LONG ROAD AHEAD

14

A bump in the night brought Craven’s eyes flying open. The room was pitch black, and Phoenix was resting comfortably in his arms. He waited silently while his eyes adjusted to the dark. Another thump brought him fully alert. Easing his arm out from under Phoenix’s head, Craven quietly slipped from the bed and reached for his pants. He pulled his jeans on and checked his weapons. He was out of bullets, and so was Phoenix.

            Craven drew his sword and swiftly moved to the door. He did not want to wake Phoenix for no reason. In her condition, she would not be much help anyway. Craven crossed the room to the door and listened. He did not hear anything. Curious, he reached for the doorknob and very slowly opened the door, trying not to make a sound. He cracked the door slightly and peered through the opening out into the pitch blackness of the windowless hall.

            His sword in his hand, he waited, watched and listened. Things were quiet; Craven was starting to think he had just been hearing things. He moved to shut the door when something caught his eye. A glimmer in the dark moving from one of the unoccupied rooms to the next. It moved quickly and was too big to be an animal. Craven quietly closed the door and moved swiftly to the window.

            He slowly pulled back the tattered curtain just enough to see out but not be seen. He stared down at the street below. His heart skipped a beat when he saw two hideously mutant men fighting below over something that looked like a dead animal. His blood ran cold. Molearks had strayed farther from their usual hunting ground to search for food, and they would most certainly be on the menu if discovered.

            There were three of them that he knew of, but that did not mean there were not more lurking in the shadows. It was time to wake Phoenix. Craven grabbed one of the chairs at the table and carried to the door, wedging it tightly beneath the knob barricading the door shut. He then returned to the pile of clothes and snatched up his weapon’s belt, wrapping it around his hips.

            Craven picked up Phoenix’s shorts and shirt and tossed it at her. The fabric hit her, and Phoenix opened her eyes and stared at him. “What the-” Craven placed his finger to his lips, silently hushing her. He then nodded his head toward the barricaded door. He pointed to his eyes, then to the door and window before holding up three fingers.

            He could tell by the look in her beautiful eyes that she understood completely. She dressed swiftly and slipped from the bed, limping on her injured foot. She took up her weapon’s belt and looped it around her narrow waist and then grabbed her bow and quiver. Craven held up two fingers and pointed at the window, then held up one and pointed to the door.

            Phoenix nodded her understanding and awkwardly limped to the window. She looked out through the curtains. Craven moved to the door. He would take care of the one in the hall. He watched as Phoenix tried to open the window without alerting the Molearks below. She drew an arrow and placed it in her bow, then pulled back on it and took aim.

            Craven smiled as he watched her set her sights on her target. She always looked stunning with that bow in her hands. A skilled archer, Craven loved the fact that Phoenix could hold her own. She was not frail and weak, a fragile, dainty figure like so many other women. She was unusual, crafty and cunning, and she excited him with such ease. He watched as she released, and the bow snapped, rocketing the arrow through the night. She swiftly drew another and placed it in her bow, drew back and released shooting the second.

            Phoenix then lowered her bow and smiled at him, slowly dragging her finger across her neck to indicate that her targets were dead. Craven smirked. She was so good at what she did. Slowly Craven pulled the chair away from the door. His sword at the ready, Craven took a breath and looked back at Phoenix. She seemed to read his mind as she pulled another arrow from her quiver and placed it in her bow. She then lifted the bow and aimed at the door, ready to shoot anything that might get passed him.

            “Just don’t shoot me,” he whispered. Slowly Craven pulled the door open and looked out into the dark hall. He could see faint moonlight coming from one of the half-open doors that he had seen the Moleark disappear into. Craven stepped out into the hall and quietly moved toward the other room, his steps light so as not to make a sound. His heart was beating hard against his ribs as he grew closer to the open door.

            Craven could hear the rustling on the other side of the door, and he paused when he heard something get knocked over. He waited a moment to see if the Moleark would come out into the hall, but when it did not, he moved once more. Craven reached the door, and all he could hear was his heart pounding. He wished he had a loaded gun. He hated taking these things on up close. They were vicious, nasty fighters always biting and clawing with no concern for their welfare, which made them dangerous.          

            He clutched the hilt of his sword tighter, preparing for what he knew he had to do. Craven took a deep breath. He knew he would have to move fast. He would have very little time before the thing attacked him. Craven steadied himself, and then with one powerful motion, he lifted his foot and kicked the door open wide. Craven rushed in his sword ready and found himself standing alone in the dark room.

            There was black inky darkness everywhere with faint moonlight coming through the window. The window was open, and the night breeze made the shredded curtain wave back and forth. The room had gone deathly still and quiet. Craven was confused. He was sure the sound had been coming from this room. Craven looked at the shattered shards of the mirror still mounted on the wall. In the reflection, he saw himself alone and looking confused. His senses could not possibly have been so off?

