Chapter 31: 30: HOSTAGE

“Adam.”

Adam’s cheek pressed against a cold, sticky floor. His limbs weighed as much as the planet itself. He creaked his lids open and shut them right away as light sent piercing pains through his skull.

A deep voice resonated from somewhere behind him, echoing within an open space.

“Adam. Are you awake?”

The smell and taste of metal swept into him when he huffed in short breaths of air. A slight move of his head summoned intense aches that tore through his neck, shoulders, and beyond. He remained still, breathing the smell and flavor of blood, until he tried again to crack open his lids.

“Get up, Adam. Ascension’s approaching. Harvest arrives soon. You’ll be late for the big day.”

The sounds of where Adam was filtered to him in distinct layers—the unnatural groans and hisses of now-rabid classmates searching for food. A noise simmered beneath of persistent whimpers from a female crying somewhere nearby. Adam dragged his hand closer to his body, shifting weight into his palm, and tried to push himself up, however the effort exerted him and his arm collapsed back to the floor.

“Get up," the voice repeated.

A grip of stone wrenched him up by the back of his disheveled undershirt and flung him ack to the ground a meter away. His limbs jostled as they struck a smooth, flat surface and he groaned, raising his arms to shield the swollen parts of his face. New pain awakened everywhere. The crying female was closer now, beside him, and she choked on her own shrieks. The same voice boomed out to him again, a voice he now knew well.

“Elias is on the way,” said Jackal. “When he arrives, we’ll begin.”

Bootsteps proceeded slowly past Adam. He lowered his arms, body tense in preparation for another surprise hit, and struggled to shift himself up to sit while clutching his head. More pain radiated down his back and a hand touched his shoulder with firm assurance. A male spoke to him with a hushed, hoarse whisper.

“Mate—you there?”

Adam spat out a trail of bloody saliva from his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, frowning as he tried to gather his senses. Movements out of the corner of his eyes alerted him that there were many people around him, more than twenty of the rebels aside from the twelve students clustered beside him.

Fragmented memories of how he’d gotten there faded in and out of view. Adam recalled in small pieces why he’d returned to the temple as well as the identity of the group beside him—they looked about his age and wore costumes—the hostages he’d spotted with Gracie from the third floor balcony.

He shifted his body to stand and collapsed into a heap when he failed the maneuver. The reassuring hand returned to grasp his shoulder and spoke over the female’s soft whimpering.

“Take it easy,” said the boy. “You look…really bad.”

“Li,” Adam uttered, wincing as a coughing spurt erupted from his chest. His voice was deep—haggard—and hoarse from strain. “Fucker…took her—”

“Yes.” Jackal’s voice boomed at Adam from behind. “I took her. She’s gone and is a bride of Sinum forevermore. My bride. I’ve taken others from you as well, all of them equally young…and fresh.”

Adam jerked his head aside, spotting the black-eyed, inked figure towering a few paces away. His throbbing gaze skirted over the runes scrawled on the wildlander’s body—Jackal had bared his torso completely, exposing his chiseled and scarred physique. The man’s flesh—whatever was visible behind the black marks crawling over every part of him—appeared already damaged.

A rattling breath loosed from Adam as his gaze streaked down to the scimitar in Jackal’s grip, a sharp curved blade near a meter long already marked with red stains, both old and dripping new.

“This is what I use for the ritual,” Jackal informed Adam, raising a heavy arm to brandish the weapon. “Engraved and blessed for the occasion by the elders—a special artifact aged over ten thousand years. The blood of many legendary warriors have stained the edge of this. Sin-Dar and Sin-Mut, our observant moons, will beam holy light on our sacrifice through this temple during the holiest of hours.”

Jackal’s void of a gaze—an inhuman look, a fully-native effect that glimmered with shadowed light—bore into Adam, stirring an involuntary chill in him. Despite the chaos stretching before him, the air within the rotunda was cooler than before from the Harvest winds filtering inside. A buzz of elemental ether in the air adding another chilling effect, crackling freely against Adam's exposed flesh.

