The Queen of All that Lives
Page 6
I won’t be anyone else’s puppet.
I’ve been so deeply immersed in the conversation that only now do I notice the muffled sounds of chopper blades and engines.
“Hold on boys, the king’s found us,” the driver shouts from the other side of the partition, the vehicle accelerating even as he speaks.
“You will do it,” Jace says. “Our leaders will make sure of that.”
I smile at him then. People keep making the mistake of thinking that I’m someone they can control.
Before I can respond, a series of bullets spray against the side of the car. The vehicle swerves violently, its rear end fishtailing.
I’m thrown from my bed into the lap of several soldiers. All around me I hear grunts and curses from the other men, none so loud as the driver’s. Even though the metal partition muffles his voice, we can still hear his words clearly.
“They’re coming in hot!” he shouts.
As if that’s not obvious.
I use the distraction to steal a gun from the soldier whose lap I’ve fallen into. He doesn’t have time to react as I unholster and aim it. Just as the car corrects itself, I press the barrel into his chest and fire.
The sound of the shot is deafening.
Now the men are scrambling, some trying to stop me, some still confused.
I lift my torso, swivel, and shoot three more men, all while bullets continue to graze the outside of the vehicle.
In seconds the van is filled with blood. Spraying, misting, dripping down limbs, pooling around dying men.
“What the fuck is happening back there!” the driver shouts at the same time Jace bellows, “Serenity!” I can hear the fury in the latter’s voice.
The car lurches again, and I’m thrown off the now wounded soldiers’ laps. My body rolls under the bed.
Two men left, plus the driver.
A moment later, the mobile hospital bed is thrown aside.
I bring my gun up. I don’t bother looking at Jace’s face. I fire off a shot that buries itself in his stomach. He stumbles back, his hand going to his wound.
“By order of the king, stop the car and come out with your hands raised.” The intercommed voice drifts in from somewhere outside.
The king found me, just as I assumed he would. Adrenaline floods my system. I didn’t enjoy killing these men, but I will enjoy killing him.
Rather than slowing, our vehicle accelerates.
I hear a familiar click. The sound of a gun being cocked. I look up at the final soldier standing. He has a gun trained on me.
“Don’t fucking move. I swear I’ll shoot,” he says. His body is trembling.
Freedom or death—the poster got that much correct about me. I’m not letting these men take me hostage, even if it costs me my life.
Lord knows I hadn’t expected to live this long.
The soldier doesn’t shoot. I can tell he wants to look at his fallen comrades, the ones that are moaning and those that have gone still, but he’s smart enough to know that the moment he takes his eyes off of me, he’ll join their ranks.
“We freed you,” he says.
“Swapping one prison for another is no freedom,” I tell him.
He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him time to respond. I turn my gun on him, and I shoot.
The bullet takes him between the eyes. He remains upright for a moment longer, then his legs fold and his body lands with a thump.
I take a moment to catch my breath. Blood is seeping onto my dress. I can feel the warmth of it against my thighs. It sticks to my back, staining the material crimson. The vehicle is a mess of dead men.
I can still hear two clinging to life, their breathing labored. When I catch sight of them, my stolen gun comes up and I pull the trigger twice. It’s not just a mercy killing. Dying men have nothing to lose. Even though I’m some long dead queen, and even though they needed me alive, none of that matters much when you’re bleeding out.
The vehicle is still canting from side to side, and I can hear the driver yelling, but I can’t tell if his words are meant for me or for the men bearing down on us.
I lean my back against the wall. Until the driver is either killed or decides to stop the car, there’s not much for me to do except muse over my dark thoughts.
I reach out and exchange my gun for another, wiping the bloodied metal off on my skirts, taking in my surroundings again as I do so. I expected the future to be clean and shiny like a new penny. But I’m not seeing clean and shiny. The interior of this vehicle is rusted and stained. The men’s uniforms are faded. And the soldiers themselves had a sinewy, desperate look about them.
I don’t believe I like this future very much at all.
Suddenly the car slams to stop. I hear the driver side door being thrown open, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps moving farther and farther away from the vehicle. More gunfire goes off outside.
Time for me to move.
I push my body off the ground, blood seeping between my toes. For the first time in over a century I stand on my own two feet. The gown I wear drapes off my shoulders, and my drenched skirts stick to my legs.
I am a thing made of lace and blood. Swathed in silk and dripping with the dark deeds of men. I suppose I’m finally clothed accordingly.
The adrenaline I felt earlier resurges through my veins, and I grip my gun tighter.
I’d like to say that I can feel all those years I lost, that they left some imprint on my body or my mind. But I can’t. Other than my memories feeling a bit foggy, there’s no indication that I’d been asleep for decades rather than hours.
