It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen #1)(5)
…the chick with the wolf eyes.
Chapter One
Salome
Fifteen years later…
Run, run, just keep running…
I willed my tired legs to keep pumping. My muscles burned as though injected with venom and my bare feet were completely numb as they slammed onto the cold hard forest floor, but I would not give up… could not give up.
Breathe, run, just keep moving…
My eyes darted around the dark forest, searching for the disciples. None to be seen, but it was only a matter of time. They would soon realize I was missing. But I could not stay, could not do my pre-ordained duty to the prophet; not after what happened tonight.
My lungs burned with the severity of my sharp gasps and my chest heaved with overexertion.
Push through the pain. Run, just run.
Passing the third watchtower, unseen, I let myself feel a momentary sliver of joy—the perimeter fence was not too far away. I allowed myself the hope that I might actually get free.
Then the emergency siren wailed and I shuddered to a stop.
They know. They are coming for me.
I forced my legs to move even faster; thorns and sharp sticks jabbed into the soles of my feet. Gritting my teeth, I told myself, Do not feel pain. Do not feel pain. Think of her.
They could not find me. I could not let them find me. I knew the rules. Never leave. Never attempt to leave. But I was fleeing. I was determined to escape their wickedness once and for all.
Spotting the tall posts of the perimeter fence, my arms pumped with renewed vigor as I made the final steps of my sprint. I smashed against the rigid metal with a crash, the posts grinding at the force of my collision.
I frantically searched for a gap.
Nothing.
No! Please!
I ran along each post—no gaps, no holes… no hope.
In a panic, I fell to the ground, clawing the dry earth, tunneling, digging for freedom. My fingers raked at the hard mud—fingernails snapping, skin ripping, blood flowing—but I did not stop. I had no choice but to find a way out.
The siren wailed on, seeming to scream ever more loudly, like a countdown to my recapture. If I was found, I would be watched constantly, treated worse than ever before—I would be even more of a prisoner than I was right now.
I would rather die.
How long have I been gone? Are they close? Panicked thoughts whirled in my mind, but I kept digging.
Then I heard the dogs closing in; the barking, snarling, rabid, vicious fury of The Order’s guard dogs and my digging became more frenzied.
The disciple guards carried guns; large, semi-automatic guns. They defended this land like lions. They were brutal and they always got their prey. I would be captured and punished, just like her. Tortured for my disobedience.
Just. Like. Her.
The search hounds were louder now, harsh, heavy panting and nerve-jangling barks getting ever closer. I swallowed back the cry threatening to rip free from my throat and continued digging, burrowing, scooping, shoveling—to be free. Always yearning to be free…
Finally free.
I stilled momentarily as I heard a babble of voices. Sharp commands sounded out. Gun barrels were loading, the echoes of safety catches clicked; heavy boots stomped closer and closer.
They were too close.
I almost shrieked in frustrated terror when I judged the gap under the fence did not look big enough to fit me. But I had to keep going. I did not have a choice. I had to try. I could not live one more day in this hell.
Headfirst, chest grazing the newly-excavated ground, I slipped through the tiny gap under the fence. The flesh of my shoulder grated on the ragged metal of the mesh wire but I did not care—what was one more scar?
Using my hands as claws, I dragged my body forward. I heard clear voices, the crystal timbre of the brothers; their savage dogs, consumed by bloodlust, as they howled with deliberately induced hunger.
“She’ll be searching for gaps or weak links. Secure the second team along the north gate. We’ll head for the south, and no matter what, FIND HER! The Prophet will bring the wrath of the Almighty on us all if she is lost!”
Quelling an anxious cry, I pushed and scrambled forward. I scurried through the dry mud, legs flailing in desperation. Deep scratches covered my skin. My white gown ripped and tore into shreds on spikes of jagged barbed wire, and I watched helplessly as my blood trickled onto the dry ground.
No! I almost screamed out in frustration. The hounds would smell my blood. They were trained to scent blood.
With one final push, my body was through, only my legs were left to go. I shuffled onto my back, heels digging in, striving for freedom.
A feeling, no, a flood of elation at the realization I was all but free quickly evaporated at the sight of a black hound skirting round a nearby bush. Focusing on a tree outside the fence—a goal to crawl to—I tried to pull myself forward, when a jolt of pain seared through my left leg. Razor-sharp teeth sliced into my flesh, and when I looked down, a heavily muscled guard dog held my left calf in its grip; snarling and shaking its head, tearing into fragile skin and muscle.
Paling with the severity of the pain, I fought back a growing sense of nausea. I slapped my palms on the forest floor, finding purchase on a large stone. Choking back a scream that was clawing its way up my throat, I dragged my mauled leg away from the fence toward my goal. The dog tried to force its large head under the fence, tightening its grip on my limb, shaking it back and forth like it was playing with a stick.