Notes: Alright.. So, I have no idea if anyone is still reading this. But when I started out, I promised myself I would finish it. And I have been writing a lot lately. I have a few more chapters finished that just need some more editing. So if you stuck with me for this long, thank you so much. I WILL finish it.. It might take me a while.. But I promise you I will.

Chapter Eighteen

For a moment, the world was silent. The blood had stopped spurting, indicating the heart had stopped pumping. The man's face still twisting in rage, even in death. Somewhere deep inside me, I felt a tinge of sympathy for the man. For all the people in this world. A world that twisted and scarred people beyond any form of humanity. I could feel it doing the same to me. No longer did I feel nauseous at the sight of a corpse, there was no more a knot in my stomach at the idea of killing this man. No, instead.. I felt vindicated. I felt strong and powerful.

I didn't, however, feel spiteful.

My fingers slid over the man's face, gently closing his eyes. Briefly I wondered what kind of man he would have been, if born in my time. Maybe he'd been a salesman or an accountant, going through the daily grind to take care of his family.

"I hope your next life will treat you better, Colm O'Driscoll." Although I'd been ambivalent to the idea of reincarnation my entire life, I found myself wishing it was true on behalf of this man. I found myself wishing he, all these people, me, would get another shot. In a world that was kinder.

My hand drifted past his sides towards his revolver. When I shifted to unholster it, a sharp pang of burning pain brought my attention back to my leg. The blood flow had lessened significantly, which wasn't a good sign. My heartbeat was slowing, and I had to get out of here before it stopped completely.

I took the scrap of fabric that Colm had been using to tie off my leg, before I interrupted him, and wound it tightly around my upper leg. The twisting of my skin, caused me to hiss out in pain. Oh, I had really done it now. Quietly I cursed underneath my breath. I had to hurry, had to get out now.

With one hand in a death grip on the revolver, I reached out the other and gripped the leg of the dead pig hanging next to me to pull me to my feet. A dizzying rush almost put me back on my ass immediately. But I kept still, blinking through the burst of stars clouding my vision. Easy does it. Deep breaths.

Putting weight on my injured leg hurt more than it did when I wounded it. A sick feeling that warned me I should do anything except stand up, causing my stomach to roil. I heaved, once, twice. But my stomach, so empty, only purged bitter tasting bile.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I had to get out of here. I couldn't give up now. Letting out a grunt, I tried to rally the willpower to move, to make my way up the narrow ladder that marked my way out of this damned cellar.

When I felt the rough wood of the ladder underneath my palms, I let out a sigh. Here we go. This is it. I looked up, and saw the latch was still open. A small mercy, because I really didn't know if I would've been able to push it open.

I slid my palms upwards on the sides of the ladder, barely registering the splinters taking purchase, and pulled myself up enough so I could put my good foot on the lowest step. Leaving my wounded leg hanging loosely.

Hands sliding upwards a bit further, and pulling me up again. My good foot was now in the third step. Again. Fifth step. Again. The muscles in my shoulders protested, and a sheen of sweat covered my forehead. Don't think, just pull. Again. And again. Almost there.

When my fingertips finally reached the flat surface of the wooden planks of the ground floor, I nearly wept with relief. The lips of my parched mouth had cracked and started bleeding, coating my mouth in copper.

My elbow reached the floor and I could finally push myself through the opening of the cellar hatch, until I landed flat on my belly. I rolled on my back, trying to catch my breath. My dry throat felt like sandpaper, but I needed to fill my lungs with clean, fresh air, ridding them of the heavy smell of death and decay that seemed to have seeped into my bones, my flesh.

I started to feel a darkness around the edges of my consciousness, trying to drag me down into a deep sleep. Into rest and quiet. For a second I considered letting myself plunge down into oblivion. But I couldn't. Not when I had gotten so far. I would make it out of here.

My face twisted into a snarl. Fuck them. Fuck them all. I will not die here.

I held up the revolver in front of my face, and I remember how I'd seen Arthur open the bullet chamber to load. When I did the same, I saw it had been loaded with six bullets. It would have to be enough. I had no time to go in search of more.

Besides, shooting would be my last option. There was no way I'd get out alive if it would come to a shootout. No, I would make my way out quietly and without being seen.

Slowly, I turned to twist on my knee. Again, making sure to not put any pressure on my wounded leg. My hands grasped for the edge of a wobbly kitchen table, to pull myself upwards.

As I pulled, the empty bottles on the table clanked. One fell over, and the sound of it rolling towards the edge made my heart sputter. With a loud crash, it hit the floor and burst into small pieces.

I cringed. Holding still. Waiting to see if some had heard. If someone would come to investigate.

It was difficult to focus on small sounds, with my ears roaring.

But no one came, the front door remained mercifully closed.

I would not die here. I repeated to myself, mustering the strength to get up. To push through the headrush. I would not die here.

With a grunt, I heaved myself upright. Taking stock of my surroundings.

Through the cracks in the front door, and the uninterrupted rays of sun making their way into the little cottage, I supposed that there were no guards in front of the door. Not directly in front of it, at least.

I looked around and saw a window at the back. But it was small and rather high. It would be an effort to climb through even without my injured leg. Still, I hooked the revolver in the band of my pants, carefully making sure I placed it so that it wouldn't accidentally go off. I took a deep breath, and stumbled my way towards it. Pausing with every creak of the floorboard, hoping that no one would hear.

My fingers finally curled around the window sill. I had to stand on my toes to even be able to look outside. But when I did, a small burst of hope nestled in my stomach. The cabin lay at the edge of the forest. The distance between the wall and the forest border only about 50 feet. I tried to look sideways as far as the small window would allow, pressing my face to the glass. No guards, as far as I could see.

