Deluded Soul

four - firearms

chapter four | deluded soul

“And I'll be leaving in the morning come the white wine bitter sunlight.”

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At daybreak, Noah rouses me. Caught in a haze of sleep and confusion, I sit up and stifle a yawn, rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes. A sharp pain shoots down my back. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t as pleasant as I’d hoped it would be and I let out a quiet groan. Noah prods my knee with his hand and I look at him through cracked eyes.

“Try not to stir up a lot of commotion. We’ll pack up and move on just as we arrived—silently.”

Glad to keep quiet as the blanket of sleep slowly leaves me, I move through this morning’s motions sluggishly. I relieve myself behind a wide trunked tree and finger-comb my tangled mess of hair. Noah hands me a black cylinder—its surface cool and slightly damp. I unscrew the cap and take a few sips of water, grateful for the icy rush slipping down my throat and into my stomach. As soon as the liquid sloshes against the pit of my stomach, it lets out an angry growl—demanding food.

Noah switches out our things—moving mine into his backpack and his into my duffle. A flare of embarrassment dusts my cheeks. He must’ve noticed my struggling yesterday. He pauses, my photo pinched between his fingers. Hurrying over, I take the photo from him and shove it into the backpack. He simply raises an eyebrow, sticking to our silence is golden rule. I shrug, indicating with a nod of my head that we should get moving. He passes me a grain bar and I inhale it hungrily, crinkling the wrapper in my fist.

“I’m going to use the bathroom before we take off. I trust you’ll hold down the fort.” He winks and lopes off.

Too soon for it to be Noah, footsteps shuffle through a bedding of leaves. I freeze, all traces of humor disappearing. All I can see are the trees and mangled shrubs and bushes, all bunched together. Dropping to a crouch, I grab our bags and haul them toward an alcove of dark, dew-soaked leaves. Shoving them inside, I scramble in after them and hang low, trying to slow my breathing.

A Guard walks into the clearing, lips moving. Forming words I can’t decipher. He’s not speaking to anyone—or maybe he is? He surveys the area, clearly looking for something. Me? My chest burns. I’m breathing too fast, too erratically. Gulping, I place my hand over my chest. My heart pounds beneath my palm, thrashing against its cage.

The Guard stops, eyes transfixed on the alcove I’m hiding in. A few feet behind him, Noah noisily makes his way back toward our campsite. Horrified, I stare at Noah and try to communicate with him through telepathic screams. What happened to keeping quiet? I think at him, desperately. Noah glances up, spots the Guard and goes white in the face. He lurches to the left, arms grappling a tree. He’s only half hidden, frantically looking around for me.

If only I could tell him that I’m here, and I’m hidden.

The Guard advances toward my hideout and all thoughts of warning Noah vanish. They shift toward worrying about me and how well I’m hidden. He’s dangerously close to the shrub and there’s not enough room for me to readjust myself.

“Located and confirmed,” he says suddenly, speaking to no one again. His eyes are on mine, somehow, through the twine.

Gunshots shake the ground beneath me. I drop to my stomach, hands flying to my ears. In a panicked frenzy, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the pain. It doesn’t come. Forcing one eye open, I jump up to my hands and knees, staring wide-eyed at the fallen man. Crimson liquid seeps from his chest. He’s lying flat on his back, head lolled to the side. His lifeless eyes are wide open, glazed, staring up at the sky.