Page 172 of Uprising

It’s not one of us.

Not any of us.

I freeze, pressing myself into the nearest tree, just as we trained.

All I can hear now is my own breathing. No one is moving. No one is making a sound. I turn my head searching for Roman but he’s too far off and all I can make out is the outline of him in the distance.

As carefully as I can I slip the safety off the gun. Maybe I don’t need it. Maybe this is nothing but I sure as hell am not taking the risk.

Beside me I see something move. A flicker of light. It’s barely noticeable and yet I know it’s there.

As my eyes lock eyes with someone my fear lurches. He’s not one of us. He’s dressed in winter camos. Whites. Like some sort of abominable snowman. Some sort of monster. I lift the gun, pull the trigger and though it’s got a silencer on, I hear the thwoop as the bullet flies through the air.

He cries out, slamming into the ground.

And then all hell goes off.

Shots fire from all directions. I sink down into the snow, I burying my body as tight to the tree. I don’t know what direction to even look in.

I can hear Roman shouting through the earpiece. I shout back. But we can’t make out anything. I can’t make out any coherent words.

As a body rams into me I scream shooting once more and though the gun goes off I know I don’t hit him, I see the bullet ricochet into the tree. I see the bark splinter.

I slam back into the ground, groaning as my head seems to take all the impact and I see stars.

But my arms are flailing. Instinct is taking over and though I’m losing focus I’m kicking, punching, thrashing as hard as I can.

I’m picked up, slammed into the ground once more and it feels like something explodes behind my eyes. All my fight goes out of me. My body goes limp.

I look up, blinking at the person staring down at me, and then they smile, smirk, reaching down before they haul me over their shoulder and I pass out.

Rose

Someone lays me down. I blink, my eyes not registering anything but shadows around me and the brightness of the place they’ve carried me to. They step away and I hear the sound of muffled talking and then it fades off.

Whoever it is retreats and I lay here. Limp. Pathetic.

My body is heavy. I can feel every single step that I’ve climbed, every mile that I’ve trekked. I’m damp, wet. My clothes are sodden from the snow, I’m missing my jacket, but, as I realise that, I also register that I’m warm.

I’m inside.

I shift my head looking around, feeling my fear spiking. The cabin is big. Really big. I can see a room beyond the one I’m in where it looks like there’s a kitchen. There’s a mezzanine layer above me with a glass balustrade.

I’m on a couch. Laid out. Beneath it is a great fur hide and above me a chandelier is glinting with what I’d guess are actual diamonds. It’s more luxurious than I imagined. It’s far more glamourous.

“My slut of a wife is awake.”

The cry escapes my throat before I can stop it.

Darius tilts his head from where he’s sat across from me, his eyes narrowed.

I sit up, making slow movements. I don’t have the knife or the gun. They’ve clearly stripped them from me.

My eyes dart to the front door. It’s shut. Locked. Too far to get to from where I am.

“You’re not getting out that way.” He says.

I swallow my bile, looking back at him, acknowledging him for the first time, fighting the urge to shut down, fighting the panic that is rapidly taking over all logical thought.