Adam’s attention followed as Jackal turned away to walk the length of the stage, moving through the space with a slow, steady gait while belting out more rhythmic native song. A low static hummed from the amplifying orbs in front of the stage and one of the armed men moved forward to fire into the crowd, blasting a body that had shuffled up to stand. There were no return sounds of protest from below since everyone was either blown to pieces…or something worse than dead.

Adam pulled his legs toward him with careful, gradual movements and maneuvered his body to sit, resting his heavy head against his knees for a moment. Cautious bodies shifted and a senior like Adam, one with sand-brown hair and a narrow, anxious face marked with bruises, settled beside him. That was the voice that kept prodding Adam as he regained consciousness. The male’s costume was so torn and streaked with dirt and blood that the attire was unrecognizable as anything with meaning anymore.

“They let us talk,” said the student. “They don’t care about us talking—but they listen to everything we say. So…you should know that. And don’t try to stand or move around a lot—that makes them edgy. The rabids won’t come near since they’re playing something from the speakers that keeps the hosts away. Some kind of noise.”

Adam peered at the male from beneath half-closed lids that hung heavy with swelling and licked away a crust of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Who…are you?” he said, his voice cracking from strain. “Why…why are you here?”

“I’m Charles,” the senior replied, glancing quickly behind him at the group huddled silently with their heads bowed. “Charles Vandraver. I go to Asterville. So does Tamara over there. Ranadet goes to Sparrowmark, Cam goes to Bellmore. The others…they don’t want to talk at all.”

“Vandraver?” Adam scanned the rest of the hostages as well before shifting his attention to Charles, squinting through the remaining fog of the CDPD sedative. “Your father’s MOJ,” he said. “Judge Vandraver, presiding in…Capitol City. Rules on my mother’s legislative cases sometimes, same court as Judge Khelot.”

“Yeah.” Charles nodded. “They don’t like each other much in that court, my dad and your mom. Party disputes and all that.”

“Aye,” agreed Adam. “They don’t like each other at all. I’ve heard her mention a few things about the process.” He nudged his head gingerly towards the others. “I guess everyone here…has family that’s ranked in the Union ministries. That’s the point of this.”

“Right. Tamara’s dad works for Capitol Treasury, Ran’s the son of a Unifaith bishop, a leader in that giant temple out there. I think he—” Charles gestured first at the weeping female, identifying her as Tamara, and then at another male who peered at them furtively with back still turned. “—that’s Cam—he’s the son of an arbiter, like you. I heard Jackal say something to him about systemic refugee case delays in RedSect court system.”

Cam glanced at the armed men full of fear when he heard the mention of his identity, as if restating what the hostiles already knew might spark them to violence.

“Daddy gives to charities,” sniffled the weeping Tamara, her hair still glimmering from her costume accessories even though she was drenched in sweat and stains. “He gives to all the important ones that get millions of tags all the time. Some of the smaller ones too just to be fair. He helps everybody and we’re good people. I don’t know why this is happening!”

“He’ll kill us,” piped in the male sitting in the rear, voice wavering as he shook his head and stared at the back wall bordering the rear of the stage. “He’ll kill us. He doesn’t care at all. We’re nothing to him. Nothing. Garbage—”

“Fucking hell,” said another of the seniors, shaking his head bitterly. “I can’t take you fucking saying that anymore.”

“Jackal’s gonna kill us, man—”

“Enough!” snapped Adam, wincing at the exertion as he turned his body toward the stammering senior. “You’re not fucking dead yet so that means he needs you—needs us.” He grimaced, bowing his head. “So fucking relax!”

Renewed pain made him falter and Charles patted his shoulder again.

“Mate. Take it easy.”

Adam surveyed Jackal's stage again. The rebels in black guarded the hostages from various vantage points, arranging themselves before a podium built in the rear that used to be manned for temple ceremonies. Stairs leading up to the stage on either end were blocked by the armed men, impeding any chance they might have had for fleeing.

