CHAPTER SIX
The train traveled for at least four hours. Even with an old train, it took us far out of New City. My legs and my arms cramped with stiff muscles when our captor eventually ordered us to exit the cabin. The sky was deep into the nocturnal dark, only a sliver of the moon to light our way.
My lips pinched into a thin line as I stepped over numerous rotting pieces of debris where a house once stood. Weeds caught on my ankles and pointy rocks stabbed up through the soles of my heels. I maneuvered around a burned couch covered in black mildew that lay on its back, personal belongings from a time long past scattered all over the rocky outcropping.
I had never seen such devastation.
I knew of it, read about it. However, I had never personally viewed it with my own eyes, my entire life spent in New City. It was like a bomb had landed atop a personal home in the middle of nowhere, the meaning and story behind this battle long forgotten—or never even told.
This crumpled home was a crypt to the past where no one should trespass. War had done this, and our people had learned their lesson, the future now hopeful through peace and intelligence.
It was a strategy the corporate kings—the monsters—did right so far. They created a path for a future.
The thought was hard to accept.
Monsters creating a peaceful life for humans.
And the beasts were not human.
It boggled the mind if thought on too hard. Many sleepless nights had left me with no inspiration to their reasoning. Even more hours spent locked inside our townhome, wandering the hallways with restlessness, trying to deduce how long they had even existed. From my studies at the university, I was sure that the Mr. King, who currently ran King Corporation, was, in fact, the man who had stopped the war—all descriptions led to him.
That was one hundred and fifty years ago.
Was it possible immortality was real?
Because I could use a little of it right now.
We stopped in front of a weather-torn structure that had survived whatever had destroyed the house—but not by much. It had a pointed roof, half caved in, and paint that was perhaps once red but was now faded pink. The wood siding was rotting, allowing light to filter through each slat from inside the structure, shadowing the ghostly and broken possessions lying outside on the ground.
A nightmare building brought to life.
Our kidnapper placed a skeleton key into the lock on the door. “You’ll have to excuse the mess inside. Those women weren’t what Master was searching for. They didn’t pass the test.”
I repeatedly blinked as he opened the rickety door, blinding light pouring out on us and into the gloom.
He didn’t allow our eyes time to adjust.
Our captor shoved Megan and me on the back, sending us stumbling inside. He followed in, the door shutting behind us with a hard snap.
Megan gasped, taking a step back. She thrashed her head back and forth in denial, her black hair flying out in either direction. She mumbled in shock, “My father is sick, but this isn’t his brand of torture…” She jerked her head to our captor, her eyes narrowed, new spirit entering the quiet woman as she reassessed him. “Who the hell are you exactly? You said something about a Master, right? What kind of sick fuck do you work for?”
I couldn’t breathe.
Megan may be able to handle this scene.
But I could not.
I promptly bent over and threw up all the alcohol left in my stomach—and a little of my chicken dinner. I coughed and choked, my stomach clenching with each heave. The aroma of the dead bodies to our right only continued to upset my stomach further. My throat burned as I threw up again, the last bits of any remaining food in my stomach making an appearance.
The dampness on my cheeks from pained tears cooled my heated skin. I spit until the last of the vomit was out of my mouth. My legs were weak, but I straightened when a scuffle shoved me to the side.
Megan kicked and bit at our kidnapper.
Except her restrained hands hindered her attack.
Within a minute, he had her in a chokehold.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her lips parted, sucking for oxygen. She stared directly into my eyes, blinking as fast as a bee’s wings flickering in the air, the skin on her face turning a nasty red as he tightened his hold around her neck.
“Stop!” I shouted, rushing forward.
“I’m not killing her,” he griped, peering down to watch her face. “I’m just putting her to sleep.”
It only took a few seconds, his words honest.
He slung her limp weight over his right shoulder and wrapped one of his arms around her legs to keep her in place, then took a menacing step toward me. “Do I need to do this to you, too?”
My eyes flicked to the nine dead bodies piled up against the wall like cards, their heads against the other wall, lined up like candles.
I quickly peered back at him and swallowed on a sore throat. I shook my head, and whispered, “I’ll behave.”