But that didn't mean much.

I looked over my shoulder towards the door. But decided I couldn't waste precious energy making my way towards it to peer through the cracks.

No, the window was my best option.

My fingers searched around the pane's edges. Looking for a hatch to open it quietly. Nothing. My hands shifted over the wood again, more frantic this time. I looked up, gaze darting, following my movements. Nothing. And as quickly as that small bud of hope had started to form, it vanished.

The window wasn't able to open.

I let out a low curse.

I looked towards the door again, and now saw shadows that indicated someone had come to stand before it.

I jumped slightly, making my breath catch. I hadn't heard anyone coming.

Shit. shitshitshit.

My gaze locked in that shadow. Willing it to be still, and not make a move to open the door.

It did. The shadow shifted a little, but kept in place for the most part. Once more, I found myself thanking a god I didn't believe in.

I let out a slow, steadying breath.

My wounded leg had started to tingle painfully. The makeshift tourniquet digging harshly into my skin. I had to hurry.

My attention turned back to the room. Looking for something, anything that could help.

I could try to break the window. But there was no way I would be able to climb through it fast enough, before people would come running at the sound.

Panic started building in my stomach. To get so far, only to strand here. It didn't seem right, it did not seem fair. I killed a man. Colm O'Driscoll. For god sake. This couldn't be how it ended. Like a pathetic small animal, bleeding out. And it would be my own damn fault! I was an idiot. An incredible imbecile. Stabbing yourself. What the hell had I been thinking?

I felt myself gliding down the edge, dissolving into panic and self pity. No longer strong enough to stop myself. Hunger, blood loss, dehydration. All of it chipping away at the calm demeanor I needed to get out.

Cold shivers started running down my spine. And I didn't know if they came from pain or fear. And I supposed it didn't matter, I was stuck here. I would die here. The dark edges around my vision started expanding, nearly blocking my entire vision.

Dimly I became aware of a sound. Such a peculiar noise, piercing the pounding in my head. A shrill sort of whooshing, that kept repeating. in quicker succession. That kept coming closer. Suddenly I heard a loud bang, coming from just in front of the door. Jolting me fully back to consciousness. Adrenaline spiked and pushed the foggy darkness away.

Gunshots.

What I heard were gunshots.

"Colm?" an urgent male voice came from outside the door. "Colm! They are here!" A fist pounded on the door.

I stood frozen, in the middle of the room. Unsure of what to do.

Again the fist slammed, making the ramshackle wood croak and quiver. Then the cocking of a gun, and another loud boom. "Colm!"

I dropped my hand to my waistband. Gripping the handle of the stolen revolver, I pulled it out. The weight of it strangely light. I swayed, and had to catch myself by putting my other leg down. The pain shot through me, searing.

Another cocking and shot. The sound reverberated in the glass window behind me.

Realization dawned. This was the moment. I could use the chaos to break the glass and get out, unseen.

Not daring to turn my back to the door, I took one step backwards. Using two legs, I gritted my teeth against the pain.

Another step. Agony threatened to overtake me. But I held still, letting it wash through and over me. Letting it pass.

Another step. Grunting and panting loudly, stars flecked in front of me. But I remained upright. Feeling my back hitting the wall.

Suddenly the door flew open. And a man, holding a shotgun by his side, barged in. "Colm! Come out and help, you bas…." He abruptly broke off when he saw me and his jaw slackened. His eyes flicked towards Colm's gun in my hands and then to the open hatch.

"You bitch!"

Time seemed to move slowly, when he started raising his shotgun. In one smooth movement, I cleared the revolver from my waistband, pulled back the hammer and fired. Wishing the bullet to drive through his heart. Killing him, saving me.

But my aim was off. Nowhere near his heart, the bullet grazed his shoulder. But it was enough to make the man pause. To make him stumble backwards a step.

He let out a howl, and looked at his wound. When his eyes returned to me, they promised death.

He stalked towards me, with ground eating strides.

My quivering fingers tried to work the revolver, tried to turn the bullet chamber. But they were too slick with sweat to gain purchase. For one second, my gaze left my attacker to look down at it, and I heard another loud bang.

I waited. For the pain to register. I waited for the weakness to overtake me. Surely, I wouldn't survive being shot on top of all this. But the pain didn't came. Instead, from the corner of my eye I saw my attacker crumple to the ground, a puddle of blood spreading quickly round his head

I looked up, trying to see where the bullet could've come from. My eye fell on the door and I saw it was filled with a large, male frame. The man was lit from behind, keeping his face hidden in shadows. But I would recognize that form from anywhere.

A jolt of panic shot through me. "Arthur! No!"

I sagged down to the floor. My mind was too tired, too drained to understand what was going on. The only thing I remembered is that I had wanted to get out from here, before he'd find me. Before he could be killed.
He shouldn't be here, it was a trap. He shouldn't be here.

"Cat?!" I heard the panic I felt echoed in his voice, followed by his quick footsteps. "No, Cat.. No, what happened? Where are you hurt?" He dropped down beside me, his hands cupping my face, eyes roving my body trying to find where I'd been wounded.

I could see the exact moment his eyes fell on my injured leg. His expression darkened, became murderous. "I will kill him. Darlin' you hear me? I swear.. I will kill him for doing this to you."

The darkness had almost overtaken my entire vision. I struggled to stay awake, to stay with him. But I couldn't do it anymore. I was so, so goddamn tired. The last thing I remember was trying to urge him to leave.. "You shouldn't be here.." I tried to takes his hands from my face, to make sure he understood to run. Before they got him. But my arms wouldn't move. "You shouldn't…" I could feel myself drift off "be… here…"