This is a major re-write of this chapter. I also got rid of the chapter before this one: "Predator"
The stench of decayed, sun-scorched, week old dead bodies was stifling; even overpowering the smell of the open river of human waste that she had waded through a little over a week ago. The cause for it made her stop mid-stride, "This is not good." she whispered, and shook her head
Mathias had just let his men lay where they had fallen, to rot; untouched, uncovered, in the same places where she had dropped them on that day. Here they still were, a veritable regiment of unfortunate fools; her darknesses proudest moment. The dead, maimed bodies of these brainwashed, desperate men were strewn about almost too perfectly; as if they were nothing more than carefully placed set pieces of a macabre 3D image from within her battle filled mind; forever frozen here in this morbid fun-house of a town of ply wood, sheet metal, urine, blood, and feces: The Shanty Town.
This place was her blood drenched masterwork - the sight of the bloodiest battle of her life; and the biggest losses inflicted against the Solari cult in one day. In the less than six hours passed between the moment static from her two-way radio suddenly came to life, announcing her weary, wounded, bruised, battered presence to them all, and the moment Grimm was pulled down to his death after refusing to be a pawn of the Solari to capture her - over eighty, well armed men would be dead by her hands. Now here they still were; all waiting for natures scavengers to do the honors the self-serving bastard they gave their morality and sanity to refused to... their axes, swords, and guns still clutched in their perhaps not so cold dead hands.
To her anxious eyes, the dead men seemed to be resting, faking, waiting for her to trust her eyes, and nose; ready to rise as she passed to suddenly lay her out beside them in their blood. This all too very possible scenario made her less comfortable about this first choice for the search for the necromancer; and she gripped her trigger of her Kriss Super V a little tighter as she made her way cautiously amidst over eighty potential sudden attacks.
She tried to focus her mind, her gut; but every new splayed carcass she almost tripped over, almost made her scream out from anxiety. She was not happy... she was getting pissed.
She set her jaw, gritted her teeth, and stepped quietly down the steps leading from the prominent wreck of a Coast Guard rescue helicopter - its dead pilot still strapped to his seat, and carefully made her way through the narrow dirt streets with an almost palpable sense of heightened awareness of every creaking board, and ruffling tarp. That something inside her that saved her here was on edge. She suddenly felt cornered, panicked, and all too alone. She checked her ammo clip for the Super V. She felt slightly calmer as she felt the reassuring weight of the fully packed clip. Then, that something inside her, screamed... 'GET OFF THE STREET!'
She rapidly climbed into a three walled alcove, just above the corpse strewn streets. Sat still, her heart racing, and cupped her earpiece to her head, held her breath, and just listened for a moment to the familiar, comforting sound of Evan's steady breathing.
After a few moments of this, she took another deep, steady breath and released it slowly; then whispered into a tiny mic on her collar; but not without an anxious tremor in her voice, "Speak to me... please."
"Right here. What is it 'L'?" he whispered with genuine concern.
"Where are you?" she blurted out.
"I'm just reaching the wreck of a Coast Guard rescue..."
"The helicopter," she sighed out in relief.
"Where's that?," he asked in mild confusion, "I'm over by this massive plane wreck."
Her instincts went on high alert, "The village? How?" Then it dawned on her, "The fucking bastard knew; he must have moved my flares." she gasped in astonishment as she scanned the streets.
"Shit! Son of a bitch!" he screamed, "You fuck! I'm gonna gut you, you little shite!" Evan shouted, and then moaned unhappily... in pain?
'The necromancers after Evan first,' she thought. "Evan! Hold on, I'll be right there!"
"Like hell you will!" he ordered, "I'm fine... just stepped... in... chicken shit." he muttered humbly, "You just stay put 'L'. This fucker may well be fucking Voldemort, but he still is just one fucker. These mayhem inducing chickens however... I need you to be safe..."
"I can handle my..." she started angrily.
"Have you not heard a single rant?" he laughed, "This place has Chickens! Goodbye 180 euro sports shoes... damn devil birds." he sighed exhaustively.
She laughed, and absent-mindedly stroked her thighs.
He moaned seductively, "by the way... I love it when you start a sentence with those words,'I can handle...'."
"Reanimated..." she began, trying to remind him of the situation.
"Oh that's certainly one way to describe it," he interrupted with a sexually suggestive moan.
