Part Eight
The guard cut off Sark's shirt, showing Sydney and the camera the blood that started to run. The cuts were shallow, but Sark knew they would only get worse.
Sark bit his tongue as the knife traced a red line across his stomach. His breathing became ragged, and Sark fought himself to gain control over what he felt.
"Make him scream," he heard Halzden say. The guard brought an electric cattle prod to Sark's face, showing him what was next. Then he rammed the prod into his chest.
Electricity shocked through Sark's body. A groan escaped his throat, and his chest twisted away from the prod.
The guard zapped Sark again.
The yelp that escaped Sark's mouth made Halzden smile.
"Hit him!" The guard lowered the prod and swung a right hook at Sark's face. Lightning flashed in his eyes as his head snapped to the side. A mixture of blood and saliva flew from his mouth.
The guard returned to the cattle prod. Sark steeled himself for another jolt.
"Stop it!"
That was Sydney's voice, but it wouldn't do any good. The jolt made Sark yell again. His lungs heaved for air and relief. He felt his lungs expand and contract rapidly, almost matching the pace of his heart. He tried to stay standing, but the pain made his legs unable to support him. His body simply hung from the chains.
The cattle prod cackled in front of him; the guard teased Sark with it. Sark saw the man's eyes lower to the rivulet of blood, and Sark knew what he planned.
The electricity connected with his liquid blood, and Sark felt a searing heat flash through his veins. He heard Sydney shout out in protest, but to him, her voice faded to the background as his screams rang through the muggy air.
He quietly padded down to his father's office. It was midnight at least, and his parents and siblings were asleep. His father's desk was huge, a solid mahogany. The teenager knelt by one of the pull-out drawers.
It was full of file folders, but he knew it was in here somewhere. He pulled the files forward, and saw a long rectangular box at the back of the drawer. A smile grew on his face, and he opened the box.
The blade of the knife sparkled at him. The curvature of the metal always amazed him. He removed the knife's sheath from its separate spot in the box. The sheath had intricate designs on it that matched the blade.
He smiled, proud and victorious. Then he returned to his room, to continue his plans.
At one a.m., he snuck out of the two-story home. He rode on a bike to make sure he was quiet enough. Five miles later, he was inside a dirty and abandoned warehouse.
The make-shift surgeon motioned him to the chair, and he followed. An hour later, all four of his wisdom teeth and one back molar were removed.
He felt woozy, but he made it back home. He changed the gauze in his mouth. The teeth were safely in a vial of water.
He took a car in the morning, driving out to the woods. Only sixteen years old, and he knew he could pull off this plan. He stopped the car in front of several trees, then rigged a branch against the gas pedal. He dumped the teeth onto the driver's seat, and shifted the car into drive.
The sound of the crunching metal was louder than he expected. The car started to smoke, and with the toss of a lighter, a fire raged over the car. The teenaged boy watched it burn.
He smiled, and Sark was born.
Sark dyed his hair, and got ready to blend in with the mourners. He stood across the cemetery, pretending to visit another grave as the procession came through.
He thought it was funny that his parents actually got a coffin. There was nothing in it, unless they put his teeth in. The coffin was lowered into the ground, and Sark watched as his parents, brother and sister stood by the hole in the ground. They cried, and dropped in flowers. He could hear their weeping from where he stood.
Sark's body shook awake. He struggled to catch his breath after the memory. That was eight years ago. He shook off that thought and looked at his surroundings.
The guards hadn't bothered with chaining his feet at all this time. Only his hands were bound. As he tried to move, he realized why.
He gasped as pain flooded his limbs. He didn't remember passing out, but he did remember the horrific volts of electricity surging through him.
Sark stayed on the floor, not even wanting to move. His bare chest was cold against the stone. "Sydney?" he called out. It came out as a whisper, but he heard her stir.
"Mhhmmm," she responded. Sark turned his head to face her. She was lying on the floor, her hair covering her face.
"Are you all right?" he asked. He saw her nod her head, then brush her hair back. A gray and purple bruise sat above her eye. Alarm passed over Sark's face. "Did they hurt you?"
"Just a punch, for the camera," she mumbled. "They sent the tape to my mom."
Sark tried to sit up again, succeeding this time. "What else did I miss?" Sydney sat up too. She rubbed her eye gently.
"They said something about you. That you should never have 'scorned the woman,'" Sydney said. Alarms sounded in Sark's mind. "They said something about Nicaragua, but I don't think that's where we are."
"We're in Burma," Sark replied automatically. Nicaragua. That's not far from Jamaica. He closed his eyes and sighed to himself.
"What?" Sydney asked.
Sark reopened his eyes. "I think I know how they knew about you. And how they found me."
"How?"
"Allison Doren. You fought her at the lab, remember?" He paused, thinking through what must have happened. "I think she turned on me, and Derevko. She was in Jamaica for some assignment. She must have found the Hierarchy."
"If she's part of your organization, why didn't she just give them what they wanted on my mom?"
Sydney had a point. Sark thought it through.
"There's some emotion to it for her. By telling the Hierarchy about me, or where I was, she hurt me. But by having you . . . that was icing on the cake for her." Sark paused. "She only knows so much. And Allison is smart enough to know that Irina would smell a trap if Allison tried to find out more for the Hierarchy. She knows who you are to Irina, and knew that may be enough for the Hierarchy to use."
"You think she betrayed you then? What if they interrogated her?" Sydney brought up.
Sark shook his head, which he instantly regretted as it throbbed. "She probably has a deal with them. They wouldn't have said I 'scorned' her otherwise."