I’ve been so deeply immersed in the conversation that only now do I notice the muffled sounds of chopper blades and engines.
“Hold on boys, the king’s found us,” the driver shouts from the other side of the partition, the vehicle accelerating even as he speaks.
“You will do it,” Jace says. “Our leaders will make sure of that.”
I smile at him then. People keep making the mistake of thinking that I’m someone they can control.
Before I can respond, a series of bullets spray against the side of the car. The vehicle swerves violently, its rear end fishtailing.
I’m thrown from my bed into the lap of several soldiers. All around me I hear grunts and curses from the other men, none so loud as the driver’s. Even though the metal partition muffles his voice, we can still hear his words clearly.
“They’re coming in hot!” he shouts.
As if that’s not obvious.
I use the distraction to steal a gun from the soldier whose lap I’ve fallen into. He doesn’t have time to react as I unholster and aim it. Just as the car corrects itself, I press the barrel into his chest and fire.
The sound of the shot is deafening.
Now the men are scrambling, some trying to stop me, some still confused.
I lift my torso, swivel, and shoot three more men, all while bullets continue to graze the outside of the vehicle.
In seconds the van is filled with blood. Spraying, misting, dripping down limbs, pooling around dying men.
“What the fuck is happening back there!” the driver shouts at the same time Jace bellows, “Serenity!” I can hear the fury in the latter’s voice.
The car lurches again, and I’m thrown off the now wounded soldiers’ laps. My body rolls under the bed.
Two men left, plus the driver.
A moment later, the mobile hospital bed is thrown aside.
I bring my gun up. I don’t bother looking at Jace’s face. I fire off a shot that buries itself in his stomach. He stumbles back, his hand going to his wound.
“By order of the king, stop the car and come out with your hands raised.” The intercommed voice drifts in from somewhere outside.
The king found me, just as I assumed he would. Adrenaline floods my system. I didn’t enjoy killing these men, but I will enjoy killing him.
Rather than slowing, our vehicle accelerates.
I hear a familiar click. The sound of a gun being cocked. I look up at the final soldier standing. He has a gun trained on me.
“Don’t fucking move. I swear I’ll shoot,” he says. His body is trembling.
Freedom or death—the poster got that much correct about me. I’m not letting these men take me hostage, even if it costs me my life.
Lord knows I hadn’t expected to live this long.
The soldier doesn’t shoot. I can tell he wants to look at his fallen comrades, the ones that are moaning and those that have gone still, but he’s smart enough to know that the moment he takes his eyes off of me, he’ll join their ranks.
“We freed you,” he says.
“Swapping one prison for another is no freedom,” I tell him.
He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him time to respond. I turn my gun on him, and I shoot.
The bullet takes him between the eyes. He remains upright for a moment longer, then his legs fold and his body lands with a thump.
I take a moment to catch my breath. Blood is seeping onto my dress. I can feel the warmth of it against my thighs. It sticks to my back, staining the material crimson. The vehicle is a mess of dead men.
I can still hear two clinging to life, their breathing labored. When I catch sight of them, my stolen gun comes up and I pull the trigger twice. It’s not just a mercy killing. Dying men have nothing to lose. Even though I’m some long dead queen, and even though they needed me alive, none of that matters much when you’re bleeding out.
The vehicle is still canting from side to side, and I can hear the driver yelling, but I can’t tell if his words are meant for me or for the men bearing down on us.
I lean my back against the wall. Until the driver is either killed or decides to stop the car, there’s not much for me to do except muse over my dark thoughts.
I reach out and exchange my gun for another, wiping the bloodied metal off on my skirts, taking in my surroundings again as I do so. I expected the future to be clean and shiny like a new penny. But I’m not seeing clean and shiny. The interior of this vehicle is rusted and stained. The men’s uniforms are faded. And the soldiers themselves had a sinewy, desperate look about them.
I don’t believe I like this future very much at all.
Suddenly the car slams to stop. I hear the driver side door being thrown open, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps moving farther and farther away from the vehicle. More gunfire goes off outside.
Time for me to move.
I push my body off the ground, blood seeping between my toes. For the first time in over a century I stand on my own two feet. The gown I wear drapes off my shoulders, and my drenched skirts stick to my legs.
I am a thing made of lace and blood. Swathed in silk and dripping with the dark deeds of men. I suppose I’m finally clothed accordingly.
The adrenaline I felt earlier resurges through my veins, and I grip my gun tighter.
I’d like to say that I can feel all those years I lost, that they left some imprint on my body or my mind. But I can’t. Other than my memories feeling a bit foggy, there’s no indication that I’d been asleep for decades rather than hours.