Scared, sporadic chatter continued to rustle from the others but Adam didn’t hear what they were saying. Didn’t hear any of the other persistent sounds within the rotunda. His focus remained instead trained on Jackal’s slow, distant pacing across the stage, watching the wildlander brandish the blade with slow movements as if there were an actual audience observing.

Visions of Talitha’s disoriented, blood-smeared terror inside the CDPD cruiser flashed on repeat in Adam’s mind, his last memory before Jackal’s woman had enclosed his head in that sack. He imagined himself rushing the rebel leader and disarming the blade, jabbing it through the man’s chest, returning Jackal’s threat by collecting the wildlander’s head.

Talitha’s father wasn’t an unidentified hostile believed killed in combat as stated in her bio. No, the man who’d imprisoned Talitha’s mother as a slave to Sinum for years was the native standing before Adam now. And according to Jackal’s threat, the devil of a figure planned to repeat that same disgusting history with Talitha. Jackal would destroy…his own daughter.

But that wouldn't happen because Adam was around. He was there and he could—would—fight.

Quiet rage simmered as Adam memorized every step and motion of the enemy before him, the natural speed of Jackal’s limb movements that were slowed by the bulk of the wildlander’s physique. The height that towered another head above him. Adam wasn’t a killer but at that specific moment in time the only thoughts that filled his mind were of murder.

Jackal faced him again, swerving the scimitar in the air while chanting another hymn. The wildlander stopped his music and paused a few paces away from the hostages, staring down at Adam alone.

“Do you know Elias, Adam?” said Jackal, the stillness around them amplifying the gravity of his question.

“Yeah,” replied Adam. “He’s my brother. Obvious, don’t you think?”

Amusement twitched on Jackal’s mouth. “Petulant. Elias was the same years ago, when he was a boy just like you. I knew him in those days and it’s evident the cheekiness is your family charm.” Jackal gestured at Adam with the blade. “I could kill you right now. The effect on my enemies for my purposes would be exactly the same. I don't need to wait for the captain for a satisfying outcome. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Afraid of what—you? Please!” Hatred surged within Adam as the black abyss of Jackal’s gaze studied him. “You’re a filthy fucking traitor,” he spat. “A murderer. An…animal! You’re worthless, your music's shit, and so are you!”

Jackal sighed. “Still resisting.”

“Right. I am and I won’t stop. I’ll never stop. Tell me what you’ll do now because of that—kill me fast because I won’t cower in front of you? That must frustrate you, that you can’t intimidate me.” Adam remained unbroken against Jackal. “I don’t see Elias here yet and I can tell you want him to watch me die pretty bad. That’s something personal for you, apparently, otherwise I’d already be dead. You can only kill me once, so are you sure you want to waste the moment because I said your music sucks?”

The hostages behind Adam recoiled when Jackal moved closer to Adam, crouching in front of the group to face Adam directly. The rebels reassembled themselves to cover Jackal and the void—Jackal’s stare—surveyed Adam without pause. Adam breathed heavy, still reeling from the hard blows he’d taken earlier, and Jackal’s hand snapped forward to snatch Adam’s face, squeezing his injuries with a clamping grip.

A grunt escaped Adam as he faltered. His eyes squeezed tight against streaking, undulating ripples of pain. He felt the binding on his sealed wounds split with new wetness.

“I won’t waste my opportunity,” said Jackal in a low voice. “You have one death as a human and I’ll savor granting that to you in the manner I wish. We’ll wait for Elias. But until he arrives there are other kinds of fun we’ll have. You seem enlivened with new energy, so let's play a game.”

Jackal released him and Adam winced, lowering his head as burning pain radiated throughout his face. He touched his cheek, finding new red on his fingers. Jackal’s bootsteps moved to the left as the wildlander approached an armed rebel.

“Your sidearm, talmit,” demanded Jackal, extending his hand forward to the man.

The rebel removed a pistol from his holster and passed it to Jackal. The weeping female—Tamara—continued to sob quietly. Jackal paused in front of Adam.

“Stand,” he said. “Take the weapon.”