            Suddenly in the mirror, Craven watched the ajar door to the washroom silently open further, and in the darkness, he could make out the hunched silhouette of a Moleark preparing to jump him from behind. A second later, the gruesome deformed beast lunged at Craven, its putrid greying body blending in with the night and shadows.

            Both hands on the hilt, Craven spun around brandishing his broadsword. With all his might, he threw the full weight of his large body into the swing, and with one clean slice, he lopped off the beast’s head. The decapitated body fell to the floor with a sickening thud. Craven stood poised for battle, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. He listened for any further movement, unsure if there were more lurking in the darkness.

            Sensing nothing, Craven lowered his weapon and stood relaxed. He pushed the washroom door open all the way to be sure it was empty. His weapon still in hand, Craven turned and made to leave the room. As he reached the door, another Moleark lunged out of the darkness at him. Caught completely of guard, the mutant knocked Craven to the floor. As he fell backwards over the Moleark corpse already on the floor, Craven dropped his sword, and it slid out of reach.

His arms came up to defend himself. Craven’s hands closed around the mutant’s throat, trying to keep it from biting him. He groaned in pain. The effort that it took to wrestle with the thing was straining his shoulder. He cried out in pain when it dug its claws into Craven’s arms as it attacked him. Drool from its mouth dripping down on Craven’s face as it snarled and hissed at him. With his good arm, Craven did his best to hold the thing at bay and with his bad arm, he reached for his sword. The tips of his fingers millimetres away from the handle. He could not reach it.

In a last-ditch effort, Craven swung his bad arm and punched the Moleark in the side of the head over and over until he dazed it enough to let up. The moment the thing gave him an inch, it was all Craven needed. He reached for his sword once more, scooting over just enough to grab it. With his sword in his hand, Craven rolled back onto his back and lunged his blade up into the Moleark’s belly. The then snarled and tried to bite as it bled out above Craven. Its blood soaked him. Finally, the thing stopped fighting, and Craven was sure it was dead.

He shoved the corpse off him, and it hit the floor next to him. Craven took a moment to catch his breath. Exhausted, in pain, and covered in blood, Craven hauled himself to his feet. He staggered a bit before finding his balance. Cautiously he approached the door once more with his sword readied. He poked his head out into the hallway and looked up and down for any signs of more hostiles. Seeing none, he decided to move.

Craven left the room and walked down the hall, checking all the other rooms to be sure there were no others. He then headed back to the room where he had left Phoenix, announcing himself while still in the hall so as not to take a well-aimed arrow to the chest.

            As he entered the room, Phoenix lowered her bow. There was a glimpse of concern in her eyes. “You are covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine.” He groaned as he looked down at the deep scratches on his biceps. “Well, most of it is not mine.”

“What happened?” She asked as he came farther into the room.

“I got ambushed. There were more than three.”

“How many more?”

“From what I can see, only one more. I killed it.”

“We shouldn’t stay here,” she said as she sat down on the bed. “They don’t usually hunt in such small parties. There is sure to be more nearby.”

            Craven knew she was right, but it was night and the most dangerous of times to travel. Especially in unknown territory with a hobbled companion. They could never outrun a predator with Phoenix in her current condition. They were safer where they were. “We can’t run, Phoenix. Not now, not here, not with you like this,” he tossed his sword aside and grabbed the chair once more, jamming it tightly under the knob, wedging the door shut just in case more were not too far behind. “We’re just going to have to keep on our toes. Sleep in shifts,” he said, walking over to Phoenix and taking her bow from her. He leaned it against the wall and placed his arms around her to help her up the bed so she would be more comfortable. “I’ll take the first watch,” he offered.

            Phoenix laid back down on the bed. Craven sat on the bed beside her. His back against the wall and his feet outstretched on the bed in front of him. Phoenix cuddled up close to him and closed her eyes. He absentmindedly stroked her hair, enjoying the way the silken strands felt beneath his fingertips. He had killed countless beasts and targets throughout his short years. He had taken many lives, but until Phoenix came along, he had never been responsible for protecting one.

            He had always believed that responsibility for another was a terrible burden in this hostile world, only as he sat here in the dark of night with Phoenix trusting her life in his hands, Craven felt a sense of gratification and privilege that this woman, who trusted no one, would trust him so completely.       

            Phoenix was beautiful. So talented and witty. He had never met a woman quite like her. As attracted as he was to her physical beauty, his bond with her went deeper. She made him smile. He could not imagine what this trip would have been like if he had not decided to bring her along. She was like a beautiful gem in a pile of coal. She had a hard and unfair life, and Craven found himself wishing to shelter her from the injustices of this world.

            Somehow, sometime when Crave was distracted, this radiant little thief had wormed her way under his skin. He had no idea just how far away Cyprus was, but sitting here with Phoenix sleeping with her pretty head in his lap, Craven felt at peace. Just a quiet moment in paradise.