"Nutter." she sighed, then giggled to herself; in spite of the shit they were in, he was still good at taking the level of her stress down - his ceaseless smart ass bullshit aside.
"I knew you'd feel better." he said calmly, "Sometimes instinct just tells us to do something for reasons we NEVER become aware of; like making us NOT move so a patrol car we don't see never sees us... get it my luscious one?"
She shook her head as her giddiness subsided, then composed herself, "I swoon, you are so inexhaustibly romantic... luscious one? Do you write love songs? STRANGE I never heard any."
"More sarcasm... very funny, ha ha ha..."
"Get back on point lover. I think this guy heard our plan... He broke us up. Evan, follow my gps signal for my phone. Get here NOW! I'm headed to higher ground to spot for you."
The bloodstained streets were alive... with flies, their increasingly excited buzzing her only true indicator of where a dead body lay as shadows swallowed the light, and she became disturbingly used to the stench. This was the foyer to the world of the unknown that she wanted into. A place where the buzzing of flies, and the perfectly still, dead bodies of enemies, were becoming a source of comfort to her.
She rechecked her guns, took another deep breath, and hitting the ground running, moved as quick as she could for the 'great gate', leading to the industrialized zone'.
Even more dead bodies greeted her the closer she neared her goal: more stench, more flies - more comfort; and with each moment that passed, with each fresh, ripe prize she found... the more at ease she became.
One might say she was going mad, loosing her humanity, her very soul... one, having never descended to this hell, would feel correct to practice such moralizing; after all, all prey thought in such ways - especially the self-important, and soulless - like Mathias - who never knew want, or sacrifice, but never stopped demanding it of others - when it gazed at the like of her.
'Prey' is always trying to protect itself from those like her: those who know their true nature, and embrace it, and not spend their lives denying it because the 'decent people' who will never know what it was to risk your very soul to do what was truly right for someone else... a stranger - will think them insane, or even evil.
She did save others, and her darkness made it possible for her to do THAT good, in spite of her losses. Her prey had begged, hid; banded together, circled its wagons, and prayed for deliverance from their weaknesses - for naught. Here they lay, at her booted feet; these well armed, frightened lambs she had slaughtered - The Solari. These gutless cowards so afraid of death, and the loss of their sense of 'place', they had willingly parted with their morality to save themselves from feeling lost... until a single girl set them free; just as Mathias had promised; their's was such child like faith - such innocence.
Innocence: that was what she had made herself believe she had before this place. When she looked at herself, she had always seen the rich little orphan who never so much as thought to hurt a living soul, never dreamed she would; the Solari overseer who attempted to rape her thought the same... they had both been wrong.
The reverberation of the close gunshot that ended his life hurt her ears; the recoil of the blast as the 38 caliber Colt automatic detonated the primer cap jerked her wrist violently, but it was the overwhelming feeling of joy as she watched him die that made her cry; it was the death of a cherished childs delusion: there was no Santa; some adults victimize children; and sweet, innocent, little Lara Croft was a monster; a pure, newly born killer... who liked it, the sight of his obliterated, blood spewing face as he died. Or so she had made herself feel, until Evan.
She had not been innocent as much as she had been ignorant of her own truth. After the island, she had felt so alone, a freak among normal people... no different than Mathias, just more willing to enjoy it when it came to killing his kind. She hadn't even thought she was sane... until HIM - Evan. Was that it? That he was 'one of her kind' in the truest sense. He understood as no other could... not even Sam.
God she hoped SHE never saw THIS part of her, ever; this part of her that took pleasure in this butchery was something graceful, something beautiful, and in a way - pure; but it was terrifying, and all too real. Sam was all she had left of who she had been, and she wanted her safe... even from her.
She thought of the day Sam left with her folks, then took a long, deep breath, and relaxed. Sam was safe, and it was because of her... her true self; still, she never wanted to worry about her ever again. The further from her, the safer Sam would be - Sam could once more have a life. She could be happy to, to an extent, now she had him to take with her into the dark, wet, red places; both on this island and in herself.
She smiled, and strode almost predatory among the dead, her mouth stretching into an almost rapturous grin; she was thinking of this hunt, this game, this sport.
She was cautious, but oblivious of the mangled husk of a very familiar man who stalked her eagerly from the shadows.