Book 2: Children of Violence
Cristine her heart thumped. She could hear blood passing through her ears - thump, thump, thump-and looking down saw her red coated chest moving up and down. She even tasted textured meat that was never meant to be chew...
"....y- ngh... ngh... hack-" Ben felt the knife before he saw it. He looked into the eyes of the wielder and through hacked gasps turning into gurgles felt tears spill. The cool eyes that were once filled with so much purpose, hope and a touch of naivete were now replaced with an eerie hate and bitterness. He should've listened to his gut and never put trust in those false words.
The only thing that showed any semblance to the woman that nursed him back from the fatal bite were her sharp, bottomless eyes. She played him like a puppet, from the very start, and now he paid the price with his life.
Even her team members were startled by the suddenness of her actions.
Cristine slowly sunk down together with Ben against the tree bark and felt his body relax. She watched how his eyes went wide, tilted her head as the bright colors faded and confirmed the slow stretch of his pupils. The iron grip of his good hand around her wrist eased until it limply slipped at the side of his body.
Cristine gradually pulled out the knife planted halfway into Ben's throat. She wiped the blood clean on his jacket, rolled her shoulders and got up. Her face blank. From her peripheral, people flanked her and Cristine looked to her left. Meeting Troy's austere gaze, Cristine clicked her tongue behind her teeth. The action had no real meaning, but he caught the pang of distress she tried to camouflage with her nonchalance. She didn't know whether to feel guilty or ashamed after doing that. Perhaps it was to close the chapter of what happened on this run and her tornado of emotion.
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With ankles crossed and her knees leaning against the center console, Cristine looked in the side mirror. She saw Troy and the rest talk. Being finally alone with nothing but her mind it began to wander again and Cristine unconsciously squeezed her upper legs, until the blood in her fingers pumped with strain. Agitated, her eyes shifted to the mirror and her vision became glazed with a glassy layer. Then, the tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She was too sad to cry out or wail, she sat straight and tensed in her seat, still as a statue while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. As brief as it was, she'd never get that part of her dignity back.
With the front of her feet, Cristine's left leg sprung repeatedly while she breathed in and out. She shut her eyes, rolled her neck from side to side, and reopened them again. Cristine's dark lashes were wet with tears; her hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief. But the tantrum helped clear her mind. She also had more than enough time to wipe away her tears, straighten her clothes and make herself presentable.
After another five minutes, Troy slid into the driver's seat, started the engine with the flick of his wrist. At this point, Cristine wasn't at all interested to know why they were driving by themselves or if Cooper miraculously found the frequency. She was simply too tired to care about any of it. A lack of sleep during these past days finally took a toll on her. The bluish purple circles hollowed underneath her eyes told the story of her exhaustion. It was just another ugly blend with her busted up face that finally showed the aftermath of her beatdown. Cristine turned her head, completely oblivious of Troy to look at the fast changing wasteland outside. She inwardly winced from her pulsating face but soon tried to empty her mind, zoning out.
