Unnatural Instinct: Amazon

31.

Waiting.

You've never been patient, and it's agony. Worse than your broken nose and all your broken fingers. Worse than the deep gashes in your thigh and arm and shoulder. Worse than your cracked ribs and all the deep bruising, wrenched muscles and yanked tendons that make you hobble and wince as you scan the perimeter of your camp.

Of what's left of your camp.

Less than half of your tribe remains. Only half of your warriors sisters survived the battle and of those who did, a significant portion have been crippled for life. As for the men, a good chunk of them lost their lives too. You won't forget how they looked beside your dead sisters, so small and delicate and vulnerable. No matter Christopher's good intentions, it wasn't right.

Christopher.

You've waited, your eyes fixed to the sky.

It's only been seven days since he was taken by the 'mothership' (as he called it) but you are fast losing hope. He died. You felt it. You saw it. You knew the crushing weight of it. Despite all his people's power, maybe it was beyond their capability to bring him back.

And all your waiting and hoping is for nothing.

And even if they did manage to revive him, if everything he told you about himself was true, which from what you saw that terrible night it obviously was, there's every chance he won't come back. Why would he? When he has his own people to go home to? When he can go back to a world where he is powerful and respected and successful? Where he could a find a woman much better than you, someone who could treat him right in a way you didn't and still likely can't?

You tighten your grip on your spear as you suddenly recall his broken body. It happens constantly. Every hour of every day, it hasn't left you. And when you're not remembering in your mind you remember it in the nag at the back of your head, in the thickness in your throat. Not to mention in the pain in your chest.

Those wide eyes looking up at you in such terror—those beautiful hazel eyes! The feel of his hand clawing desperately at yours. Each rattling gasp and choke was like a knife in your chest. There had been so much blood. And the spear—it looked massive in your horrified eyes. As tall and thick as a Goddessdammed tree.

Impossible.

You remember how everything else muffled into the background, the battle, your screaming sisters, the sights and sounds and fear. Your vision had narrowed to a point. Everything went so abruptly quiet you could hear the ringing in your ears. All you knew was Christopher and the woman who speared him through. You don't really remember how you killed her. All you know is that the ground was thudding loudly beneath your boots as you rushed her. You remember the blood, though. You remember the slippery heat of it along with her wide, dark eyes.

You flex your sore hands. You can still feel it: the pain in your knuckles, the brief satisfaction. But it hadn't helped the fact that you were too late—Christopher was dying. You might not remember murdering the Northerner but you remember that all too clearly. It's imprinted on your mind, on your heart and soul. Every night you have nightmares about it. That's why you hate falling asleep. Every morning you either wake up feeling sick or with tears on your cheeks.

You remember how surreal it felt holding his head in your lap while the battle raged around you. You remember smoothing your fingers through his ripped and matted hair, once so shining and beautiful.

You sang to him, lips close to his ear so he could hear you above the din. It seemed to ease his dread. It quietened him down. It helped slow his breathing. It was just a simple lullaby, the very same song you sang to your previous lover before he died.

And just like the last time, you didn't finish it before Christopher turned heavy in your lap and his eyes filmed over. That last rattling gasp seemed so loud. You were numb then. So numb it almost seemed as though you no longer existed. You were so numb you didn't hear how the noises of the battle changed. You didn't feel the blast of hot wind, so strong it tore small trees out by the roots and sent your sisters staggering. You didn't notice the glare of the sharp, beaming lights.

And yet, somehow, in your daze, you knew what it meant when the odd-looking figure walked up to you in their tight, shining clothes. Their face was bright with the flashing lights. It looked like they were wearing some kind of shell on their head. But you could see the person within, and she looked like you.

'Please,' was all you could say. 'Help him.'

And so they took him away. A bunch of them came rushing over, snatching him from your grasp. You hardly remember what happened next. All you remember was watching as the 'mothership' left and hearing the astonishing stillness left behind.

The battle was at an end, both your sisters and Northerners alike frightened away, leaving behind the multitudinous dead and a silence so sudden it was deafening.

You wince at the sharp pain in your chest as you continue to walk the perimeter, your eyes peeled for any movement, your ears pricked up for any unusual sound. The Northerners stalk your thoughts. They terrorise your sleep. But they haven't shown themselves since the battle. And you can only hope they've been scared away enough that they've left for good.

Though you don't count on it. None of you count on it.

Seven days and you continue on your journey to find your new home, somewhere far away from your enemy. Somewhere safe. It'll be months before you settle. Even with the newly crippled and orphaned, you have to be strong. You must carry on. The future of your tribe counts on it.

You whip your head around. It's late afternoon, the light turning dim. Your sight might not be reliable but you can hear perfectly well. You tighten your grip on your spear when you hear it again. A crunch, like a footstep. It's at a distance but that doesn't ease the thudding of your heart. It's not a sound an animal would make.

Gritting your teeth, you wait with your spear braced upon your shoulder. You try to slow your breathing. Your knife suddenly feels so hard against your ankle. You're not fully recovered from the battle but if it is a Northerner, you'll fight to the death.

More footsteps. A branch snaps. You pull back your spear.

Then you see her. No. Him.

Your body suddenly goes cold. Your spear falls from your nerveless fingers. The ground slams into your knees as your legs collapse beneath you.

'You're here,' is all you can croak.

Christopher smiles. 'I'm here.'

Just as quickly as you turned cold, you flood with warmth at the sight of those achingly familiar eyes, at the sight of that wondrous smile you thought you'd never see again.

Then he's on the ground with you, his arms around you, and for the second time in your life you burst into tears.

Only this time it's out of happiness.