Featherbound

Chapter 2: Thorns and Pricks

I'm dreaming, I think. Or maybe it's more of a memory. I'm reliving the moment I was left for dead the day the angels first attacked. It comes to me in flashes like lightning across my mind. The sky goes black in the middle of the day.
The sound of screaming.
The coppery smell of blood.
The taste of fear in my own mouth.
A knife from the dark slits my throat, and I'm suddenly drowning in blood. The cold asphalt against my back.
Icy blue eyes staring at me from the dark.
I'm suddenly jolted awake, the dream leaving a faint ache in my chest.
I realize I'm still in my safe place. But I'm also alone.
God dammit, where's the angel?! How did he escape with a broken leg?
I notice the pain in my back, though still there, is much duller. I reach over my shoulder, down the back of my shirt, and feel plushy gauze taped over my stab wound.
How the...?
"You're awake." I look up to see the angel standing in the doorway of my haven. He's wearing a dark pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a dark blue plaid shirt. No wings in sight. No evidence he had ever been injured.
"What...why are you here?" I stutter, confused. He had the perfect opportunity to escape, but here he is. Why?
"You brought me here, idiot, remember?" He pulls a backpack off his shoulders, "You tore up my clothes, so I had to get some more." I notice the part of the backpack that sits against his spine has a big hole cut in it, as does the back of his flannel. Dirty, bent wings hang sadly from the hole. The backpack is his way of hiding his wings.
Clever.
"You're wings aren't looking so great," I say, watching a broken feather float down to the ground, "Looks like they're dying or something." The angel looks at me in disgust. Now that his swollen eye is better, I feel the full impact of the ferocity in his blue eyes. It looks like he finger-combed his black hair and brushed it back out of his face. The yellow bruises are completely gone, now leaving his pale complexion completely flawless.
He's beautiful.
"What would you know about angels, woman?"
And a complete asshole.
It scares me how much he looks like a human now.
"My name is not Woman" I say, instead of answering his question, "It's Elliot."
"I don't care what your name is." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fistful of feathers. "Consider this payment, and I'll be on my way." He holds the feathers out to me. His eyes are cast down like he's embarrassed to be handing his feathers over so willingly.
There's enough feathers to buy myself food and weapons.
"I don't want those," I say, my mouth suddenly going dry, "You don't owe me. You bandaged me up. We're square now." The angel cocks his head, a sudden interest in his eyes. We stand in silence for a moment, him staring at me and me staring at anything except him.
"Gabriel," he says suddenly.
"Wha-what?"
"I said," he steps closer to me, "My name is Gabriel."
Gabriel.
He suddenly grabs my hand and closes my fingers around nearly a dozen feathers.
"Take them. They're not doing me any good now." I look down at the darkened feathers in my hand before carefully stashing them in my pocket.
"Thank you," I say quietly, crossing my arms and avoiding his eyes, "for bandaging my back." The angel, Gabriel merely stares at me. With a quick nod, he disappears out the door, leaving me confused and, strangely, a little lonely.
I sit on my mattress, staring at the feathers in my hand. They seem to be growing darker by the hour. I wonder what I should buy with them. Maybe save them for an emergency? Taking a loose string from my shirt, I turn one of the feathers into a necklace and tie it around my neck. Tucking it into my shirt, I regard the rest of the feathers. Use half now and half later?
I glance over at the blood stain on my mattress from where Gabriel had been lying. A thought suddenly occurs to me.
An angel knows about my secret haven.
Sure, I saved his life and he gave me feathers, but that made us even. We owe nothing to each other now. What would stop him from telling the other angels about me?
Cursing quietly, I quickly stand up and start packing as much food and supplies into my backpack as possible. My gun goes in one pocket, the feathers in another, and I stick a knife in each boot. I look around at what had been my home for the last few weeks. I would miss it. The cracked, off-white tiles may be hideous, but they once assured me of safety. With a nervous sigh, I open the door and leave my safe haven for good.
The cold, crisp air reminds me of carving pumpkins and raking up leaves as a child. A bout of nostalgia washes over me, making my stomach cramp. I will never enjoy such commodities ever again.
The streets of what was once St. Louis still smells of rotting bodies and the metallic hint of blood. One or two people dot the sidewalk, some picking the pockets of the deceased while others are trading and bargaining for food.
I know where the real trading is, though. I need ammo for my guns, food, more medical supplies. There's only one place I know I can get everything I need for the best deal.
I approach the doors to a shop called Randy's Tackle and Bait. Randy, though, is dead, and the store no longer sells tackle and bait.
A little bell rings as I open the door and approach the counter. There's a mousey man with greasy hair and a full beard standing behind the counter. Two large men with guns stand on either side of him.
"Hello, Ellie," the older man says with a smile, "What do you need today?" I smile. I know the old man well now. He has seen me every other day ever since the angel strike. I'm not sure what his real name is, but he goes by Haggle now in this new world.
"Hey, Haggle," I shake his hand over the dirty, cracked counter, "I'm leaving the area for a while."
Haggle is good at not asking questions.
"Very well," he says, giving me a sad smile from beneath his mustache, "I'll give you a 'farewell' discount." With a chuckle, I begin listing off everything I need; ammo, 12 cans of assorted food, 4 bottles of water, as much medicine and bandages as possible, a flashlight, and a bigger backpack.
"That's gonna cost quite a lot, I'm afraid," Haggle says, rubbing his hairy chin, "How do you plan to pay for it?" I look around cautiously before pulling out 4 feathers and sliding them across the counter. I will save my last four for an emergency.
"I have my ways," I whisper. Haggle's eyes light up, and he nods his head in understanding. He pockets the feathers before heading to the back. A few minutes later, he returns to the counter with a backpack filled with everything on my list.
