Wraith Page 5

  Quickly I shoulder my weapon and start after them, not wanting to let the cow get too far from me. The trail she leaves behind is a beacon, leading me right to her. She only made it two hundred yards or so from where I shot her before she collapsed. Laying still with shallow breaths, she clings to life on the slick red stained snow. With the sun going down and the scent of fresh blood in the air I get to work on getting the elk gutted and quartered for transport. I won’t be able to drag the whole carcass back in one trip so I take as much as I possibly can. The rest of the elk will make a pack of wolves or a lone cougar a decent meal. When I have more than I can carry on my back I start the long trek to my sled.

  The night is quiet, only the crunch of the snow sounding under my feet as I make my way back. It doesn’t take me near as long as it did tracking the elk because I don’t need to be quiet this time around, or so I think. The sled just barely comes into view from the glint of the moonlight when a hissing fills my ears. It stops me in my tracks, the bark of a nearby tree exploding from the impact of the bullet that nearly hits me. The noise comes again only this time, the bullet hits its target—me. Sharp pain spreads throughout my chest nearly knocking me down, but somehow, I stay standing. The need to get the fuck out of here spurring me ahead. Two more shots wiz past me before I make it to the sled. Whoever is shooting at me has a silencer. It can’t be ninja girl unless she had a weapon stowed away in the woods somewhere, which I shouldn’t rule out, but something keeps telling me this isn’t the case. I got the feeling from her that she wants a more personal death to come to me, she wouldn’t just snipe me out. This is someone else.

  The headlight from the sled barely lights the way back to the cabin, just in time for my vision to start fading. I know I need to get inside, away from whoever it is that wants me dead, but going in there with someone else who wants me to meet the same fate isn’t much of an option either, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I am going to have to put my trust in her if I have any chance at surviving. Snagging the key from the snowmobile I don’t take the time to cover it up before I’m dragging my body toward the door. Flinging it open I’m met with big brown eyes. Still strapped down to the bed, I find her in the same place I left her hours ago. Stepping inside I throw the door shut and stomp over to her side. It only takes her seconds to put together the reason for my haste. When her eyes land on my bleeding chest she opens her mouth to speak but I stop her. “If you want me dead, now is your chance,” I say, grabbing the knife that is still on the bed but closer to her right hand, I take note of the progress she made, but it doesn’t matter anymore. She is the only hope I have if I plan on living another day. I take the knife and cut away the restraint closest to me, using the last reserves of energy I have left. “I’m kind of hoping you decide…not…to…” My words start to slur, the dim light of the cabin fading around me. I’m going to black out that’s for sure, what isn’t, is if I will wake up again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  His body crumples to the floor in a heap, the knife he used to cut my hand free falling from his grip to the bed. Immediately I grab it and cut my other hand free followed by my feet. I jump from the bed down to the floor and roll him over to his back so I can face him. He doesn’t lay flat, the large pack strapped to him is too bulky. It doesn’t matter I can kill him either way. With the knife still in hand I raise it up over his unmoving form and ready myself to plunge it into his chest cavity. One. Two. Three.

  Only I can’t.

  This isn’t how I wanted this to happen, and if the person who shot him is still out there, there is a chance that person will come for me, too. Not a chance—a certainty. I may need him, if who is out there, is who I think it is. I need to find the wound and assess it. Pulling the pack from his shoulders I start striping away the layers he has on. A thick down coat, now with a bloodied hole through it, comes off easily, but the two shirts he has on don’t. I cut them away with the knife, finding a seeping bullet hole in the side of his chest. I need water to wash away the blood before I can assess how fatal the shot is, so I go over to the fireplace and take off the pot sitting on the heated top. Next, I search the small area he has designated for a kitchen and find a first aid kit tucked away underneath a box of empty jars. I grab a towel from the open cupboard on the wall and go back to him. The water is hot so I make sure to let the towel cool before placing it on his skin and start wiping. With each swipe of the towel I find that the wound isn’t bad and the bullet is no longer inside his body. It must have gone in, possibly hit a rib bone and exited through his back. Stripping the shirts off the rest of the way I find the exit wound, confirming my guess. I will just need to stitch him to stop the bleeding and hope he doesn’t get an infection and that there are no fragments of his rib bones left inside. They could cause internal bleeding and there is no way I will be able to stop that.

