The Season Trials

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

C H A P T E R            N I N E T E E N

It's in the middle of the night, no more than a week later that I set the plan into action. Although, 'plan' isn't necessarily the right word.

I don't have a plan. I'm acting on sheer instinct.

Max still hasn't returned. Given how long it's been, there's only two possibilities as to what's happened: he's either dead or out on his mission to save everyone. Either way, the end result is just as bleak.

Double checking my makeshift bag will hold everything I need, I heft it over my shoulder. If I'm not to make anyone notice I'm gone, I'll have to be quiet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the few jagged knives lying on the bench top. Against the rifles of the soldiers, they're worthless, but anything is better than nothing. So, walking slowly, I catch one of the gleaming handles in my palm. It's heavy in my hand, but I bend to shove it in my bag nonetheless, handle down so it doesn't cut anything—

"Where are you going?"

Choking on a cry, I whirl around. There, right behind me, stands Kyell.

"Nowhere," I say quickly—too quickly.

Kyell eyes me sceptically, pointedly at the bag over my shoulder. "Then why do you have that?"

My time for escape is quickly dwindling. "Because I do. Go back to sleep."

"No." He crosses his arms over his chest, saying quietly, "I don't think I will. Not until you tell me where you're going."

It's a losing fight. "I'm going out," I say. "You won't need to protect me anymore."

"I know where you're going."

I say nothing.

"You're going out to rescue, Max."

I don't deny it.

He squints, rubbing a hand over his bare chest. "I'm going with you."

My bag almost falls to ground in shock. "What?"

"I'm going with you."

"But—"

"Try to stop me from following you." It's a challenge, plain and simple.

I glare at him. He just stares back coldly, and I know that he's telling the truth. "Fine. But it's your funeral."

He shrugs. "I'm fine with that."

*

We head off together, trekking through the whipping winds, staying as close as we can to any form of building. Every five metres or so, we stop and scout the area. In the event soldiers are nearby, just lying in waiting, the upper hand must be on our caught—otherwise we're as good as dead before we can get anywhere.

Hours pass before either of us even see a word.

"Do you even know where we're headed?" Kyell's voice comes from behind me, quiet as the night.

"No," I say in response. "You know you're brother better than I do. You should be able to tell me where he would've gone."

His laugh is void of humour. "My brother loses all sanity in moments like there. He probably ran out in front of a hundred soldiers because he could."