Sharp in the Dark

By Tom Foster

Being the survivor of a massacre isn’t fun. That should be obvious. But for the past five years I can’t help but keep wondering why I was the one that was spared. A lot of people, therapists mostly, have told me that this is survivor’s guilt, or some stupid stuff like that. I mean, it’s not entirely stupid, I do have a little bit of guilt. But mostly, I’m just pissed. I was 12 years old when my family was taken from me, and you wouldn’t think that a lot of 12-year-olds would bother to go full-Punisher mode, or find a way to afford some of the best equipment they could get their hands on. I’m not Batman, I’m not some comic book vigilante, since I’m not going to keep doing this to help others.

I wanted my payback, and I got it. If you think it was easy though, you can seriously go to hell and take your opinion with you. Kids don’t get enough credit, but there’s a reason for that. Too many kids act like pussies when it comes to taking back what was stolen.

No, I don’t think every kid that’s suffered like I have should become a badass. And no, I didn’t manage to get my family back. They’re dead, they’re not coming back. The asshole that took them from me made sure of that. But I didn’t want to be the weak little girl that everyone wanted to comfort and give a new life to. I had no parents, no siblings, no aunts, uncles, or anything. The sad sack that I finally got back at wiped them all out, and I will tell you why, since it will hopefully tell you why this will be the last time you hear from me.

I have a life now, and this is the last vestige of the life I lost. If you find what I did justified, I don’t care. If you don’t find it justified, guess what? I don’t care. This is to explain what happened, how I reacted, and why. Anything else is just details.

So, let’s get started, because your attention span is probably starting to slip.

* * *

Sigh. Like I said, I was 12 when all this happened. The self-named Family Killer had already been around for roughly 7 years, as I’ve found out on my own, and he’d killed roughly twenty people, which was about four families and several relatives that had the bad luck to be visiting at the time. He planned his kills, that much was easy to find out, since trying to kill randomly while accounting for who would be there and how many he’d have to contend with would have been a serious headache. But he hadn’t managed to kill everyone every time. I mean, really, when you think about it, four different kills that equal twenty people is an average of five people per kill, as the statistics would show. But there were two bigger families and two smaller ones that he targeted.

If you can believe it, he targeted one family during an Easter Egg hunt. Sick, right?

I don’t know why my family was targeted, but we were the fifth and final before he decided to take a break. He killed my two brothers, my little sister, and my mother and father. His kill count went up to 25 that day. It would have been 26 if I hadn’t been at a friend’s house, studying. The day the killer came to my house, I was up the street, working on a school project with two of my friends. I remember it very well, we were creating a map detailing the sightings of UFOs in America. The things you remember are weird when you stop to realize it.

Strangely enough, I don’t recall how long it took to finish the project. What happened was that my friend’s mom called my home to let them know I was on my way home. I usually walked from my friend’s house from mine since she was right up the street. Even in this era there are towns that are still supposed to be safe and secure enough that kids can be kids. I don’t think that’s been the case for a long time, and anyone that says otherwise is blinding themselves to the reality.

Now, a kid can be a kid in some neighborhoods, but they’re never immune to the bullshit that people foist on them for one reason or another. Evil can weave its way into any feathered nest. Hell, snakes do it in nature, so do other creatures that are looking for something defenseless to chew on. The killer in my story was a psychotic piece of garbage that thought the world owed him something, he even said so. But I’ll get to that, since it’s a little early in the story for that. Don’t worry, I won’t dawdle too much with the details.

I do remember how I felt when my friend’s mother told me that no one was answering. There was no fear that emerged right away, because that would have meant I’d been living my life thinking that anything could happen at anytime. Hell no I didn’t think that, I was a kid, I was stupid, in some ways, to the world around me. I didn’t think that evil could swoop in and take everything I cared about. I was naïve as hell and thought that this was the type of shit that movies were made of. The hard way was about to slap me upside the head in a big way, especially when my friend’s mother, her name is Bella, decided to walk me home. I did finish the project, or we did, I should say. I can even remember my friend telling me that we got an A+ on it. Silver linings, right?