Adam flickered with confusion. His attention darted between the polished firearm in Jackal’s open palm and the emotionless visage of the man before him. Exhaling heavy, he hesitated, and Jackal waited a few moments before turning to the man who’d presented the weapon. He rolled words to the rebel in native tongue and Adam gasped when the rebel yanked Tamara up by the arm, her cries pealing into sharp shrieks of terror.

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“Wha-what?” said Adam, voice tight as his head streaked back in Jackal’s direction. “What are you doing—?”

“We don’t need anyone sitting on this stage. You were chosen but the lot of you are expendable, tools to amplify Sinum’s message to humanity.” Jackal remained stony as he watched Tamara crumple in the rebel’s hold. “Your decision today, Adam, is this—continue to goad fate and I’ll order this man to execute the hostages one by one, beginning with this girl. Or…you take the weapon as I’ve instructed and follow direction.”

“Will you let her go?”

“Perhaps.”

Stormy tears streamed from Tamara as the rebel dragged her away, forcing her to the middle of the stage. Adam rose as he looked between Jackal and the girl, his own panic rising. Several of the other seniors stirred as if they might involve themselves despite the risk.

“Shit!” Adam barked. “You’re fucking mad—!”

“Choose quickly, Adam.”

Alarm spiked as Adam watched the rebel holding Tamara shove her trembling figure to her knees. He grunted, his own hands shaking from nerves, and persistent disbelief switched fast to sudden action when the rebel grabbed hold of Tamara’s head. Adam snatched the weapon from Jackal’s hand but before he could react, the rebel shoved the muzzle of his rifle against Tamara’s forehead.

“No!” Adam shouted, too late. “Don’t—”

Tamara screamed—screamed so loud—and the rebel pulled the trigger.

Adam rushed forward and Tamara’s head popped to the side from the blast. Red sprayed as she toppled over and Adam watched her hit the ground in a pool of red. The hostages screamed, shocked with greater terror than before.

His mouth hung open as he watched Tamara’s blood soak the splay of her light hair. Another daze overtook him as if he’d been submersed in a viscous jelly. Every shift, every blink, every twitch his body occurred in slow motion. Somewhere behind, Jackal addressed him again.

“You’re shaking, Adam,” said the rebel leader. “Those nerves of yours, shot already, and we’ve only begun.” He laughed. “Your grip's unsteady so be sure to watch for dropfire. The last option here is shooting yourself. Not the first.”

Adam remained silent, staring as Tamara’s body jerked like she were reaching for something none of them could see. The rebel who’d shot her lifted her off the ground without ceremony and moved to the stage’s edge, flinging her into the waiting crowd of parasites. The rabids reacted at once to the presence of fresh human blood and shrieked as they worked themselves into a frenzy, clawing at her with their hands and teeth as Tamara disappeared within the crowd. Adam's stomach turned when he heard the snapping sounds of the creatures feasting.

“I found another of my children here,” said Jackal to Adam. “Dead. Torn apart by these savage forms. He wasn’t pure but he never poisoned himself with the latest elixir. Always remained loyal to me. To Sinum. To our movement and our ideals. Half-human, but he was to be rewarded with immortality for his service after this. Blessed with countless lives filled with countless riches. Anything he desired as my heir. But…his inexperience led to his fate tonight. That’s a shame. I gave him instruction beyond his capacity to fulfill and that will remain my sorrow.” The scimitar rested on Jackal’s shoulder again. “Someone shot him. Removed his head covering and left him to be devoured by these wanderers. He was tasked to bring you to me, since you would trust him most and keep him close. Now he’ll have to be bestowed with his infinite blessings in the realms beyond, remaining a warrior forevermore, reborn in spirit.”

“I-Ivan?” asked Adam, his face twisting further as his voice escaped him in ragged breaths. “You mean Ivan? He was yours too? So Talitha's…she’s his sister?”

“Ivan. What an awful name. That was what his Union caretakers called him. No…native music in the phonetics.” Jackal sighed as if he were feeling remorse. “I suppose you could call them brother and sister. There are so many from me on this planet—and even here with us now. My family.” Jackal shrugged. “So—I know you can operate a gun, Adam. You were the one that killed him. You’ll shoot one now and hopefully this time, you’ll react much faster to save a pathetic life.”

