Chapter 6: Girl vs. Gale Force
The doorknob clicked. Morgan leaned forward, opening the door as gently as possible. She extended it out just enough to fit her body through, slinking sideways through the opening. She stepped as close as she could to the wall, leaning her weight gingerly on each foot, doing her best to avoid the creaking of the old wood beneath her feet. Morgan was barely breathing as she stepped, painstakingly slow, down one step after another. She got about halfway down the steps before another horrible sound filled the room. This one was less of a scream and more of a cry; a sound of pain, of true agony. Morgan felt herself shiver, the sound rooting into her insides, sending a twinge into her heart. She gripped the handrail tightly, holding on for dear life. Her heartbeat was a drum, pounding percussively in her head, rattling her chest. She was frightened; not just for herself, but for the person she was trying to rescue. She wondered if Sayer was there, listening, watching of all this. She wondered if he felt the same nausea in his throat that she did.
As horrible as it was, Morgan realized she had an advantage. If the soldiers were torturing the prisoner, then they would be distracted. If they were distracted, then they might not see a girl in a green tee shirt sneaking down the stairs with a pair of clippers. She moved faster now, her weight on her tiptoes, making as little pressure on the steps as she could. She reached the bottom and carefully surveyed the work room. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that the room was empty.
Just as she thought of earlier, the only part of her plan that she actually thought up, Morgan curled around the steps, slipping between the sink and the bench. She hit the ground, sliding under the bench. She moved a few buckets around, hiding her from sight even if one had the sense to look down. Just as she did upstairs, Morgan pulled her knees into herself, making herself as small as possible.
Okay, Step one: get downstairs. Step one: complete. Step two: find a new hiding spot. Step two: complete.
…
Now what?
Morgan figured that she would have some sort of a clue what to do next when she found her newest hiding place, but she didn't. She honestly didn't think she'd get that far, so there was nothing else in mind.
Step three turned out to be 'keep your mouth shut'.
Morgan heard footsteps, the sound of boots thumping against the hard tile floor. It didn't sound like there were many of them, maybe two or three. She couldn't see what they were doing, for the bench was more like a desk, a piece of wood blocking her from behind. She could hear and almost feel them walking around her, stopping on the other side of the bench. She felt the hair on the back of neck stand up, realizing that they were only a few inches away from her. If that partition wasn't there, she could have reached out and touched them.
"What now, Captain?"
Morgan went as silent as possible, zeroing in on the conversation above her. She noted three separate voices, one of them obviously belonging to the Captain of the guard.
"We wait for Battalion B and the Wizard. He will know exactly what we should do with her."
"Well, I know what we could do with her…"
His voice dripped with innuendo. Morgan forced herself to hold back a snarl.
Disgusting excuse for a man.
"Not yet. The Wizard wants to meet with her first, then he will give us our next set of instructions."
"Why do we still have her?" the third voice entered. "Why can't we just kill her and go home?"
"The Wizard wants her alive, therefore she must stay alive. I do not question the Wizard's motives, and neither should you."
The third voice cussed under his breath and walked away. Once his footsteps had vanished from the room, the two soldiers left continued their conversation, this time quieter. Morgan leaned back against the wood, listening as closely as she could.
"The men are getting restless, Captain. None of them were told about this mission. They had no idea they were coming to this world. They are in a completely foreign world, exhausted, lost, confused, and although they won't admit it, some of them are frightened. Blind obedience to the Wizard is not enough. They want answers."
"They will get answers when I get the answers," replied the Captain. "I would have killed her myself long ago, but I was forbidden. I don't know what the Wizard could possibly want with her, especially after everything she's done. All that I know is that he needed to bring her to his world, and she needed to stay alive. I may not agree, but I follow orders, and I will continue to do so without complaint, especially after what happened to Captain Tygelaar. I will not be accused of treason."
Tygelaar? Morgan thought to herself. Why does that name sound so familiar….?
"What should I tell the men, then? Obviously, they cannot know that you are as in the dark as they are."
"Tell them nothing more. The explanation they get from me is enough. We need to keep their loyalty."
"They won't stay for long, sir. They are chomping at the bit, losing their minds for months of nonstop hunting and fighting and chasing her down. Eventually, they are going to override us and tear her apart."
Oh hell no. There is no way I'm letting that happen.
"They will do no such thing!" The Captain's voice rose, almost to a yell. Morgan could hear him stop himself, realizing how loud he had become. His voice dropped again, now more of a hiss than a yell. "My soldiers will obey my orders, and I obey the Wizard. Anything else is treason. Make that very clear to them, Corporal Braxton. It is either loyalty or treason."