  Searching through the first aid kit I find what I need and sew him up best I can, given the position, and leave him lying on the floor. I take a moment and pause, looking him over. He snuck out this morning while I pretended to be asleep. Almost as if he was embarrassed about the story he told me last night. I try picturing him as a boy but I can’t see through the man lying on the floor at me feet. His bare chest covered with a small smattering of hair that trails down to a small line, disappearing into his pants. He still has on his snow pants and boots but I leave them for now. I need something to wear. After a shirt search, I find my clothes folded neatly inside a small dresser full of his things. I pull on my jeans and then my shirt. I shrug on my coat and find my boots by the door. I need to go out and relieve myself—right now. Hesitantly, I look out the door. The night is black with only a sliver of moonlight shining down from the sky to light my way outside as I take a few steps from the cabin. I chance the trip out to the small outhouse to do my business, thankful I no longer have to use the small pan and quickly scramble back inside. My heart beats a rapid staccato in my chest as I slam the door shut behind me. I take a moment to calm myself then I go search for food to ease my empty stomach. He only has soup but the pack he had on when he came inside comes to mind. Looking it over I open it up to find meat wrapped up in a sheet of some kind. Rummaging further in the kitchen I set about slicing the meat. I set aside a few pieces to cook and the rest I store in the empty icebox I find under the makeshift sink.

  The kitchen is bare bones, just enough structure to give the feel of what it is supposed to be but no luxury at all. There is a pump over the sink and after a few cranks on the handle I decide to give up the quest for water and just grab some hot water from the pot on the stove. It isn’t long before my belly is full and my energy is back up from being tied to the bed. I contemplate tying him up but decide against it. He doesn’t want to kill me and right now, I don’t want him dead, nor can he hurt me while he is out. So, I strip him of his boots and snow pants and just leave him lying on the floor.

  I search the cabin for weapons. He is a killer the man should have something stashed away but I turn up disappointed. Only recovering a hand gun and the knife he had in his bag, most likely the one he used to skin the animal from his pack. Only the rifle he would have needed to take down the creature is nowhere in sight making me believe he must have lost it in the snow while being shot at.

  The next thing I do is cover the only two windows the cabin has. If someone is out there, seeing in through the windows isn’t going to help us. I then drag the small side table from its place next to bed over to the front of the door, holding it shut. It may not do much, but if someone tries to come inside I will give me a chance to get ready before they can completely make their way in.

  I know I won’t get any sleep and with the sun already starting to come up, I decide that just laying back on the bed with the hunting rifle at my side and the pistol in my hand is how I will start the day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Surprise hits me when I’m able to crack my eyes open and find I’m alive. She didn’t kill me. I had hoped—but didn’t expect—that she would
let me live. The question now is, why? “You have been out for over twenty-four hours and you lost a lot of blood.” Her voice comes from the bed, above me. Craning my neck upward toward the owner of the soft voice my body shifts and protests from the movement. I’m on the floor. It’s not making me feel any better either. My ribs ache, rivaling the feeling of being hit by a Mack truck, and as I breathe I quickly learn to take slow shallow breaths.

  “You didn’t kill me,” I state causing her to let out a choked snort she clearly wanted to hide.

  “Yeah, well I didn’t think I would get much satisfaction suffocating you after you passed out from blood loss.” She wants an opponent.

  “Give me a few hours and I will be right as rain to face you. I will be a formidable match.” The laugh she lets out isn’t shielded this time around and I find my cock—despite the pain—thickening under the blanket draped over me. Shifting to a more comfortable position I take in the fact that I’m in only my jeans.

  “You get yourself a good look?” Sitting up I let the blankets drop down to reveal my bandaged side.