The two were quiet for a moment. Sark's mind was alert, fueled by this new piece of the puzzle. His body, though, remained fragile.
"Scorned?" Sydney suddenly said. Sark sighed.
"She had a thing for me."
Sydney chuckled at that, drawing a sharp look from Sark.
"That's what you get for playing with women's emotions," Sydney said. Sark rolled his eyes.
"Spare me the lecture, Sydney." She just laughed more at that, but soon settled down.
"Do you think my mom will come after us?" she asked. She looked straight at him, waiting for an answer. Sark avoided her eyes and stared at the floor.
"The tape will have some effect on Irina. But she won't risk herself for us."
That must have hurt Sydney some. She settled into a long silence.
Which allowed Sark time to strategize.
Sark lay back down. His body was incredibly sore, but he only had so much time to rest. He laid still and listened to an approaching storm.
The guard came a few hours later with the soupy meal. Rain fell steadily outside. The guard glanced at Sark, who stayed still. The guard laid the bowl down, and that's when Sark struck.
Though it hurt him beyond words, Sark twisted his body around so his leg hit the guard's feet. The guard fell on his back. Sark rolled toward the guard, and elbowed the man in the face.
The guard cried out, but Sark kept going. He raised his elbow again and slammed it on the man's windpipe. The guard didn't move again.
Sark got to his knees, searching clumsily with his bound hands for the keys to the chains. There!
He crawled over to Sydney.
"Are you crazy?!" she hissed. "You can hardly walk, much less escape!" Sark shot her a look.
"Shut up and give me your hands."
They freed each other. Sark grabbed Sydney's hand and headed for the hallway. They ran right into a guard.
The man was out of breath, no doubt from hurrying to the cell after hearing his comrade's shout. Sydney took immediate action. Sark leaned against the wall as she fended off a punch and landed one of her own to the man's gut. She followed with a kick to the chest that launched the man against the wall. Sydney kicked him again, and the man was out cold.
"Let's go," Sark said, stumbling down the hall. He glanced over the side of the hallway, down at the fields. "We'll have to climb down."
Sydney gave him an are-you-nuts look, but quickly scrambled over the ledge when more shouts echoed throughout the building. Sark followed her, wincing the whole time and biting his tongue to hold back any verbalizations of his pain.
He half-fell to the ground. Sydney was already on her feet, and pulled him up. "Where do we go?" she asked quickly. Sark was breathing heavily, and only shrugged.
"That way looks good," he said with a nod. Sydney shot him another look, but started running.
The adrenaline did wonders for his body, but Sark still lagged behind Sydney. He saw her glance over her shoulder a few times.
"Come on," he heard her say. Sark's legs felt like lead, and he clutched his chest as he ran.
"Keep going," he muttered.
Both of them looked back at the building when they heard gunfire. Sark swore under his breath; a swarm of guards was dispersing in the fields.
Dusk was coming, and the rain only made it darker. Sark noted how wet the ground was. His bare feet were covered in water as he ran.
Sydney stopped in the middle of a rice field, crouching to the ground as she waited for Sark to catch up.
"Get down!" she hissed at him. Sark stumbled toward her, and landed on his back in the watery soil.
His chest heaved up and down, but Sydney clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Quiet," she whispered. He could hear the guards in the field, fanning out and searching for them.
Sark glanced at the water. The rain hadn't let up at all; in fact, it seemed to be pouring even harder.
Burma.
Monsoons.
Crap. The water was at least four inches deep already.
"Is there a plan here, Sark?" Sydney whispered. Sark shook his head. She rolled her eyes.
"At least I got us free," he muttered. He raised his head to see where the guards were. "Where are they?"
"I think they've passed us," Sydney said. She paused, looking around. "I don't think I've actually ever been here before."
Sark nodded. "Me neither."
"Well, it's so out of the way."
"Exactly."
They were quiet again, waiting, watching.
"I say we head for higher ground," Sark said. "The water is only going rise, and it'll be harder to run down here."
Sydney looked around again. "There's a hill over there. Stay low, and we can make it."
She started off before Sark could get to his feet.
"Sydney," he whispered loudly after her. Sark got to his knees and was just getting to his feet when Sydney came back.
"Sark, can you make it?" she asked. Sark clutched his chest.
"Yeah," he said, gasping at a shot of pain. "Just go easy on me." Sydney smiled at that, and grabbed his hand.
He stared down at the contact for a moment as they started to run.
The rain washed away the blood on his chest and face. It also made his jeans less than comfortable to run in, but Sydney didn't seem to have any trouble in hers. Sark noticed, with appreciation, that her shirt clung to every curve of her body. He smiled at that, forgetting about the pain for a moment.
The bright green of the trees and fields was diminishing. Sark looked up at the cloudy sky. It was getting darker, and fast. Night was coming closer and closer.
Sydney charged ahead, pulling Sark behind her. They trudged up a slight hill. Sark's feet sunk in the ground, hindering his speed. Suddenly his foot caught on a tree root, and he fell.
Sydney went down on a knee with him.
"Sark!"
He tried to get back up, but the mud started to slide down the hill, taking away any traction he had. The sound of the rain grew louder, until he realized it wasn't just rain falling. The ground around them seemed to move, sliding down to the fields below.
"Mudslide!" he yelled to Sydney. The soil above them came down, almost sweeping over them.
Sark felt the mud and water push him to the ground, and soon he was one with the earth as it slid down.
He grunted when his body hit something on the way down. It felt rough and pointy, like branches. As the mudslide continued, it rolled the branches and Sark over and over in the mud, down toward the fields.