EXCERPT

Dak Bartholomew felt a trickle of blood run a cold wet trail down the side of his face from the open gash at his temple.

He struggled to open his eyes, and after several moments succeeded. Focusing on his surroundings took several more, but eventually, he could see the small, dank-smelling room in more clarity than he even desired.

The only light came from a single window, its panes blackened all but for one small section.

He pulled himself off the filthy mattress and felt his way toward the light. The window was painted from the inside, and someone had literally scratched at it until a small stream of light penetrated from the outside. Instinctively, he reached into his pocket for his knife, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was there.

There was a faint cry from the corner of the room. Startled, Dak stepped back into the darkness.

He felt his way along the bed until he came to what he thought was a wall.

The darkness was deep and black, and the light cut only a sliver through it, leaving the rest of the room engulfed in an ebony sea.

He was weak from being drugged or loss of blood. He wasn’t sure which. Either would have given him an excuse to forget he wasn’t alone and cower, but the pitiful whimpers stoked within him a steely determination.

“You there,” he called and waited for an answer.

The room was quiet in response. No whimpering. No breathing.

“Are you hurt?” Dak asked this time, and his voice was softer. Still, there was no answer.

He took several steps, feeling his way along the wall in the direction he’d heard the sounds coming from.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, this time louder. “I…”

Dak felt a dirty hand on his mouth and something sharp at his side.

His body went rigid. He tried to say something, but the hand clamped tighter against his mouth.

“They’ll hear you,” she whispered.

He nodded in understanding, and she removed her hand from his mouth, but kept whatever it was firm against his side. He wriggled uncomfortably, hoping she’d remove the offending instrument, but she kept it there.

In the next moments, someone walked past the window, breaking the stream of light into the room. Dak waited, then felt her move away from him.

He glanced across the darkness. He could barely make out the silhouette of a woman in front of the solitary window. She was standing on something, stretching up to see.

Within seconds, he stood beside her and, without words, placed his hands at her waist and lifted her up to the opening.

When she tapped his shoulder, he slowly lowered her until her feet touched the splintered wooden floor.

“They’re gone, but they’ll be back soon,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Who?” His question received no answer.

He tried to remember.

“There’s no time,” she replied from behind him.

He turned around quickly, but she shoved him forward and his head collided with the wall. “What the …”

“Be quiet!”

“Who are you?” he whispered, but she didn’t answer.