Killer Instinct: Carrie Unleashed

Chapter 13: Escape

The Thanza Valley, with its soaring, snow-capped peaks, drew busloads of hikers and climbers for years. Yet, a perpetual gray smog now choked the passes, coating the legendary peaks in a layer of soot and robbing the vibrant landscape of its dazzling white beauty.

Despite officials shutting down the last foundry stack, the region's recovery was slow. The river ran a weak, cloudy gray, no longer black, yet the morning fog reeked of bitter sulfur. Downstream, market vendors still unfolded their worn tarps at dawn, a persistent sign that life, however tainted, continued.

Carrie and Jago crept through the shadowed village. During their alms rounds, they discovered Gargos' cult and learned its intentions. They had planned to return to the Tiger Shrine, but the sect guarded the paths. They had to find another way.

Hidden, they found a wandering merchant's yak-drawn cart.

The merchant hurried to a food stall at the corner, his heavy leather pouch ready. His yak stood, chewing its cud without a tremor. Its wet, steady chewing was the only sound in the alley as its heavy tail whipped back and forth against the damp, shaggy hide-an opportunity for escape that would not last.

"We have to time this," Jago muttered, "or we'll be stuck here."

"Couldn't we ask the villagers for help? Or that merchant?" Carrie pleaded, leaning away from the damp wall.

"We can't depend on them. One could break under pressure." The monk thought about the poor stall owner who had lost his life. "No. Stay put while I check the cart."

"What if there isn't enough room?"

"We'll figure something out. We must leave this village."

Jago held his breath, pressing against the clammy walls, creeping toward the wagon. The trader and the market owner haggled nearby. Just as his fingers touched the canvas, the yak gave a deafening grunt, locking him against the wagon wheel. The animal shook its head, flicking its shaggy tail before settling back to chew its cud.

Jago waited for his heart to still, then shoved aside the canvas. Air puffed out, smelling of tea leaves. The cart bed was empty, layered with woven straw. It held room to hide. At the end, ropes secured several jars-sealed with wax and containing a crimson substance-to the frame. Jago paused, recognizing the jars of dangerous ingredients.

Jago pulled the canvas back with a quiet sigh. Plenty of room, but this merchant travels with poison. Every mile is a risk. He glanced back toward the flickering light of the food stall. The cultists are a certainty; this danger is potential. Escape comes first.

The monk glanced back at Carrie, praying in her hiding spot. He threw pebbles to gain her attention, then motioned her forward. She shuffled toward him. "You go. I'll follow."

Carrie climbed the wheel, twisting inside the canvas. Jago passed her the alms bowl, then slid into the bed. They lay pressed in the straw. Jars nudged Jago's sandals, near bundles of spices and blankets.

"What now?" Carrie whispered.

"We wait," Jago hissed back. "Pray the merchant doesn't check his goods."

"Well, well," a menacing voice called. "What's a lone merchant doing here?"

Carrie and Jago saw the shapes of feet and shadows beneath the canvas lip. Tension coiled in the space. The merchant snapped in his native tongue.

The second cultist translated, his voice sly and mocking: "He's curious about our business."

Jago pressed his ear against the canvas. The foreign language blurred, but he caught the words: 'master's ritual.' The canvas cover rose upward, revealing a slice of light. Jago gasped, his stomach clenched.