It was no use. We were surrounded in all directions by Native Americans, their faces smeared with warpaint.
We’d gone from dire circumstances to worse ones. If I thought ancient Rome was brutal, America in the 1800s was a close contender.
How would we ever escape?
Olivia
Native Americans slid from the trees like shadows until we were surrounded by at least ten men, all wielding arrows or tomahawks aimed at us. The men’s torsos were bare, and their chests and faces were painted with red and black symbols. Their intent to kill us rolled from them in giant waves.
Roman, Marcellious, Emily, and I backed toward one another, making a tight circle in the center of the warriors.
A breeze whistled through the trees, blowing my hair in my face.
I brushed the strands back, not wanting anything to distract me. I tried to scan my surroundings, looking for a means of escape.
These men were formidable, muscular, and lithe—and they were closing in on us.
“What are we going to do?” Emily whispered. She reached for my hand.
I gave her a squeeze for courage, then withdrew my hand.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Roman? Ideas? Think we can make peace with them?”
Roman’s face had hardened into his gladiator expression, intense and deadly. “They don’t want peace, Olivia. What we have to do is fight.”
The Native Americans stepped closer, tightening their circle.
I became acutely aware of the absence of sounds in the forest. No birds sang, no animals pushed through the underbrush… I could barely make out the gurgling stream.
The two Native Americans facing me looked to be about my height. Their muscles were sinewy and well-developed.
I had no doubt they would fight me to the death if I gave them the opportunity. I had to employ my wiles.
In Rome, I’d trained with Roman. We’d shared our unique fighting skills with one another until we were each infinitely more effective. And we’d learned to sense one another’s movements and strengths. It even seemed like we could read one another’s thoughts.
I glanced over at Roman.
He looked at me and gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
I echoed the nod and assumed a wide-legged fighting stance.
Roman did the same.
I launched into a roundhouse kick and caught one of the Sioux in the face.
His face widened in shock as he tottered backward and fell against a tree. His expression contorted into one of rage. He pulled away from the tree and attacked, head down, ready to take me down.
I caught his head and jacked my knee into his face. I felt the solid connection of bone on bone as my kneecap hit his teeth and upper jaw with a crunch.
He howled and righted himself, his mouth a bloody rictus of pain.
Two other Native Americans uttered piercing war cries and charged me, tomahawks waving.
I ducked to avoid the sharp blades.
Another grabbed my hair and yanked, forcing my head backward.
A knife came into view, wielded by the man who gripped my hair.
