The Ally, part two
Previously:
He shuddered, but that awakened pain throughout his body. His skin felt sticky, but not from the ocean. He looked at his body and saw bloody streaks. Sark was naked, but he didn't care about that now. His legs were unscathed, because the boat carried them higher than his chest. But his chest and arms . . . they were riddled with cuts from the coral. Each cut was puffy, a swollen red and pink mess that no doubt screamed of infection. Sark swallowed.
Coral can infect. That was the last thing he needed now, but he didn't have any control over that.
He moved, bracing his arms against the floor so he could sit up. Sark yelped and recoiled quickly.
Strachen had outdone himself this time.
He tried moving again, biting his lip hard as he sat up. He didn't let up until he tasted blood in his mouth.
Sark glanced around the cell. On the other side of the gated door was some clothing. He held back a cry as he crawled to the bars. His fingers grazed the fabric, and he clutched it in his hand, bringing the clothing through the bars. It was simple—just gray everything. He cast aside the shirt, which looked like more pain than it was worth. But the rest he put on.
Movement of any kind renewed the stinging of the cuts. Why does coral sting so much? Sark had never had a knife wound hurt like this. But then again, these weren't clean cuts from a blade.
"Those should be cleaned out." Sark jumped at the voice, looking up quickly to see Tenya, kneeling in front of the cell. In her hands was a ceramic, striped bowl, filled with water. A neat pile of cloth rested on the floor.
"Are you offering to help?" Sark asked with a touch of incredulity. He focused his eyes on his wounds, and in so doing, brought her attention to them. He had no problem if the result was her guilt.
The gate creaked open, and Tenya glanced both ways before moving into his cell.
"Coral wounds can fester and cause serious infections. The pain will only get worse if you don't take care of it now," she said expertly. She dipped one cloth into the water and wrung out the excess liquid. Sark sat still as she approached him and leaned into his chest.
She padded at one of the cuts, and Sark yelped. He followed that with a curse.
"The water will sting, but wounds must be washed," Tenya said. Her jaw was clenched, set in her determination. Sark nodded, and braced himself.
She left him after that, only to return minutes later with a pulpy mess of an ointment. It stung as well, but she assured him it would prevent infection.
Sark was covered in enough patches of gauze that it might as well have been a shirt itself. But Tenya had helped him.
Why? She was obviously aware of the danger she was in by helping him. Her faith in Strachen was waning, and she seemed . . . attached to Sark. Something about the way she treated his cuts . . . she likes me. He realized that seemed like a juvenile assumption, but it also was an insight he knew would play to his favor.
The question now was should he push her to help him escape.
You're in no shape to escape right now.
Rest. He would prepare for the opportune moment. And at the moment, Tenya would help him.
Amazingly, he was given a full day's rest before Strachen visited. Despite what the old man said about wanting to make Sark suffer, he also wanted information. Strachen asked where Irina was, hinted at going after Sydney and his family—but Sark knew Strachen wasn't close to anyone. So Sark played the meek captive, and succeeding in getting Strachen to back off for a little while.
More time to recover. It wouldn't last, but as long as Strachen felt that Sark feared him, the better of Sark would be.
He tried to exercise in his little cell. The cuts protested, but Sark pushed past feeling the healing skin breaking apart. He needed to be stronger. Tenya probably wouldn't come up with a fool-proof escape.
She visited late one morning, bringing him a croissant from Strachen's normal breakfast. Sark smiled at her, flirted even. She smiled back demurely, and gave him the croissant.
"Rest quickly," she had said before leaving him. "I'll see you soon."
He obeyed her. Sark was half-sleeping several hours later when he heard the gate creak open. He sat up quickly as Tenya motioned him out of the cell.
Everything was dark except for small lamps every so often. Sark put a shirt on, gingerly as he was still sore.
They didn't speak. Her silence was clue enough for him. Adrenaline heightened Sark's awareness, and he found his eyes darting to every possible corner. Tenya grabbed his hand, clutching it tightly. Sark was amazed at how normal that seemed.
He shook his head, and followed where she led.
Tunnels, tunnels and more tunnels . . . Sark had no idea Strachen's property extended this far. They descended, ascended, winded back and forth. Tenya seemed to know exactly where to go. That struck him as odd, since she was part of the house staff, but maybe she had learned the layout over the years.
How long has Strachen had her? Sark didn't know if she was treated like a slave, or like a true employee, but either way, he didn't want Tenya around Strachen. He made a mental note to hide her somewhere in the world when they got out of this.
They finally reached the outside. Unlike his previous excursion, the night sky was clear and starry. Tenya ran ahead, stilling pulling him by his hand. The ground was uneven, a mixture of random stones and tall grass. The grass whipped at his body, poking at his arms.
He grimaced, but eliminated the pain from his senses. And then he groaned, when he saw where they were.
Tenya had taking them to a boat, the airboat from just nights before.
"Get in, quickly!" she hissed.
Sark just stared at the boat. His feet were rooted where he stood. Escape, now! But instead, he felt something.
He couldn't admit it was fear. Maybe instincts. That's optimistic, he chided himself. Get in the boat now!
"What's wrong?"
He shook his head, and forced himself to get on the boat.
"Let's go," he mumbled. Tenya nodded, and gave him a smile. It wasn't reassurance, but Sark let it go.
"We can't start the fans," she stated.
"It'll alert Strachen's men," Sark filled in. She held up an oar for each of them, and they began paddling away.
Rowing, of all things . . . it was good exercise, to be sure, but it hurt like hell! Each stroke brought on that feeling that his cuts were reopening—again. He refused to allow himself to cry aloud, so he took it out on the inside of his cheek, biting down hard.