But before we even got out of the driveway we could see flashing lights down the road, and I had no idea what to say, or to think. I do know that Bella stiffened and held a protective arm around my shoulders. She’s a good woman, as far as I know she always has been and still is. I say it like that since…well, I haven’t been back in a while. This story will probably be hard to believe, but it’s true, and I can prove it. Plenty of people who don’t want to see the proof will probably call bullshit, and that’s okay. A story that’s heard is easier to discount unless a person was there, or something like that.

Anyway, we started walking toward my home, and before we got within twenty yards a cop was stopping us and telling us to stay back. When Bella told him that this was my house, he asked my name, asked if I knew the woman I was with, and a few other questions I don’t recall. But the bottom line was that he was trying to ascertain whether or not our presence there was genuine, and if I was in danger. He was doing his job, in other words. I remember his name, Officer Hubert James. He was a nice guy, or is, I guess.

Like I said, I haven’t been home in a while.

Bella agreed to take me back to her house when the officer told her there had been an incident. They couldn’t stop me from running into my house though, I was younger, quicker, and slipped past them. To this day, I don’t know if I regret that decision. It’s tough to say since on one hand I had to see my parents and siblings, twisted and hacked to pieces. On the other hand, it spurred me to become the person I am today.

It takes a killer to make a killer, right? Or maybe it takes a killer to inspire one.

I stayed with my friend until the only relatives I had, an aunt and an uncle I hadn’t seen in several years, were contacted and apprised of the situation. My parents were both foster kids that had been through the system. It’s the type of story you hear about in the movies and in books, but they always told us how they found each other and how they persevered through the years. They had friends, but from a legal standpoint, none of them were allowed to take me in. Now, their friends were all good people. In fact, Bella was a friend of my mother’s, and would have taken me in. She loved me.

I didn’t give her the chance. I didn’t give any of them the chance. Why? I don’t know. To this day I tell myself that deep down I wasn’t bound to sit still and let someone take care of me. It’s not a feminist thing, I didn’t want to be empowered in a way that makes others feel that I’m unapproachable. The truth was that even as a kid, I was pissed. The absolute truth was that I wanted to make someone hurt. I wanted to make the killer feel what I felt.

Sadly, that wasn’t possible. But back then I didn’t know that.

I’ll spare you the long story by giving you a mental montage of what I went through from the moment my life changed without warning.

I ran away from my friend’s house.

I lived on the streets until I was 17, at which time I struggled to find work. In all the time I spent on the street, I learned to fight, to survive, and to thrive. You wouldn’t think that you could learn much on the street, but it kind of depends on who you meet and how observant you really are. I learned more than street-fighting. I learned several styles that became extremely useful in my day to day survival. Despite what anyone tells you, it’s possible to watch the martial arts being performed and learn according to what you see. I also had the chance to practice one technique after another on those who saw me as a weak little girl, so I had plenty of practice.

It’s true, I did get my ass kicked a few times, and I came close to being raped a couple of times. But you know what I learned? Unless a man knocks your ass out before he unfurls his pathetic little worm, he’s essentially making himself vulnerable in a very stupid manner. Some guys have no brains once they’ve unleashed their little purple-headed soldier, as some of them call it. I’ve mashed a few nuts and broken a few dicks on my way to where I am now. Am I sorry? Nope, not at all. Do I hate all men because of it? Nah, men still have plenty of uses.

I rose from the streets, taking a job at a fast food restaurant when I was only 16. It was illegal as hell, I had no documents with me and I had no work history. But the place needed another able-bodied individual, and I proved myself over a period of several months, meaning I didn’t steal, I didn’t cause trouble, and I was grateful for everything I got. Getting a check cashed wasn’t a big deal, I knew which places didn’t ask any questions when it came to cashing a check.

You’d be surprised how quickly a person can rise in rank in a fast food place, or maybe not. After a few months I was close to running my own store. I had a modest little place not too far from the town I’d settled in. Nice try, I’m not going to reveal that much. But I was doing well, and I was doing it all on my own. I didn’t have a boyfriend, but there were a couple of boys who were interested in me. I had no time for it.