Jackal gestured at another armed rebel, rattling a few words in tongue. Adam’s chest seized when the rebel wrenched the senior who’d spoken to him first—Charles Vandraver, Judge Vandraver’s son—by the collar. The remaining hostages recoiled but Adam couldn’t hear their cries or what they were saying—blood pounded so hard and fast inside of his body that it muffled all sound from his ears except Jackal’s.

“I gave you that weapon, Adam,” said Jackal, “so that you’d spill this child’s blood and mark a proper arrival of Harvest with your hand and intent.”

“Don’t!” Charles froze in the rebel’s grip, his eyes wide as he stared back and forth between Jackal, Adam, and the firearm in Adam’s grip. “Adam—don’t!”

“I won’t,” said Adam, his reply choking in his throat as he stared back at Charles. “I won’t. I…I’m not going to do that. I won't!”

“Yes,” said Jackal. “You will. You were a killer once. You’ll be a killer again. For me.”

“I can’t—” Adam sucked his breath when he saw Jackal raise an arm as if ready to command another execution. “Stop! Stop it!” he shouted, his strained voice echoing across the stage. “Don’t shoot anyone else! Stop doing this!”

“Then kill Charles, Adam. Kill him as I ordered you to do. Kill him as you killed the fruit of my seed and blood.” Jackal smirked as Charles struggled, visible panic warping the senior’s face as Charles continued to plead. “Kill him or I’ll keep killing the others until you do. They’re all meaningless. You can be the last one left alive. Your choice.”

“Please.” Charles was hoarse with fear. “Please don’t. Please don’t. Please!”

“Poor boy. His pleas are pitiful. Maybe I’m touched, however not in the way you might hope.” Jackal’s scimitar pointed at Charles now. “Tell you what, young Vandraver—I think we should make this game more entertaining. Add a bit of competition.” Jackal’s tone gained a mocking musical quality. “So…try to rush Adam and take his weapon. If you succeed and kill him—I’ll accept the outcome. I'll allow you to go home without hindrance from my men. You’ll be the only one granted the privilege tonight so consider it a Harvest gift.” The smirk widened. “Is that fair, Charles?”

“What?” Charles stared at Jackal, dumbfounded with mouth agape. “Go…home?”

“Yes.” Jackal nodded. “If you win this little contest you’ll go home to Mommy and Daddy. Sleep in a warm bed and eat a good meal. Play better games under the sun and make new friends to replace the dead. How does that sound?”

Charles shook his head, slowly. “I can’t…kill…”

“Find the will to do it, Charles. Find it fast. There’s not much time. If neither of you move by the count of three I’ll terminate one of the others.”

Adam’s attention streaked back to Charles, who looked back at Adam with escalating confusion. He spotted Vandraver’s hand twitch as if itching for action. Adam's own hold on the firearm trembled—hard to tell if Charles would go for it. The promise of going home, of ending their nightmare and returning to Altir, tempted Adam too even though he wasn’t given the offer.

“One,” said Jackal, holding up a finger in the air.

Lingering nausea sank in Adam’s stomach. A chance—a real chance—existed that Charles would spring on the count of three.

“Two.”

Slick sweat dampened Adam’s palms and the gun slipped in his hold. Raw fear reflected back from Charles—and Adam was sure at that moment that Vandraver would indeed rush him.

“Three—”

“I’ll do it!”

Adam jumped in surprise. Another hostage—the terrified Cam—leaped up from the huddle and hurtled toward Adam with desperate speed. Adam’s aim swung to the side, away from Charles, and he pulsed the trigger in sudden shock when Cam seized hold of his wrist.

The pistol jerked and a projectile blasted out of the muzzle into Cam’s body. The shot struck Cam low in the chest as Cam shoved Adam’s aim down. Startled, Adam fired again, and watched in horror as Cam grunted, grabbing hold of his torso before falling to his knees. Adam nearly dropped the weapon, shuddering at the sight of Cam twisting in pain.

