Chapter Fifteen

1437 Words
WARNING: this chapter contains disturbing imagery and gore. The moon trickles sadly through the barred window. The night is silent and thick with fear. I keep tapping on the wall, trying to encourage Finna; “U…R…S.T.R.O.N.G…U…R…B.R.A.V.E…” She has yet to reply, but I know she’s awake. I can still hear her sniffles and the rattling of her chains as she shakes. She must be caught in a waking nightmare. My tapping on the wall walks a fine line between hypnotizing and maddening. It’s the only sound in the whole pack prison; no rustling leaves, no hooting owls, no relaxed chatter. Just tip…tap…tip…tap. But I keep on. I must think of a way out. I will free us from this hell. I’d rather die than surrender. I try to recall my textbooks and training sessions with Eoin. The Bleeding Heart pack will attempt to rescue us on the full moon, which is when they’ll be the most powerful. They have no idea that the Sanguine River pack has a deadly secret. This pack of animals will be counting on their wolfsbane contraptions to immobilize the Bleeding Hearts in one fell swoop. In short: I must escape before the next full moon. My pack will be walking straight into a trap. So, there’s my time limit. Next: what are our captors’ motivations? They’re using us as bait to deal a crippling blow to our pack. If we’re bait, then they may beat us and torture us, but they won’t kill us. Death has a specific scent to it, and if my pack smells Death, they’ll abort the rescue mission – after all, there’s no sense in rescuing a pile of bodies. It’s good news that we’re too valuable to kill…for now. Now, what are my advantages? They don’t know that I can communicate with Finna. That’s my only strength here. I toss my head back in exasperation. There must be something I can do with that, even if it’s small. A thought creeps into my mind like a deadly disease, and I shudder. There is something I could do…but it’s dangerous. And I’d have to wait until the next full moon to execute it. I almost feel sick with this plan. I’ll keep it in the back of my mind to use as a last resort. For now, Finna and I must play along. Keep calm, be cooperative, be polite. Give our captors no reason to kill us. I’ll observe the guard’s schedules – when they move, when they feed us, when they rotate shifts. I’ll bide my time…and pray that I can strike before the next full moon. Because if I can’t? I’ll need to go with my wretched Plan B. A soft, nearly inaudible tapping pulls me out of my thoughts: “T.H.A.N.K…U.” I sigh, my breath heating up the drool-coated gag. Finna’s calmed down enough to talk to me. Thank heaven. “W.E…W.I.L.L…E.S.C.A.P.E…I…P.R.O.M.I.S.E,” I respond, my throat knotting with anxiety. I advise her to play along and observe in silence; it’s our best defense. I’ll keep my Plan B to myself for now. I don’t want to scare her any more than she already is. Days dissolve into weeks. Time melts into little more than an illusion, its march passing senselessly outside the window. The days and weeks are hard to hold onto. I swear it’s been months. My days are no longer punctuated by day and night; they’re timed by meals, guard shifts, and beatings. Day and night are meaningless now; only the prison schedule matters. How long have I been here? Surely it’s been a year now. No…no, that can’t be right. I haven’t experienced another full moon. Less than a month. Another unwelcome visitor stalks me as I waste away in my cell: dread. It sits in my gut, weighs down my shoulders, ties a noose around my neck. I must be running out of time to escape. There’s been no opening, no opportunity. I’ve memorized the guard’s schedule, but all I can do is wait. Wait and hope, but the opportunity for escape never shows itself. My horrid Plan B is my last hope. My bones have been buzzing today, my senses heightened, my energy mounting. Tonight is the full moon. I’m out of time. I swallow, trying to muster the courage to tap my plan to Finna. I angle my fingers to the wall, take in a deep breath, and get Finna’s attention. “H.E.A.R…M.E…O.U.T…O.K?” I tap. There’s no delay; my packmate taps back eagerly, promising me that she’ll listen. My fingers shake as I lay out my plan. I swear I can smell her terror through the thin wall. Is it her breath that’s trembling, or is it my own? I finish explaining my plan, long minutes of endless tapping finally done. My hands are sore from the effort. There’s a long, weighted silence as Finna considers. Finally, she replies: “I.M…I.N.” Guilt grips me. Have I just signed her death warrant? Have I just convinced her to throw away her life? Am I so hell-bent on escaping that I’m willing to risk her life? Damnit, I shouldn’t have said anything. As though she can read my thoughts, she slowly taps out, “I…W.A.N.T…T.O…D.O…T.H.I.S…T.H.E.Y…W.I.L.L…F.E.E.L…M.Y…R.A.G.E.” My blood runs cold. Suddenly, it’s not Finna I’m worried about. Just how much c*****e will she tear through this pack? What kind of beast have I willingly unleashed? I eye the setting sun outside. It’s almost showtime. All the guards are outside to bask in the rising moon. I know the whole Sanguine River pack is waiting outside, so no one is watching the cameras. I sequester myself in the most shadowed corner of the cell. There’s a reason we werewolves bare ourselves wholly to our full moon. What I’m about to do is called the Mac Tíre Confach: The Rabid Wolf. It’s one of the purest forms of torture – no one does it willingly. It’s exactly why this pack won’t suspect it. The silver moon streams through the bars, but I stay hidden from its touch. Saoradh stirs within me, begging me to step into the moonlight. But I deny her. Pain stars pulsing in my chest, growing like a wildfire to snuff out the air in my lungs. “Let me out!” Saoradh cries, pounding against my bones. “Make me,” I dare. She’s part of me; she knows what I’m planning. But her feral instincts – our feral instincts – are reaching a fever pitch. The flames intensify; my heart burns to a pile of ashes, my skull scores fire pokers into my brain. My throat opens, and a feral shriek rips through my moldy gag. My body shakes and trembles as the minutes tick by. Each second is a minute, each minute is an hour. I stagger toward the moonlight, but I pull away right before my bare flesh can touch it. “LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT--!” I scream harder as Saoradh forces herself out of me. My bones break and remold themselves into something monstrous – something half-human, half-wolf. The whole world deafens as my body folds and contorts into something nightmarish, inhuman, demonic. My skin splits at the seams of my spine, opening up for a blood-soaked beast to emerge. My human flesh sheds to the ground in a wrinkled heap, its lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. A pool of blood heralds my new form. This is why humans fear us. The pain doesn’t ebb, but it turns into a sickening source of power. This pain will fuel me…this pain will be the key to our freedom! The handcuffs shatter as my bones press against them. My head twitches and jitters as I tip it back to howl – an ungodly sound of a woman’s shriek mingled with that of a rabid wolf. Finna joins, her song just as terrible. I can’t stop twitching and shuddering. I shamble forward on two legs, my movements unnatural and stilted. Foaming saliva pools down my jaws. My long claws click against the floor as I shuffle. My consciousness is being blotted out by pure instinct. Saoradh’s drive for deliverance is my own, her bloodlust is my own, her mercilessness is mine. My humanity is now a memory, a weakness that lies in a tattered heap of flesh and hair. Saoradh and I merge into one mind, one voice, one heart. Our voice shakes the room; the first words we’ve spoken in a month. “WE…WILL…BE…FREE!”
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