The Dragon's Blood (Part 74)
During which the nightmare attack continues...
74
Emme Merrimoth ran as fast as she could. She'd always been good at that, running and hiding. They never found her when they played as children, never. She would find a spot, one you wouldn't look for, one you'd never think of, and there, that's where'd she hide, and they'd never find her, no, never.
You see, people, most people, thought along a very linear path, if they didn't see something, it wasn't there. She'd learned that very young, you tended to do that, learn quickly, when you were the youngest of eight. And she'd been born not just dead last, but smallest and sickliest of the entire bunch.
She still remembered them standing over her as she lay there, half dead from her latest bout of illness, so many her mother had stopped counting. Her father and grandmother, that hateful monstrous witch, discussing her imminent demise.
“She'll be dead soon, Arthur,” that toothless hag spat, completely unmindful, uncaring that she was there, listening. “This one will finish the little runt. And if it doesn't, the next one will, or her brothers'... she'll never reach more than a few summers, this one...”
But here she was, still running, still alive. She'd learn to run young, learn to get ahead of them, all of them, the sickness, her brothers and that hateful, hateful witch.... and here she was, alive while that monster lay six feet under, nothing more than a dark memory.
They were all about her, she heard them, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, following her. She'd heard them coming, heard Chapman's screams, pleading for her unborn babe, heard those unholy shouts until they became nothing more than a wet dying gurgle.
Those had been the signs, years and years of survival had taught her how to identify them, the signs that prompted her
departure.
She'd left Bennet in his bed, that bastard had served his purpose, bringing her here and he would do so again one last time as bait to slow to down the invaders. She would not miss his smell, that stench of days old sour milk, would not miss his foul breath on her neck, not any of it. Those had been the prices she'd had to pay to survive in a world where everyone was bigger and stronger than she was. Her own strength came from her cunning, and it had brought her this far, to a place civilized man was only now discovering, the future, her future.
And so she'd slunk out, left that foul bastard in his disgusting, tick infested bed. She'd make it out there alone, she'd done so thus far in merry England and she'd do so in wondrous America.
They'd seen her nonetheless, the invaders that followed her almost as fast as she ran. They'd seen her but not caught her, no, not yet, and they wouldn't, not at all.
She hadn't made for either of the two gates, those were the obvious paths, and she wouldn't have survived this long if she ever taken the obvious route. No, she'd already mastered one little corner of that wooden fence, had climbed it multiple times in the dark of the night, preparing herself for an attack from the bloody savages that littered this land.
It was no doubt them of course, and she'd be damned if any of those ignorant heathen would get close enough to touch her.
She rounded a corner behind the Archard cabin, bypassing the Dare place and increased her pace, making herself smaller, harder to see, like a fox she'd seen once give a troupe of idiots the slip.
Around that bend she came to a sudden stop, hard, slamming nose first into something as hard as oak.
Stars appeared in her vision, godforsaken stars, and blood, it's harsh metallic taste in her mouth jolting her mind past it's sudden dimness. Growling, she fought past it, forced herself up, her eyes open, ready to bite, scratch and scream her way past this newest obstacle in her never ending race.
Michael Bishop stood before her, but it wasn't him. It had his face, cruel, cold and utterly distant, his proud aristocratic eyes peering down at her, judging her, making her feel insignificant, like an insect before a god. Only the face was that of Bishop's, this thing's body was something else, something huge, something like a hideous gargoyle hanging from a cathedral, something that wore wings.
It was the last thing she saw.
All across the colony they fell, the people of Roanoke to the Children of the Dragon.
End Part 73
If you find yourself interested in the whole damnedable thing and wanna throw me a few bucks, here's a link to it on Amazon.