Chapter Three: Escape

She saw his punch coming, but stood her ground. His fist hit her like a wrecking ball and she felt her head crack against the concrete wall before she slumped to the ground. Looking back, she knows she should have shut the fuck up and taken it, but what did she have to lose? Her life? So what?

"That all you got, Canary?" She spat blood out on the floor. He didn't understand why she called them all Canaries, and neither did she – it was just the name she'd given her jailors.

"You mutant bitch!" He yelled. "You murdered him!" He kicked at her ribs and she had to bite her lips not to scream when one snapped.

"That's what you get for locking me up." She tried for bravado, but her wheezing breath gave her away. He moved to kick her again, but she caught him on the fly, twisted his foot and heard the satisfying snap of bones breaking. Hurrah for leverage, she thought, because she didn't have much strength left. "I told you, you cock-sucking bastard," she wheezed, "you ever kick me while I'm down again, and I'll break your fucking legs!" Pushing herself to her feet was made easier by his encouraging screams. Wimp. She'd taken worse and not made a sound. Hell, he had beaten her worse and she hadn't made a sound. Fucking pussy.

The door to her cell was cracked open and she knew it was now or never. She ran like she'd never run before.

The wind was cold across her face and she somehow managed to run into every single fucking branch. She wasn't wearing shoes and all the sharp rocks dug into her feet, but she didn't stop – she couldn't stop. The only plus was, now she was away form the compound her shapeshifter healing would kick in, her injuries would not be fatal.

No matter how far she ran, it wouldn't be far enough. They were coming, she could hear them, crashing through the brush behind her. For a moment she thought about using her telepathy, but that thought went out as fast as it came in. She could use it in a fight, sure, but not against multiple attackers while she was beat up and bleeding. So no, no telepathy today, sorry folks.

There was a Canary coming up behind her, so she darted behind a tree, waited until he passed her, then broke his neck – quick and quiet. Moving on.

She didn't know where she was: city? Country? Continent? Not a fucking clue. She didn't have a name, not a real one anyway, just Illyria Payne – The Vicious Maverick. A name the crowd had given her. The only name she remembered. She couldn't read, she couldn't write. She hardly even knew what these things around her were, with their leaves and their branches. There was no time to think though, none at all, so she kept running….

When the sun finally came up, Illyria had to stop. Not because she was tired (which she was) or because she couldn't go on (which she probably couldn't) but because she'd never seen the sun before. Sure, she'd heard stories - the newbies always told stories – but she'd never actually seen it. Come to think of it, she'd never seen the sky either, or trees, or animals. She'd never been outside. Not ever. Not once and by God was it spectacular.

She was standing atop a mountain, on an outcropping of rock. The Canaries had fallen behind long before – their human pace was no match for her shapeshifter speed – instinct had driven her to the highest place she could find: it would be easier to defend should they come for her.

Looking into a direction she assumed was East (wasn't that where the sun rose from?) she took in the land. The hill rolled down, in the West, and the sun rose over the Sea. The sea was beautiful, it shimmered and glowed and reflected. She wanted to take a moment to enjoy it, but there was no rest for her.

She needed to find her way. She needed to figure out what the fuck was doing. Find a place to sleep, find food, find… find what exactly? What did she have to do now? There did she have to go?