Eyes In Darkness

Chapter 2

The first thing I noticed was sand.
Everywhere.
Hot wind filled my lungs and made it hard to breathe. I checked Ali—still breathing, still clutching his blanket—before patting myself down for injuries. Nothing broken. Just shaken.

Voices drifted over the dunes. I lifted Ali into my arms and followed the sound until I reached the others. Nine people stood in a loose cluster, eleven if you counted us.

Imam was there with Suleiman and Hassan, their faces streaked with dust. The others introduced themselves quickly: Carolyn Fry, the pilot; Johns, a gruff man with mirrored glasses and a gun he clearly liked too much; Paris, the talkative merchant; Shazza and Zeke, the mechanics; and a kid named Jack, wiry and too brave for his own good.

As everyone scavenged through the wreckage, I felt eyes on me. When I looked up, Fry was watching—no, glowering. She looked away fast, but the damage was done. I didn't know why she had a problem with me, but I made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

Johns cursed loud enough to make Ali flinch and disappeared behind a chunk of the ship. Fry followed. Curiosity got the better of me; I handed Ali to Imam and slipped closer, listening from behind the broken hull.

"He's out," Johns hissed. "The convict. Riddick."

"Are you sure?" Fry's voice was tight.

"His pod's empty, chains broken."

That should've scared me. It didn't. What scared me was the gleam in Johns's eyes when he came back—something cruel, almost eager.

He announced that he'd track down the escaped prisoner while Zeke went to bury the bodies of the passengers. The rest of us searched for supplies. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, though it wasn't the kind of gaze that made my skin crawl. It felt...protective. As if someone was making sure Ali and I stayed safe.

Then came the gunshot.

A scream followed. I ran toward it, Ali's name dying on my lips. Inside the shattered hull, Shazza and Jack were frozen beside a fallen body. Zeke was pale, stammering that he thought it was the convict and had fired in panic.

He dragged the body outside to bury it—and seconds later, his scream tore through the air.

We bolted after him. Shazza kicked the attacker square in the face just as Johns tackled the figure to the ground. Whoever it was didn't fight back; by the time Johns dragged him into the light, he was unconscious.

That's when I first heard the name Riddick.

Johns ordered him locked up, then asked for a volunteer to "talk" to him.
Fry's eyes flicked to me. "Send her. She looks harmless."

I bit back a laugh. Harmless. Sure.

I passed Ali to Imam, squared my shoulders, and stepped toward the holding room. The closer I got, the more I heard—the clink of chains, the low, controlled breathing of a man who wasn't nearly as restrained as he looked.

Then I walked in.