"Understood, sir."
"Good." Their stance shifted. "I knew I could count on you." One set of feet turned, walking into the front room. The other stayed for a moment, the right one lightly tapping on the floor. He sighed, and Morgan noted that this was the voice of Braxton, the man that Sayer called a pain in the ass. Braxton paced back and forth for a little while, talking softly to himself, so softly that Morgan could not understand what he was saying. She wondered if he was like Sayer, unhappy with the way things were going. From their conversation, it seemed like many of the soldiers were displeased with their foray into the flower shop. This Wizard, whoever he was, apparently did not give out information liberally. To Morgan, it seemed like he was purposefully keeping something from them. It made Morgan even more curious to what exactly was unfolding around her.
Despite how crazy Sayer's story sounded, and how crazy she still found it, Morgan needed to go along with it. She didn't have a choice, really. There was no other way to explain who these people were and what was going on. A part of her still nagged about what was and wasn't real, but she shoved it to the back of her mind. Pretending this was all an elaborate lie was not going to help her succeed in her mission.
Morgan had been listening so intently that she hadn't noticed that she extended her right leg out in front of her. Braxton had turned close to the bench, something he was carrying smacking off of the corner. Morgan jumped, and in doing so, her right leg kicked one of the buckets that she was supposed to be hiding behind, sending it into the air. It hit off of the sink, smacked the ground with a loud thwap, and rolled a few feet across the floor. Braxton stopped walking.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Braxton was walking slower now. He stepped slowly, carefully, one foot in the front of the other around the corner of the bench. Morgan heard something rattle, and then the scraping of a weapon being unsheathed. The bench wasn't assembled well, a small bit of light coming through the cracks. She could see his face, hard, etched in weary lines, blonde eyebrows furrowed over blue eyes, and a flash of metal in his hand.
Oh my god what do I do what do I do oh my god oh my god
Braxton stopped and turned, his boots almost touching Morgan's feet. She had the hand that was unarmed pressed over her mouth, trying as hard as she could not to make a sound. His hand dropped, and Morgan could see a small knife, silver metal set into a brown leather handle. She knew that he knew she was there. It was only a matter of time before he found her.
Morgan had felt like she hadn't had any choices in this matter so far, but now she had two. She could either let him catch her and possibly run her through with his knife, or she could attack him. She turned the clippers in her hand, the blades pressed together, curling upward, reflecting the light creeping through the miniscule errors in the make of the bench. She took a deep breath through her nose, forcing her racing heartbeat to slow. She cleared her mind, focusing on the sounds of her breathing, of the soldier's breathing, of the way he held the knife loosely in his hands, apparently not expecting much. She focused on the blade in her hand, the way she gripped it tightly, the feeling of her shoes upon the ground. She leaned forward, her weight on her toes, balancing herself in her hiding spot. She shifted, moving slightly, a slight scraping sound unavoidable. The soldier took a step back, and his own body shifted as if he was going to look down.
Morgan knew it was now or never. She was going to have to fight.
Braxton's knees bent, his torso leaning, his head coming down last. He only met Morgan's eyes for a split second before the girl, full of fear and fire and rage, lunged forward.
She shot out of her hiding place like a rocket, her body slamming into his stomach. He flew back, cracking off of the sink, the air being shoved out of his lungs in a breathy groan. Morgan found her footing, her own back pressed against the bench, the small path between the sink and bench giving her maybe a foot or two to work with. Braxton, in his surprise, had dropped his knife. He looked at Morgan in surprise, holding it for a few seconds before he attempted to grab his weapon off of the ground. Morgan whipped her arm sideways, the clippers flashing across his shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain, grabbing at the wound. Morgan could see the crimson staining his shirt and swung again, this time grazing his arm.
"GUARDS!"
Braxton was calling for reinforcements. Morgan felt the fear flicker through her heart. She glared at the man, coiling her arm back like a spring. She could hear the footsteps charging in the room behind her, ready to come to his aid. Without thinking, she released the spring, driving her clippers deep into the soldier's stomach. She froze, momentarily horrified at the red pooling around her weapon, the tool that she had used just hours ago to trim the ends of a bridal bouquet. She quickly ripped the clippers from his stomach, the red stain expanding rapidly on his uniform. Braxton grabbed the wound with both hands, trying feebly to stop the blood from flowing. He looked at her, eyes bugging out of his head, face white as a ghost, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Who…" he gasped. "Who are you?"
Braxton's knees gave out. Morgan jumped to her right as the man fell, collapsing in a heap on the ground. Morgan backed up, terrified, horrified at what she had done.