  “The bullet that hit you went right through but may have hit a rib on its way out,” she explains, ignoring my question about the peep show she more than likely had while I was out. Not that I care, my body is more than nice to look at. And I’m not just being cocky, well, maybe a little but I do like to state the obvious.

  “Who shot me?” I know she has an idea, if not already knows who it is, but she shakes her head.

  “No clue,” she lies as she climbs from the bed and passes me to go to the kitchen area. She makes herself at home heating up a can of soup then produces a slice of meet from my icebox under the countertop. I watch her silently as she glides about the small area, so graceful and calculated. It’s now that I notice her hair is waist length, almost black with a blue shine to it. Like a raven’s feathers. When I tossed her on the bed and tied her wrists to the posts it was tied back, not flowing free like it is now. She is in the tank top and jeans I tore off of her before I tied her to the bed. The small cabin feels warmer than I usually keep it, which means she has probably burned up more fuel than I allow the fire to burn in one day.

  “Eat. You need to regain your strength, if you are going to be a formidable match.” She cocks her dark eyebrow at me throwing my words back with a smirk and bends down to hand me a plate complete with small slices of cooked meat tossed with some vegetable soup.

  “Glad you didn’t let the meat spoil, would have been a shame. Since I nearly died getting it and all.” I take a bite of the cooked meat and suppress a groan, fuck it is good to have fresh meat. “Damn near didn’t get it back with some asshole shooting at me,” I say gauging her reaction but only get the same nonchalant attitude as before. “If you don’t know who shot me, why did you board this place up like you are expecting a siege?” My eyes flick to the covered window then to the barricaded door.

  “Someone shot you,” she deadpans, still expressionless, “and I know who you are. Makes sense that others would be coming after you as well.” I let out a small chuckle forgetting that my rib is severely bruised, if not broken, and blinding pain slices through my side. Clutching at the bandage I apply a little pressure in attempt to ward away the pain but it doesn’t do much. Fuck! Why didn’t I bring a bag of oxy or even some weed with me here?

  “Which brings me to the question. How the fuck did you find me? I have been hidden for quite some time, girl, so it surprises the fuck out of me that someone like you could pin point my location.”

  “Someone like me?” she asks, clearly annoyed, from her perch on the bed once again, no doubt clutching some form of weapon in the hand that is no longer visible to me.

  “Like you. What are you? Twelve?” She nearly gives an eye roll but stops herself.

  “You really should rest. You never know when whoever it is that shot you will come back to finish the job,” she tells me shoveling another bite of soup into her mouth.

  “Or I could just wait for you to do it.” She stops at those words, looking me over.

  “Trust me, if I wanted to just put you out of your misery you would be out of it already. Now eat. I don’t like hearing the sound of your voice,” she snaps, continuing to eat her food and ignoring any further attempts I have at making conversation. The girl can put her solar ice caps firmly into place when she sets her mind to it. Cold. But what the fuck made her so damn cold?

  Or rather, who?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain tickles at my nose as I walk home from school. It’s a mist right now but the further I walk the thicker the drops get. I can’t help it, I love the rain. As the drops get heavier I stop on the damp sidewalk and lean my head back to look up at the gray sky. Even the color is beautiful. My art teacher says that gray isn’t a color, but I don’t care. It’s still my favorite. All different shades of it, especially this one. Fat drops hit my tongue as I open my mouth to catch them. My face is getting soaked as are my clothes. I know that I need to get home. Daddy is going to be mad when he sees that I’m soaked through and that I didn’t ride home in the car that picks me up every day from school. I think it’s stupid to have to be brought to and from school when the school is so close to our house. But Daddy says it’s for my own protection. He is a judge and says there are people out there that may want to hurt him and they might hurt me to do that. But walking home from school on a rainy day shouldn’t be a problem, especially since I sat there and waited for Ted, the driver, to pick me up. But he never came.

