The Beast

2

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. HAZEL ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

(Next chapter is in HIS POV)

My heart is at my throat as I make a dash for the wall. There's a hole behind the bushes that the ground keepers haven't discovered yet. Or maybe they did and have the same fantasy as me.

I've known about the hole for a year and haven't reported it. Discovered it as I dropped my book nearby and picked it up. Instead of reporting it, I made sure to cover it with sticks for this exact day.

I push my satchel behind me when I go around the bush and push the sticks aside. I lay on my belly and drag myself, my lungs emptying and my nails breaking against the dirt. Adrenaline keeps me going. There's only a few seconds left before the guards exchange a cigarette and go their separate ways. They'll spot me and come after me.

I almost think I'm not going to make it. But then I dig my elbows into the dirt and drag pull out, my satchel getting caught for a second before I free it.

It's done. I'm across now, and the concrete wall is against my back.

I don't stop now. I run for the nearest tree. The estate is surrounded by thick woods. This is no surprise to me because I found a map long ago that I memorized. The cracked compass attached to my flashlight leads me south.

I jog because I only have two hours before the next guard shift.

After fifteen minutes, I break past the trees and stand on a hill overlooking a clustered city. There's graffiti sprayed on the brick homes, trash gathered everywhere, and street dogs running wild. I see plenty of people, too. They're thin and wear raggy clothes. There is no denying that the war ruined our country years ago.

The worst part is that it's not clear what caused the war. There are rumors the military was experimenting with super soldiers and something went wrong. My curiosity keeps me up at night.

I look down at my clothes. They're covered in dirt, and for a second I consider wiping it off. But then I decide it might help me blend in.

I approach the city, keeping my eyes low. The dogs bark, as if sensing I'm not from around these parts.

My heart races, but people don't mind me. I notice most businesses are closed except for a grocery store and plenty of bars. There are stools outside with scarcely clad women, beckoning customers. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes swirl out of every bar I walk past. Some LED signs that have long stopped working vaguely name the bars and clubs.

Although I'm curious, I don't dare to wander too deep into the town in fear of getting lost. I enter a grocery store first. The fruits and vegetables are small—smaller than the ones we get in the estate. I find myself feeling grateful and slightly guilty for disobeying the rules. Mom always told me I shouldn't let my curiosity grow larger than my gratitude. I supposed I failed her.

A man in a uniform marches around. A guard. I guess theft crimes are high. The war left the country devastated. Now people steal to feed their families. And if their thin condition is any indication, they're not eating much.

I walk out of the market, still curious. I want to hear conversations about what's going on in town. The best place to go to is a club or bar.

I find one that isn't blaring music and duck inside. The dim lights don't help me hide. Heads turn my way, and I look at the ground as I move. Pretending I'm in the kitchen, cooking lunch and minding my business.

I bump my arm into a patron, and I'm surprised by the way I stumble backwards. A quick glance explains why. This man is massive, and the hoodie he wears isn't helping hide his muscles.

"I'm sorry," I say, compelled to stare at him although the hoodie covers his face. It has only been a few seconds, but I'm already captured. In the estate, books with simple or no cover always grabbed my attention more than the ones with elaborate covers.

"Go," he says.

I tip my head to the side. I could have sworn I've heard this voice before, but I don't know how. This man's voice is memorable. Dark like the hoodie he wears. Grumbling and deep. Curt and dismissive. No servants at the estate have this profile, especially his figure.

I'm not the only one in the bar that noticed his powerful presence. He's sitting alone on a two-seat table, the ones surrounding him empty. The man will never succeed at being a wallpaper.

I shove my thoughts aside. Clearly, I'm mistaken. A man like this has never stepped foot on the estate in the ten years I've lived there. I would have remembered him. All the single, servant girls would have remembered.

I keep going, sitting on a table far away from him, but near patrons that laugh and chat. As I suspected, there isn't much technology to speak of. This is a new world with less order and more mysterious strangers like the one I bumped into.

The patrons talk about their work. They're farmers. Apparently taxes are increasing and the small library in town is getting new books. This excites me. I'd love to read new content.

"What can I get you?" Asks a man.

I smile. "Just water, please."

He nods and disappears, returning a minute later with a clear glass. I accept it and thank him.

My eyes move to the left when a large figure moves. It's that man in a hoodie. He's coming right at me.

I gasp when his tanned hand swats at the glass, knocking it over. The waiter makes a move to run, and the man in the hoodie trips him. He sets a foot on the waiter's back to pin him down and leans into me. The hoodie covers everything but his gritted teeth and chiseled, stubbled jaw.

"That's not water, naïve girl. And that's not a waiter. Go home. You should have never left the estate."

I hold my breath. So he has been around the estate, then. Is he a new guard? Did they send him after me?

I look at the spilled water and the wriggling man that tried to drug me. My fingers dig into my satchel, which I thought I had prepared for my trip. Apparently not. Nothing could have prepared me for this intense man with hands thicker than the wall I skipped.

"Th—thank you," I say.

"Go," he repeats. "This is no place for you."

I stand up, but he still hovers over me. My fingers twitch, craving to push the hoodie aside.

"Who are you?" I dare to ask. It's only fair because he knows plenty about me.

He only grabs my attacker and drags him outside. I run after them. The man in the hoodie whistles, and one of the guys standing outside the bar apprehends my attacker.

My head is feeling as I watch the hooded man turn a corner and vanish. Taking his identity with him.

A new mystery has been added to my list:

How has the world changed since the war?

Who is the estate's master?

Why can't we walk the halls at night?

Who is the man in the hoodie?