UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(75)

Standing in front of the door, she shoves the larger platters under her shirt, both front and back. They’re cold and uncomfortable but very necessary. She slips two smaller platters down the back of her sweatpants, turning them into protectors for her rear. She waits for a powerful burst of lightning to fill the sky in uneven, strobing flashes, and the moment the thunder rolls in a few seconds later, she smashes the door with her shoulder. It gives on the second attempt, while the thunder is still rolling, hiding the sound of the door as it bursts open.

There is still the remains of a path left in the middle of the ruined garden. She races down the path, immediately drenched and almost blinded by rain. Then she races from the garden into the weedy clearing that leads to the woods, in clear view of any sharpshooter, and she wonders if infrared lenses can see through sheets of rain. She knows metal is a conductor of electricity, and in the back of her mind she fears that the lightning might seek her out—but she has to believe that won’t happen. She has to believe that God has brought this storm for her, so she can escape—so she can do what she was meant to do. And if she does get struck by lightning, well, that would be a sign from above too, wouldn’t it? So she says a silent prayer.

“Lord, if what I’m doing is wrong, then by all means strike me down. Otherwise set me free.”





32 ? Lev

A lightning strike is provided. Not one to strike Miracolina down, but to illuminate her for all to see. Or at least for anyone who happens to be looking.

Most everyone is already in, or en route to the storm cellar, which may or may not stand the force of a tornado, considering how old it is. Lev, however, who has always loved storms, and actually has a window in his room to view it, is slow to leave. He stalls, taking a few moments to watch the raw violence of nature. A gust of wind rattles the old windows almost enough to break them, and a particularly long flash of lightning hits. In that flash he sees someone running across the grass and into the woods. It’s only a brief glimpse, but it’s enough for him to know exactly who it is, even if he can’t see her face.





33 ? Miracolina

She doesn’t hear the first rifle fire, but she feels the tranq dart as it hits the silver platter strapped to her back, its barbed tip caught in the fabric of her sweatshirt. She doesn’t know where the shooter is, except that he’s behind her. She was hoping that the sharpshooters had left their stations to shelter from the storm, but at least one, maybe more, are still on the lookout—perhaps knowing that a storm like this is a clear flight opportunity for any kids not yet deprogrammed.

Another dart whizzes past her, inches away, and from a different direction. There is more than one shooter still in place. She knows they’re going after her body because they wouldn’t risk a shot to the head, so she pulls in her arms, making herself a smaller target. Another dart hits one of the smaller platters covering her rear. She almost didn’t put those there because they hampered her ability to run. Now she’s glad she did. This time the dart doesn’t stick, it just bounces free.

In a moment she’s in the woods with the trees whipping around her. If there are any sharpshooters here in the woods, she would be really surprised. More than likely the shots came from the mansion itself. She doubts even the most dedicated snipers would hold their positions in the woods in the middle of a tornado threat. She has no idea in what direction she’s running, but any direction is the right one if it’s away from the mansion. She knows that eventually she’ll come to a fence. She can only hope that it’s not too high to climb.

The only view ahead of her comes from freeze-frame glimpses in flashes of lightning. Her clothes are torn and her face scratched by whipping branches. She stumbles into mud but picks herself up and continues. Then, in a flash of light, she sees a chain-link fence up ahead. It’s about eight feet high—not too hard to climb, but there’s barbed wire across the top. More scrapes, more cuts, but she’ll deal with that. She’s sure any injuries will heal before she’s unwound.

Out of breath and near the end of her stamina, she hurls herself at the fence, but just before she reaches it, she’s hit by someone even faster than she is, who takes her down, tackling her to the wet ground. She catches only a glimpse of his face, but it’s enough to know who it is. The golden child himself has come to capture her.

“Get off me!” she says, pushing Lev, scratching at him. She tears the platter from her chest and swings it. It connects with his head with a heavy bang. He falls, but he’s right back up again.

“I swear I will take your head off with this if I have to!” she says. “Let me go. I don’t care if they worship you, I don’t care if you’re their patron saint. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me!”

Then Lev backs off, breathing heavily, and says, “Take me with you.”

It’s not what she expected to hear.

“What?”

“I can’t be a part of this anymore. I can’t be what they want me to be. I’m no one’s patron saint, and they can rescue tithes fine without me. So I’m getting out too.”

Miracolina doesn’t have the time to figure out whether this is a trick. She doesn’t even have the time to process what he’s saying, but if he’s telling the truth, she can test his resolve.

“Give me a boost up the fence.”