  I smile as our house comes into view. Its white with blue shutters that Daddy said Mommy picked out. I never knew her. She died when I was too little to remember. It has only been me, Daddy, Ted, and Marta, my nanny. One happy family. Even with daddy being a judge he always finds time for me. I know a lot of kids I go to school with don’t have that, so even at ten years old I know I have a good Daddy. The gate that surrounds the house is closed so I ring the bell to the house on the intercom, but I get nothing. I know Daddy told me the password for the gate once but I can’t remember it. I try a couple numbers that I think might be right but get nothing. Thinking I’m going to have to try to climb over the fence I hike my backpack tighter over my shoulders and start forward but, as if magic, the gate starts sliding open letting me inside. My smile is back on my face and I keep walking. My school uniform is completely soaked through and my uncomfortable mandatory Mary Jane shoes pinch even tighter on my feet, only now, my feet slip and slide inside them because of the white tights I have to wear. I will be happy to get inside to take them off and put on something dry and more comfortable. I hate the uniform but daddy says the school I go to is the best and that is all he ever wants for me—the best.

  “Daddy,” I call out as I walk inside. The only sound I get back is my own voice echoing along the walls. “Marta.” Still nothing as I continue the path to my room, needing to get out of these clothes. Passing Daddy’s office, I notice the door closed. It’s never closed. Not even when he is working. He always keeps it open just in case I need him. I’m always welcome to go in and talk if I need to. It makes me pause. I wonder if he is in there? Slowly—as if deep down I know I shouldn’t open the closed door—I turn the knob and push the thick wood open. The smell of the cigars Daddy sometimes smokes hits my nose along with another smell that makes my mouth taste like I’m sucking on pennies. I don’t like it, but I keep going in. “Daddy? Are you in here?” A muffled noise comes from inside and through the dim light of the office my eyes finally land on my dad. He has something tied around his face keeping him from talking. He is down on his knees and I can tell from his wet face that he is crying. He yells something that sounds like run from under the thing stuffed in his mouth but I can’t quite make the word out or let it register before a heavy hand clasps down on my damp shoulder making me shriek.

  “Pretty this one,” the owner of the hand says with a heavy accent. It sounds familiar, like maybe I heard it on a movie. “Carlo. You never told us you had such a beautiful daugh
ter,” he says getting another yell from daddy on the floor now struggling to get to me but another man appears at his side, holding him in place.

  “What is going on?” I ask trying to get away.

  “Your father has been a very bad boy. Haven’t you, Carlo?” I shake my head because my daddy, being anything but the nicest man alive, couldn’t be bad. More muffled yelling comes from Daddy but this time the man holding him back pulls the cloth from his mouth allowing him to speak.

  “You piece of shit. You go ahead and kill me but you leave my daughter alone!” His words bellow, vibrating in my chest, making me shutter. In all my life I only remember him yelling a handful of times and never when he thought I was listening.

  “Oh, but you made this personal when you gave Niko the death penalty. How the fuck do you think I’m going to get him out of prison now!” the man holding me back yells, his fingers digging into my shoulder making me wince.

  “You are the scum of the earth! All of you should get the death penalty!” Daddy shouts but is suddenly cut off by a loud bang. A bang that rings in my ears and causes everything around me to go silent, except for the ringing. I watch in horror as a red spot grows on Daddy’s chest, his white dress shirt, normally crisp and clean, now soiled with…blood.

  “No! Daddy!” I yell and jerk from the steel grip, getting away and running toward my dad. My arms fling around him, squeezing him tight before his weight drops us to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry, Lara. So sorry, my little girl,” he pants out between breaths as we hit the carpet.

  “Daddy. Please. Please don’t die.” I know it’s a pointless demand, his face is fading of life as he looks up at me.

  “I will leave you with this one parting promise, Carlo. Your daughter…” the man drifts off reaching down to pull me up my hair, “your daughter will be my slave, the little whore who will shine my fucking shoes and when she grows some tits, she will be the one who sucks my cock before I go to bed.” The last noise I hear my Daddy make is a strangled cry drowned by the sickening gurgle of the blood flowing from his mouth as the man that was holding him drags a thick knife across his throat.