Savage

Chapter Ten - Sahara

Chapter Ten

Sahara

I run faster than I ever have, tripping over roots and rocks every time I chance a look over my shoulder. It's coming. It must be coming for me. But it never does, even as I break through the trees and cross into my backyard. I move the weapons into one arm and fling my window open. The creak resonates heavy in the air, but it does not faze me this time. Nor does the loud clatter of my weapons as I toss them onto the glass floor. I'm being too loud; I know I am, yet I can't quiet my raging nerves. I just want to be inside, safe and alone.

I stumble into the room, and immediately, my ragged breaths fill the air. I slam the window shut, glance toward Mother's room, and strip out of the stained dress. I'm not sure what to do with it, but that's a problem for another time. For now, I stuff it between my mattress and the box spring, and hope Mother doesn't get the inclination to search my room. Then, I return the weapons to my gun box.

After I am dressed in a new nightgown with healing cream rubbed over my scratched hands and knees, I return to the window. The Brute is nowhere to be seen. I wonder if it's still lying at the river, or if it's retreated back to its burrow. It shouldn't be in either; it should be dead or at least in a Brute ward. And I have no idea why it isn't. I can't make sense of my crimes, not even in my own brain. There were a million things I should have done differently, and I was aware of each and every one of them. I just couldn't do it.

Tears threaten my eyes, but there's no time for crying. I have to figure out how to undo this mistake. But I can't find a realistic solution. I've committed the greatest felony known to womankind. I let a wild Brute walk free, and I'm not entirely sure why. It's just...the Brute was supposed to be deranged and seething, not helpless. It would've gone down without a fight, and I would've had to stare into its strangely human face as it died. I just couldn't do. I don't think I ever could.

I press my fists against my eyes.

"I was scared," I whisper into the empty room. "I was scared and I couldn't think properly."

Yes. That makes sense.

Tomorrow morning, I will tell Mother exactly what happened. I will tell her that I stumbled upon the beast, and that I was too frightened to react properly. A sob crackles my throat. Mother will never believe that I saw the Brute. She will whip me for lying, and I will be responsible for whoever's death the Brute causes.

I try to imagine the Brute killing a woman. And then, I simply try to remember the Brute at all. It was so vastly different from the ones in the documentaries that I hardly realized it was a Brute at all. Had a ten foot tall beast with bared fangs and dangerous claws appeared, I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot. But it wasn't anything like the pictures or videos. It looked like it could've been a woman! I couldn't shoot a creature that looked so much like my own. How could I?

I eventually crawl into bed, fighting my own thoughts. I asked the Brute to meet me tomorrow, and though I can't be positive of its return, I have to believe it will. It thinks I know where it lives; surely it will come back. And when it does, I will have alerted a police force to its location. If they believe me enough to come, that is.

One way or another, I will have done my part to protect the community. I may not be able to tell Mother or to kill the Brute myself, but I can alert someone capable of resolving the issue. And hopefully, they won't hesitate as I did.

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The next morning, I literally bite my tongue all through breakfast preparation. Mother asks me a few questions, all of which are innocent enough. She doesn't know. It's impossible, yet seemingly true. She has no idea what I've done.