When I was done with my shift I would head out to martial arts studios, gun ranges, and find my way inside to watch, to learn, and in some cases, to practice. I even paid for a few lessons when I started making good money, and I got pretty good. Let’s put it this way, by the time the killer started up again (he took a five-year break, that bastard) I was nearing my black belt in Taekwondo, I’d learned how to fire several different types of guns, and I knew how to fire a bow and arrow, and fight with various edged weapons. My teachers all called me a prodigy, but I didn’t care about that.

I’d been to at least one tournament or seminar for everything I engaged in, and I was in great shape. But I wasn’t satisfied. I didn’t have many friends, I didn’t go out on the weekends, and I didn’t really live for anything but revenge. It sounds bleak, like the Punisher or something, right? I wasn’t nearly as psychotic as that guy, but I did read the comic on occasion just to gain a little inspiration. I was just going after one person though, and after five years, I was toughened up quite a bit and ready to at least think about going after the son of a bitch. But after a test run to see how tough I was, it was easy to admit that I wasn’t quite there yet.

Once the killer started back up with his morbid pastime, I figured that I was tough as hell and ready to go. I tried to test my skills out by seeking out any bit of trouble that might happen to come along. Living so close to a big city made it simple, since a lot of downtown areas appear to be hotbeds for criminal activity. I didn’t wear any costume, I only slapped on a hoodie and darkened my skin a little with a few tricks I’d picked up. Anyone who think I was wearing blackface, pull your head out of your ass and stop being a sensitive little bitch, disguising yourself is a must when going out to do the dirt that others find so commonplace.

Sadly, it was almost the end of me, but I walked away with a few bruises and one shallow cut over my right knee. Let’s just say that stopping a mugging isn’t quite as easy as the movies make it out to be, especially if you’re unaware that the mugger has a knife. Not only that, but the person I was trying to save bashed me over the head with her purse as well, making it even more difficult to get away when the mugger decided to join in.

Imagine that sight, a mugger and their victim trying to beat down someone that’s trying to help the victim, while the third person is trying to get away.

Anyway, that one time convinced me that I wasn’t ready, and that I needed a lot more training. Some would state that I needed more real-world experience, and they’re right. But another experience like that might not have crushed my spirit, though it might have made it clear that I wasn’t cut out for that life. I didn’t want to believe it, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate again just to get beaten with a purse for my efforts.

I mean seriously, screw that.

* * *

Five more years passed before I finally figured that I was about as ready as I could be. And let me tell you now, a lot of stuff changed between then and now. I grew up, that much should be obvious, and I became even tougher, or better trained, however, one wants to look at it.

The killer kept killing. He was never caught, and he didn’t taunt the police, but I noticed a curious thing after looking at his kills.

He’d never intentionally left anyone alive, until me.

I did wonder if that nagged at him, but if it did, then he never found the nuts to come and seek me out. Of course, I would have been tough to find since I changed my name, I stayed off the grid for a while, and once I was on my feet and running, my appearance had changed enough that it might have been nearly impossible for him to locate me. Or he just didn’t care. That was never my issue, but for the five years that he went dark, all I had were reports of his former kills, which gave me the area he liked to work in, but not much else.

When he came back, he stuck to his area again, but somehow the cops still didn’t catch onto him. I thought that the cops knew what they were doing and could figure things out like they did in the movies, but then again, this is coming from an education that wasn’t as complete as many others. Movies and TV tend to blow things out of proportion a lot. Like shooting a gun. I had no idea how much those things kick until I managed to fire one. But now, I know what to expect. The killer didn’t.

Cutting through all the descriptive bs, I found out who the killer was before the cops, but I’m pretty sure it was sheer luck. Hey, I like luck, it helps sometimes. But to be fair, the way it happened was kind of interesting, in a morbid sort of way. It happened outside of my old home, which had been sold and inhabited by another family. The bastard was scoping it out.

I’d gone back to view my home on 29thStreet in Vancouver, Washington, as a way to say hello to my family. I know where they’re buried, and I know that standing over them to say hello would be best. But visiting the site of the crime, where I’d lost them, I felt closer somehow. I also felt a little guilty, like I should have been there.