"I threw in a blanket and some matches," he says with a wink, "Just in case." I smile warmly. I'm really going to miss Haggle. He's been like a grandfather to me in this new world. He hands me the bag and leans over to kiss my forehead.
"Be careful out there, my dear. The world won't be as kind to you as I am." And with those parting words, I leave the last bit of family I have left.
The sun is dipping dangerously low in the sky, casting ghostly shadows from the crumbling buildings and bare trees. The shadows have the appearance of broken teeth, like the world itself is suffering through the same hardships as it's inhabitants. Maybe it is. I have a flashlight tucked safely away in my bag, but I know better than to use it except for in emergencies. It'll give my position away to scavengers or even worse, the angels. By the time the stars finally begin peeking out of the dark blue sky, I'm out of city limits. I don't stick to the highways. That's the most popular place for scavengers as they pick through the abandoned cars. The cars sit as if stuck in traffic, just waiting for the light to turn green, unknowing to the fact that the light will never turn green again.
The further I get from the city, the darker it gets. The trees and brush around me thicken as I make my way into the wilderness of Missouri. Once known for its beautiful state parks and scenery, now it just seems like a death trap full of dangerous animals. Black bears, cougars, coyotes...They all have the taste of human now, I'm sure, eating all the corpses they found in the more rural areas. I used to go hunting as a child with my father, just whitetail deer, though. And with a rifle. I have serious doubts my little hand gun would stop a bear. I'll just have to be as careful as possible.
I find a tall oak branch, fairly staright and knot free. It stands about a foot taller than me, so I decide to use it as a walking stick. Being dark, I find it hard to see what lays five feet in front of me. With the stick, I can at least feel around for holes or big rocks. I breathe in the smell of wet dirts and dead leaves. I like the smell. The sounds, though, are a bit more unnerving. I hear the deep croaking of frogs, which is nice, but the sounds I don't recognize put me on edge. Things rustle in the weeds around me, and I subconsciously puff out my chest in attempt to make myself bigger.
'Everything you find out here is child's play compared to the angels,' my mind says to me, 'You survived them. You can survive this.'
My mind starts to wonder in attempt to control my anxiety. I'm surprised when the first place it goes is to that angel I saved. Gabriel. Though he talked a big game, he seemed weaker than I remember the angels being. I watched an angel tear a man in two with his bare hands. Gabriel hadn't even been able to stand on his own. There's no way those thugs had done that much damage to an angel. Not even tanks were able to do that much damage. That means they found Gabriel like that. What could have...?
I'm forced out of my thoughts by the sound of screaming. It takes a second for me to realize that the terrified shrieks aren't coming from me. It does, though, sound like a woman. I realize her screams of terror are mixed with the sound of multiple men, whooping and hollering. Their feet are stomping through the brush towards me, and I make the last minute decision to climb the large maple beside me. It's much harder than it looks on television. The bark leaves scrapes and gashes on my palms and knees. My thighs are shaking with the strength it takes to hold on, let alone continuously pull myself up. I stop once I reach the first branch. Hopefully the thinning foliage will be enough to hide me in the dark. That is, if my strength holds up.
The men suddenly break through the trees around me. There's four of them, all burly and scarred, with large bags on their backs. The one in the front has a skinny woman thrown over his shoulder. I can't see her face, but I see, even in the dark, that her hair is matted with blood. The rise and fall of her back shows that she's alive, if barely. I hold my breath.
"She'll be a pretty penny, I bet," the man carrying her says, "Too small to be a fighter, but I'm sure she'll sell at auction."
Oh shit...
I had heard about people being sold and bought like cattle, but I thought that was only on the west coast. I had no clue it was happening in my own state. What did they mean by her not looking like a fighter, though?
Suddenly, a thunderous crack broke through the silence and before I knew it, I was falling through the air. I barely had time to prepare myself before I landed on my back on the moss-covered ground. All the air left my lungs with a whoosh, and black spots danced before my eyes. It was the worst pain I'd felt in a while.
"Damn, they just fallin' out of da sky nowadays," one of the thugs said, his dark shape blocking the little light from the moon I could see. I felt a boot step down on my chest. Immediately, I began pounding my fists against the thug's leg. He didn't even budge. "Ain't that cute?" he laughed to his friends, "What's in the bag, Tiny?" As soon as he makes the mistake of removing his foot from my chest, I bolt. I jump up so fast, I have to fight the blackness creeping in around my vision. I can't see anything but the faint outlines of the trees around me as my feet pound hard against the dirt. I can hear the approaching steps of the thugs not too far behind me. They're faster than me. They're going to catch me. They're not going to get my stuff, though. Not my angel feathers.
I see a thick blackberry bush and immediately dive for it. I have to cover my mouth to muffle the whimpers as dozens of thorns pierce my flesh all over. Crawling through the underbrush, I start looking for a place to hide my bag.
"There she is!" a voice yells behind me, "Grab her leg!" I make the quick decison to bury my bag beneath the leaves. I finish just as a pair of thick, calloused hands grab my ankle, dragging me back out of the bushes. The thorns, once again, tear at my flesh. A noticeably big thorn catches right across my bottom lip, tearing it open. Blood spills across my tongue, reminding me of the time I almost drowned on blood when an angel slit my thoat.
Not good memories.
As soon as I'm back out in the open with the thugs, I start kicking as hard as I can. A crushing right hook dazes me long enough for the thug to get his hands around my throat. My eyes pop open as he applies pressure to the sides of my throat. He's not cutting off my air, he's cutting off my blood flow. I look at the dirty face of the thug above me, his lips pulled back in a snarl, showing his yellowed teeth. I pull at his calloused hands with my bloody fingers, but his grip is too strong for me to pry loose. I feel myself slipping out of consciousness. The last thing I hear is the beating of my own heart.