"Where are we going?" Sark asked after composing himself. Tenya pointed with her oar. Sark squinted in that direction, and saw a large shadow ahead of them. As they neared it, he realized it was another boat, this one an old fishing boat.
Sark was impressed; Tenya had actually thought this out. She didn't just get him out of his cell—she really planned an escape.
Why? How could she go to these lengths? It amazed him.
The fishing boat was empty on deck. Sark grunted as he pulled himself on board.
"The crew is downstairs," Tenya said, smoothing out wrinkles on her standard uniform. Is that all she has to wear?! She turned and went below deck, leaving Sark to look around.
He looked back at the shore, seeing the lights to Strachen's estate. I'm free.
Then why do I still feel anxious? He should be rejoicing; instead he felt . . .
Endangered.
He turned from the edge of the boat and ran after Tenya.
"Tenya," he called as he ran down the stairs.
That's when he froze.
Tenya had trails of tears on her face. Her eyes were wide and her chest heaved with her ragged breathing. A large steel fishing hook, made for swordfish and sharks, was hooked around her neck.
And against her skin was a butcher knife, held by a hefty-looking guard. Behind him stood an overjoyed Strachen.
"Mr. Sark. The girl will die, no matter what you do. But you choose how slow she will die."
A thousand images and thoughts flew through Sark's mind. His veins expanded with the adrenaline and rushing blood flowing through him. Tenya was in danger, and because she helped him.
Something nagged him. He was alert, on edge, but yet something wasn't really urgent about this situation.
What have I missed?
Tenya screamed, interrupting Sark's analysis. The guard dragged the blade across her throat, lightly, but threatening enough to scare the girl.
"Wait!" Sark yelled, holding up his hands.
"Tell me where Derevko took the Retract files, and I'll make it quick," Strachen said evenly.
Sark's head was pounding, not from physical pain, but mental pressure.
Something, something I've missed.
Tenya stared at him, her eyes still wide, but the urgency in her expression . . . he saw through it.
"Sark, please!" she whispered.
And Sark smiled. The smile turned into a smirk. He knew what it was.
"The files from the NSC vault," he said, musing to himself. "That's what you want." He huffed at that, but still smiled to himself. He knew the game they were playing now, and everyone was in on it.
"Kill her," Sark said simply. He turned on one heel, and ran up the stairs. Shouts followed him, but he pushed it aside.
He knew Tenya was fine; after all, she worked for Strachen.
Sark reached the deck, and had a brief moment of indecision.
Airboat! He ran for the side of the boat, ready to dive overboard. Just as he was leaping off one leg, he felt an inexplicable and sharp blow in his calf. Sark grabbed his calf, and in looking down, saw the large butcher knife lodged in his leg.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Sark?" The voice was Tenya's, and the sudden haughtiness reminded him of a hyena. She was poised as if she had just thrown the knife at him.
Sark yanked the knife out, gasping as he did. He held the knife up, ready to fight the three people on board. Strachen will be easy. The guard is too hefty for his own good. And Tenya will be quick.
She was, but too quick for Sark. Shedding any persona she had adopted before, Tenya launched herself at him confidently, diving into his chest. Sark's back hit the deck, and he clutched his chest as Tenya jumped to her feet. The knife flew from his hands.
She backed off, allowing him to hobble to his feet. Sark glared at her.
"You're a convincing actress, Tenya," he said, hoping to bait her in some way.
Her eyes glowered at that, but she smirked at him. Then she took two steps forward and kicked him solidly in his stabbed calf.
She was on top of him almost immediately after that, pinning him down with her light, but strong, bodyweight. She pummeled him, punching his chest, where she knew he hurt.
Sark warded off a few blows, but the pain was catching up with him. The coral cuts were stinging again, and his leg just ached like a heart attack in the wrong place. Tenya hit him across his jaw, and again on his cheek bone.
He finally caught her fist in the air, and shoved her off of him with all his effort. Tenya landed at Strachen's feet. The guard looked ready to jump in, but for some reason was waiting.
Sark didn't want to find out why. He stumbled to his feet, backing away to the back of the boat.
Jump in the water, quickly!
He wasn't moving fast enough, and he knew it. But he had half his body over the edge, and soon he was in the water.
Swim! His head came up to the surface, and then Sark started to swim as effectively as possible. His leg protested, so he just kicked with his other one. He didn't hear anything from Strachen, which he knew was a bad sign.
Don't ask why; just escape! Sark dove under the water, wanting to hide himself from—
He heard something plunge into the water around him. But it wasn't just in one place. Sark tried to see what it was, but couldn't see anything in the combined darkness of the waters and the night. Whatever it was, it was sinking.
Suddenly something was on top of him. It was coarse, and had holes in it. Sark tried to swim out of it, but only found himself pushed down and tangled by the net's weights. He was caught again, this time like a dolphin.
Dolphin. Suddenly he saw himself again, as a boy, in that pool. Ilene, Calvin.
Water.
Drowning.
The nightmare was coming to an end, but not the end he'd hoped for now. The net was being pulled closed, and Sark felt himself, net and all being pulled towards the boat.
He sucked in a huge breath of air as soon as he was out of the water. The hefty guard was proving his worth as he dragged Sark's sorry body back onto deck.
The net clung to Sark, entangled his whole body. He struggled against it, trying to find any way loose.
He stopped struggling and just flopped onto his back. Everything about his body, appearance and movement, suggested he'd given up.
"Why?" he whispered. He looked up from his position. Strachen merely smiled, while Tenya spoke victoriously.
"I thought you might try to save me. Obviously you saw through our charade," she said. "Either way, it was fun while it lasted." She smiled falsely at him, then kicked him in the face.
His nightmare paused into a black, fuzzy curtain of unconsciousness.
a/n: I promise, Sydney's
coming. Next chapter should be up relatively quickly.