That’s nonsense, right? I was a kid, I had no idea what was going on, and the killer should feel what I’m feeling. But I doubt that he does.

Running into him, almost literally, was insanely disturbing. I found out what he looked like, and thankfully there was no horrid revelation that a friend of the family or a relative had killed my parents and siblings. No, it was just a regular-looking man, easily in his 40s, tanned skin and a bald head. He was in shape, that was obvious from the tight clothing he wore, and he looked like someone that you might let into your home for one purpose or another. He had a trustworthy look to him, but that was easily ignored when we spoke.

He asked me if I lived around the area to start with. I told him that I had at one time, and that I’d moved away a long time ago. This guy had the look of a predator, someone who knew how to size up his opponent, or targets. Thankfully, the homeowners hadn’t noticed us, since that would have been another issue I had to deal with.

I had to be insanely careful not to give too much away, since he was probing me for as much information as he could. When we parted ways, I could feel him watching me. My explanation for coming to the home was that my friends had died there years ago. He didn’t buy it, I could see it in his eyes. I know, you hear a lot of people say this, and sometimes it’s a lot of crap that explains why they feel a certain way.

But the maniacal gleam in his eyes told me that he knew something else was up. He followed me at a distance for the rest of that day, and it turned out to be his last. I mean, do you really want the nitty-gritty details?

I studied so many different ways to kill over the years. I trained myself, I found training, and I came from the streets, literally, to make certain that I was hard enough to take on a grown man when the time came. But damn, I still had butterflies in my stomach when I was gathering what I needed. For all he knew, I was getting ready to run as I gathered my things and drove to the edge of the Columbia River in the downtown area, near the Port of Vancouver.

I knew what I was doing, and I did whatever I could to keep him at bay. As of now, the rundown, beaten-up parts of town that sat on the Columbia River have been in a state of renovation. But that was months ago, and as far as I know, no one has found the son of a bitch yet. I buried him pretty deep, in a location that was bound to be covered over. As I recall watching the construction, the site was covered over. Funny how that works, right?

But, if you’ve come this far then I suppose I can tell you how it went.

* * *

As I said, I lured the killer to the downtown area, a very rough place where the bums still found a place to sleep and teenagers went when they were troubled or needed a place to get high. Of course, this is Vancouver, so one can imagine that kids get high anywhere they can. Anyway, I lured the asshole down past an old CFN gas station, where I parked my truck. I’d gathered a few of my more dangerous toys, and waited until I saw his headlights go past me. It’s not abnormal to see people passing through the area, even though after six on a Tuesday, pretty much everyone has packed up and gone home.

I had a hunch that he’d parked somewhere he couldn’t be seen, since there were plenty of hiding spots around that area. With that in mind I’d made my way into a nearby building, a warehouse that was connected to several other buildings. I’d scouted out a few places over the years, and made the right connections. No one that owned the buildings knew my past, but they did know me. I was their landlord. Hey, with enough time and motivation, a person can do just about anything. So, thanks to that, I had the key to every place and knew the ins and outs of every location. The killer had no chance, since I knew where everything was, and knew how to set up a trap in short order. I even had a way to keep track of him since, I know it sounds corny, I’d spent time in each building and knew how the acoustics worked. In other words, I knew how to listen for certain noises.

That’s why he was screwed from the moment he opened the door to the first building. Now, I told you that he never taunted the cops, right? He didn’t feel the same way with me.

“You’re the girl that went missing, right?” I swear, that’s what he led with. “I always wondered what happened to you. I saw on the news that you’d been with the neighbors. But when I went to their home, you weren’t there. I tried to-“

That was when I decided to remind him that he wasn’t on friendly ground, which meant that it wasn’t time for talking. It was time to remind him just how pissed off I was. The lights were off from the moment he walked in, and the first wound he took was thanks to his inability to shut the hell up and do what he’d come to do.

