Page 5 of Wraith
Chapter Four
I assumedI was going to have to wait days before he made a move. I was wrong. I watch, unmoving, as he drives away on the snowmobile. Tamping down the excitement flowing through me from actually having seen him, I move from my position and go for the cabin, but stop myself when the stupidity of what I was about to do hits me. I nearly made a deadly mistake. I can’t just walk right into his cabin and wait for him. He would already know I was there due to the footprints I would leave in the snow. It would take away the element of surprise. But if I follow him, I may have a chance at getting the upper hand. He had a gun on his back when he left. Perhaps he is going to try a chance at hunting? Going hand to hand with the man in three feet of snow—especially one with a gun on his back—may not be ideal, but if it comes to that, I have plenty of training to aid me in my quest.
I set out in the direction he went, sure to keep my distance from the trail he left behind in case he comes back unexpectedly. It takes me nearly two hours to reach his snowmobile. It’s parked two hundred yards away, but he’s nowhere in sight. Scanning the area, I take a couple steps away from the tree hiding me to get a better look at my surroundings. His footprints lead off in the opposite direction, so I chance a few more steps, closing the gap. I have plenty of tree coverage to hide and get the jump on him if I need to, so I make my move, taking off my gloves and tucking them away in case I need to have better use of my hands. I creep closer, until a click sounds out from behind me. I freeze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. My ears perk at the noise, like a dog’s would. The sweat on my spine instantly chills, turning the dampness to ice rolling down my back. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”
“The shroud of weakness will help you. Make yourself appear weak to your opponent, then strike when they least expect it,” Master says from behind me. My test. The final one before I get to start my mission for vengeance. The potbellied man three times my size plods from his car into the building, disappearing behind a steel door. “You will leave the man breathing, Sobaka. No blood will be shed. Your only goal is to subdue,” Master instructs before sending me off. Only subdue.
I make my way to the door the man went through, only to turn the knob and find it locked. I grab a pin from my belt and pick the lock. When I hear a click, I pull the door open and close it behind me, locking it one more, and more forward into the empty room. It’s dark, the only light coming from a small bulb illuminating a neighboring door. I glide across the dirty floor, and easily slip through the door, coming to a set of stairs. Placing one foot in front of the other, I move down the steps, my heart pounding with each one I take. Subdue. Subdue. Subdue, I chant in my head, hearing it with each beat of my heart.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find a short hallway. The growing stench of smoke hits me, then the sound of laugher. I freeze. I wasn’t expecting more than the one man. “The shroud of weakness will help you.”Master’s words echo and push me forward until I’m inside a room with four men huddled around a small table. “How the fuck did you get in here?” one calls out, breaking the conversation at the table. They each snap their gaze my way, but I hold steady.
“I’m so sorry, I’m lost. My car broke down and I followed you down here hoping you could help,” I say pointedly to the potbellied man, who gives a predatory grin.
“Is that so, peach? Well, now, what kind of man would I be if I turned a pretty little thing like you down?” he says, getting up from his chair and stalking toward me. As if they all have the same idea, they descend on me. Shrinking away, I muster up tears and stutter out some mumbled words before letting my first blow land directly on Pot Belly’s throat, causing him to choke and clutch at himself as he tries to gasp for air. The next one gets a palm to the nose hard enough for me to hear a sickening crunch as the bones crack under the hit. One man grabs at me, but misses, only to have the other clasp my arm.
“Got you, ya little bitch.” But he doesn’t. I spin on my heel and stomp down onto his foot, then slam backward into his groin. He drops me, giving me enough time to lay a good hard kick to the last man standing right in his temple. He goes down to join the other three, groaning on the floor.
“Not going to ask again. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” The punctuated words seep into me and I hone in on my training.
“I’m lost. Please…don’t shoot me,” I whimper, extending my hands palms up in front of me to show I’m not armed. I’m thankful he can’t see the gun tucked into the waistband of my pants. It’s under my coat and it will take too long to get to it, so I need to think of another way. Weakness.
“Turn around,” he commands. The prodding end of his rifle pokes between my shoulder blades, his intent clear. Slowly, I start to turn. I’ve seen this man from a distance, seen him in pictures, heard him described. But coming face to face with him is more than just looking at some paper with an image printed on it. His lips and the tops of his cheeks are tinted a bright red from the cold, but even with the elements marring his face, my breath hitches. His square, prominent jaw and sharp nose are exposed when he pulls down his face shield. Pale green eyes flecked with amber scrutinize me from head to toe before landing on my face. “How the hell did you get lost?”
Sniffling a little for affect, I start my story, being sure to keep my hands held up. “I…was…am, with…or was…I got separated from my friends. My snowmobile broke d-d-d…down,” I stutter, keeping my eyes trained on the barrel of the gun as if it is going to go off at any moment. “Please don’t shoot me. I j-j-j…just want to go home.” Maybe not award winning but it does the trick because he starts to lower the rifle, and his guard.
“How far down the mountain were you? I’ll give you a ride,” he says taking his finger from the trigger and disengaging the weapon. He once again moves it to his back, the strap falling over his chest holding it into place.
“I’m not sure. Maybe three miles?” I say falling into step with him as he leads the way to his snowmobile.
“All right. Shit. Your sense of direction is fucked. Take those snowshoes off—” he trails off and I realize I fucked up. If I were snowmobiling I wouldn’t be wearing snow shoes, and only an idiot would have left their snowmobile and the trail. Before he can grab at his rifle, I’m already springing into action. My hand flying out to connect with his nose is enough to stun him but it’s not as powerful as it should be. Instead he keeps coming at me, gripping at the back of my head and slamming my face into the seat of the snowmobile. The cold plastic seat might as well be a brick. My face smacks against it hard and I feel a crunch from my nose. Shit! I don’t allow him to bring my head down another time. Using my foot, I fling it up with force enough to bring the pointed end of the snowshoe into his side. When it connects, it gives me the second I need to break away from his hold and regain my composure. I only get a moment though before he starts at me once again. This time I dodge him and get a good elbow to his kidneys. “God damn it!” he bellows before turning and coming face to face with me again. This time he goes for his gun. In the same moment, I rip my coat open and take my own weapon in hand. Instead of shooting me he uses the rifle to hit my pistol from my grip. It goes flying, landing somewhere in the white landscape. He then aims the rifle and pulls the trigger, nearly hitting me but grabbing the barrel last second, I am able to point it away from me. The heat from the shot sears my skin and sets my hands on fire. Letting the barrel go, I push past it and bring a knee to his thigh. He falters slightly allowing me to get a better grip on the rifle. With force, I slam the butt of the gun into his cheek, freeing it from his grip, but I can’t hold onto it any further, the pain in my hands is too much and he is able to knock it from my grasp. Taking it back into his possession, he kicks me to the ground. The snow is a welcome balm to my burning hands but it doesn’t last long before he is yanking me up by my now exposed hair to face him. “Now, that is e-fucking-nough,” he pants and before everything goes dark I see his fist flying toward my face.
