" Was the first thing he asked as he briskly walked to the window and threw them open.

The room came to life with light and crisp air poured into the room. The air had a certain stink to it, but sure enough, it was fresher than any city air I had smelled.

"Call me Doc, everyone does," The old man said as he stepped over to me and sat on the chair beside the bed.

He wore a grey robe, adorned with a tan apron that was speckled with what I assumed was dried blood. His face was slightly gaunt. His skin dropped slightly and he wore a kind smile. He looked over me with soft blue eyes, and he had long white hair that he'd tied back.

"I heard you so I came as quick as I could," Healer said as he pulled at my blank.

I quickly pulled them back up, more out some fickle sense of privacy I held than anything.

"Calm, boy," Doc said with a tone as gentle as his eyes. "I am a doctor, tried by the Church of Saint Angelica. I've been tending to you for the last few days."

"A few days?" My asked.

My voice came out raspy and my tongue felt heavy with I tried to pronounce the words.

"I see you speak our language," Doc chuckled. He handed me the cup from the table. I drank it greedily. "I was worried I had to get a translation spell from the Mayor when you woke up."

"Spell? What do you mean?" Confused by what he meant, I looked at him exasperated. " And a few days? Do you mean I was--"

"Hold up now," Doc held up his hand. "One question at a time. First off, yes. A spell from the Mayor. I don't just have translation spells on hand, only the government keeps those. I could easily get one to talk with you since the Mayor is also interested in what you had to say."

"And how long have I been here?" I asked with a heavy heart.

"This is the fourth day," Doc answered. "Strange enough, you haven't needed to be cleaned up or given medication. We couldn't give you soup, as much as we tried, but just as strange, you didn't die."

"You tried?" I asked.

"Mhm," Doc nodded. "We tried to pry your mouth up to give you both, but not even the smith could do it. We gave up after an hour. The Mayor was okay if you died."

"What an asshole," I blurted out.

"Maybe," Doc looked bemused by that.

"So..." I trailed off, staring at the old man as I grappled with asking if anyone survived. I know that answer. However, I just needed to know... If I was the only one alive..

"You're the only one alive," Doc said softly before he patted my hand.

His hands were soft and gentle. He reminded me of my grandpa in a way, just less sailor mouthed. The room fell quiet. I felt cold inside as the full weight of that pressed on my shoulders. I took a few staggered breathes to calm myself but to no avail. Hot tears began to stream down the side of my face.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this..." I muttered as I sobbed.

"Soldiers die all the time in battle," Doc said, not realizing what he said. "They fought valiantly. Your comrades would have been proud."

"They're not my comrades..." I looked to him, hot tears clouding my vision. "I'm not a soldier... My brother is... Or was..."

"And how did you come to be among them?" Doc asked. "They fought to keep you safe, so you must have been important, yes?"

"My dad was their General," I said as I gained ground in the fight against the tears. "We were escaping the battle. My home... "

But holding them in only made me feel sick with myself. That I, the person they fought to protect, was weeping like some stupid newborn. The sadness turned into guilt then into some primordial rage as my hands tightened. I wanted to kill the little monsters who killed them. They had fought to protect me. The least I could do was avenge them. That was what you were supposed to do, right?

I felt Doc's hand gripped over mine as he held it.

"Calm yourself, they're all dead," Doc said. "The joint assault force wiped them all out."

"Who?" I asked.