Is he…dead? Did I just kill him?
She didn't have a lot of time to mull it over. The room was now full of men, running all over the place, searching for her. She held the clippers so tightly that she felt her fingers go numb. They entered from either side, skidding to a stop at the sight before them. Here was one of their own, on the floor, bleeding out and possible dead. Then there was Morgan, a strange girl, armed with a small but trusty weapon, the soldier's blood on the blade, handle, and her fingers. Splatters of his blood were now on her clothes, her hands, and her face. They stared at her with the same expression of horror that she wore on her own face. She turned, seeing more soldiers standing on the other side of the bench. There were too many of them, and they were blocking both of her escape routes. She held the clippers out in front of her, flinging her body back and forth, not sure of where or what to focus on.
Some of the soldiers to her left were yelling to each other, lifting Braxton's body and taking it away. At least, Morgan assumed they were yelling, because she could hear nothing. It was as if the sound had been turned off, putting the scene on mute. The soldiers were closing in around her, coming from both sides. One of them grabbed her from behind, strong arms wrapped around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked, the heel of her Converse making contact with a shin. She kicked again and again, not sure where her heels were actually landing. The grip loosened, and Morgan sent her elbow back into his ribs. Another soldier descended on her; She bent her arm, curling in front of her, lashing in a diagonal that sent more crimson droplets into the air. Another attempted to grab her, and more droplets rained upon them. A sea of male faces surrounded her, her vision overwhelmed with emerald and gold. Morgan swung wildly, trying to keep them away from her. Suddenly, her arms were yanked behind her, the clippers wrestled from her grip. She thrashed, trying her best to pull from their clutches. One of them was in front of her now, and he sent his fist directly into her midsection.
Morgan dropped, the air forcibly shoved from her body. Her knees buckled, her weight held up by the soldiers gripping her arms. She gasped, oxygen flooding back into her system. Fingers trailed along her skull, wrapping up in her hair, yanking her head upwards. A long, shiny gray flash of metal was pointed at her, the tip digging into her neck. She thought about earlier, how she had cornered Sayer in the same way, the clippers pressed against the sensitive skin. Now it was her turn. She wondered where the young soldier had gone off to.
The soldier holding the knife eyed her suspiciously, rotating the tip from side to side until it dug into the flesh, causing Morgan to wince.
"Now, this was unexpected," said the soldier. "Where in the world did you come from? Have you been here this whole time, right under our noses? How did you get down here without us noticing?"
He pushed the blade in further, the skin breaking. Morgan whimpered.
The soldier continued to stare at her, almost as if she was a curiosity to be studied. He tilted his head.
"Sergeant Sorbeck, Do you think she's one of the Resistance's spies?" asked another member of the Gale Force. "She was armed and ready to fight. She led Braxton right to her. She was waiting for him."
The sergeant shook his head.
"No, that's impossible. There is no way that the Resistance could have followed us here. Observe how she looks, how she's dressed. She's not from our world. She's from this one."
Morgan couldn't count how many soldiers were around her, but there were many, and they were all staring. She couldn't see Sayer among them. They were all watching her, observing her like she was an animal at the zoo. She struggled against her captors, but that only earned her another dig in the side of her neck.
"The Wizard said his people were weak and fearful. This one doesn't seem to match that description."
The sergeant lowered his knife and stepped closer to her. He continued to look at her as if she was a specimen to be studied. He stepped even closer, his face inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her face, and goosebumps shot up on her arms. He lifted his hand, laying his fingers on her hairline. He gently traced the side of her face, fingertips trailing down her cheek and jaw. He stopped underneath her chin, putting pressure on the area, lifting it up so his eyes met hers. She narrowed her eyes defiantly at him. His face changed, something in his eyes sparking and making her feel incredibly uncomfortable. He then smiled at her, a smile so unnerving and full of desire that it could only portray one intention.
"Well, it seems that girls in this world do claim some beauty."
Ewwwwwww.
Morgan, disgusted, reacted without thinking, spitting onto the sergeant's face.
She could hear the others gasping. He reeled back, expression contorted, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. The smile on his face was still there, this time devilish and evil. He laughed a dark, sinister laugh.
"What should we do with her?" one of them asked.
The sergeant tilted his head, his left hand rolling up his right sleeve.
"Let's keep ahold of her until the Captain returns, and then we'll see what he would like to do with her. But in the meantime—"
The soldier's hand balled into a fist and swung back.
"She needs to know who exactly she's dealing with."
His fist rammed forward, making a sickeningly loud contact with her face, sending Morgan spiraling into darkness.