“That was awful,” said Jackal, meeting Adam’s wide, panicked stare. “You’re a terrible fucking shot. Nothing at all like the legacy of supposed heroes from your clan. No hunter to be found here. How…sad. Yet I’m not surprised.”

Adam stumbled, his knees suddenly weak. His arms dropped to his sides as Jackal gestured at Cam with the scimitar.

“Finish what you started,” prompted Jackal. “You wounded the animal. Now put it out of its misery.”

“I…I can’t.” Adam shook his head, dazed as Cam cried. “I…can’t. I—”

Jackal clucked his tongue with disappointment, crouching beside Cam. He studied the boy writhing in pain and coughing up red before ordering the rebel holding Charles to let the other senior go. The rebel shoved Charles back towards the group of hostages while Adam stared at the blood leaking through Cam’s costume. Cam had been dressed as an old-world prince from an Earth fable, wearing a fine decorated suit lined with gold buttons. Adam had shot Cam right through the gut and the wound was bleeding out fast, staining the brocade of Cam's jacket.

“He’ll die anyway, Adam. Either finish this yourself or let the injuries do the work for you. Waste time and he’ll suffer every step of the way.” Jackal glanced up at Adam and smiled. “That’s cruel, and I enjoy cruelty. However, when I inflict misery it’s not by accident.”

Adam watched Cam’s movements slow, red spilling from the boy’s mouth. Somewhere within the pounding blood rushing in his ears he heard Cam cry—and Cam was calling for his mother and father to help him. Adam’s face screwed with strange confusion at the request, because Cam’s parents weren’t there. They’d never be there either. Cam was dying and Adam killed him, just like Adam had killed Ivan.

Cam choked spluttering blood and Adam glanced at the expanse of floor that lay between the edge of the stage and the front of the rotunda, the distance as good as hundreds of kilometers away at that point. Elias was on the way, maybe, but…Elias wasn’t there now. Like always. Elias was never there when it mattered. The decision on what to do belonged to Adam and Adam alone. Time already proved that no one would save them.

Adam crouched beside Cam and pressed the gun to the crying boy’s head. He watched with unblinking eyes as Cam choked on bubbling fluid. Jackal moved behind Adam and the wildlander’s resonant voice directed him with patience.

“Lower,” said Jackal. “Rest your muzzle in the cocoon between his eyes. It’ll feel like a perfect nest for your weapon. Once you shoot the end will come quick. That’s the kindest outcome for all. You seem to have a gentle side to you.”

Without a sound Adam followed direction, sliding the muzzle lower. Unwelcome emotions entered his mind but he shut them away. They wouldn’t help. He forced himself to be far away from what he had to do.

He stared at Cam struggle and pulled the trigger again, shattering Cam’s face to pieces. The recoil jolted his hand back and the forceful splatter of sharp bone and matter against his knuckles hurt. His hand was wet now with Cam’s blood and Cam lay still, because the center of Cam’s face was gone.

Adam drew his hand back and winced, the close range of the blast ringing his ears and setting off another high feedback pitch sound through his ears and skull. He touched his forehead, collapsing into his crouch, and closed his eyes, the swollen parts of his face burning and aching without end.

“Good job,” said Jackal. “Much better this time. Might be hope for you yet.”

Cam became a limp sack of flesh that didn't seem real. In fact, nothing seemed real. Adam always hated the way illegal Dots made him feel and the sensations pouring through him were worse than the worst illegal venom.

Several of the hostages cried and when Adam glanced at the students they froze, staring at him like they were afraid. Afraid of him.

"That was fun." Jackal rested the scimitar on his shoulder and walked away, signaling to a rifleman to dispose of Cam as well. "I told you we’d have time to play a game. Now we’ll wait,” he said. “Once Elias arrives we’ll begin."

Adam lowered his head and closed his eyes. He didn't want to look at Cam anymore.

Once the rebels disposed of Cam within the crowd of rabids the blood in Adam’s head continued to roar. The noise in his head was loud—and too loud for Adam to hear the parasites feasting on Cam.

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