You should have heard him scream when an arrow from my compound bow ripped through his thigh. I’d only brought one arrow, since I meant to punish the dickhead, not turn him into a pincushion. He started swearing up a blue streak at that point, telling me what he planned to do to me, something about ripping open a certain part of my anatomy, or skinning it, or something, and mounting it on his mantle as a trophy. Yeah, big ick.

But the next thing to hammer into his body was a round from my 9mm, which took him in the right shoulder. From what I’d read about his killings, he was right-handed, and that took away a lot of options. Plus, the shot took him, happily, high in the upper arm, near the shoulder. Try and do anything after a wound like that, it’s gonna hurt like hell. He was still dangerous, just not as much.

Did I mention the lights were off this entire time? Oh yeah, I’d learned how to fight in the shadows, with minimal light. Hell, he’d taken my family in the light, I meant to take him in the dark. There’s something about fighting in the dark that appeals to me, a quality that makes it a little more personal and a lot more intense. I mean, other than this, nothing is that different. Human senses are usually heavily reliant on light and what we can see. But while my sight is just as hampered as anyone’s, my final attack, a blade, was just as sharp in the dark as it was in the light, which means that it worked, in other words.

I know I’m being a little wordy, but I can’t help but think that this guy had it coming. I still remember the feeling of his blood spattering over my hand and forearm as I finally pulled the knife from his neck. He was done, over, dead by the time he hit the floor, but his body didn’t give up the ghost until he’d struggled to breathe for a few more seconds.

My family was avenged. My life for the past ten years was vindicated.

Maybe one day I’ll write a book about it. For now, I’m still wondering what the hell life has to offer me.

End of the Road

Neutral Zone, OR

They'd wandered into the wrong territory, that was it. They had gone searching for something in the Jungle and had run afoul of one of the many gangs that called the city home, and that was it. But instead of chasing them out of their territory and leaving it at that several of the gang members, more than enough to threaten their small group, had continued after them, howling for their blood and seeking to punish them for the mild transgression.

It was known by every person that lived within a fifty-mile radius, and in some cases further, that the Jungle was off-limits unless one was invited. The gangs that dominated the city rarely ever wanted anything other than trouble, but they knew better than to try and cross the river to Riverside, as there were plenty of measures that had been taken to protect the other side of the river. Plus, trying to cross the mile-wide river would be suicide thanks to the presence of the Durgess, the meters-long homicidal guardians that lived beneath the water's surface and were always willing to defend their territory.

The Neutral Zone, known in legends as Hayden Island, was a place where anyone could wander, but where it was also knowing that those existing outside their territories would have no support and no limits upon what could happen to them and what they could do. It was a danger zone in which anything could happen, and most denizens of the surrounding cities knew this.

"Did we lose them?"

Her voice sounded just as scared as she felt, and as she looked around the room they'd found themselves in the other three people she was with remained silent. They'd found this place out of necessity, but it wasn't bound to be a refuge for much longer. The tracking skills of those that were on their trail now were simply too great.

"What's that sound?" asked one of the other women in the group. The others looked around, no doubt seeking anything that might be making too much noise, their eyes wide as they tried to seek out anything that might give them away.

It was just then that she heard it, though he couldn't understand what it might mean. It sounded like ticking.

"What is that?"

The others didn't reply, but as they stayed still the ticking stopped for just a moment, allowing their breathing to become the loudest noise in the structure. Around them the winds coming in off the nearby river that separated Oregon from Washington rattled branches and the ancient windows in their rotting casings, bringing to mind the image of a million hands trying to shake the place apart.

The ticking came again, more rapid this time as she felt her nerves tighten and her heartbeat quicken. Her blade, strapped to her waist, felt unbearably heavy where it rested as she tried to slow her heartbeat in that moment.

"It sounds like it's coming from the next room," one of the two men whispered, nodding in the direction they'd come from to reach this back area. The home they'd managed to hide in was bigger than many of the structures in this compound, and unlike many of them it was still intact despite the passage of years. Thankfully, the locks still worked, and the doors still closed, but they all knew just how fragile those safety measures could be against the creatures that were hunting them.

She knew it was foolish, that she was taking her life and those of her people into her hands, but as she rose from where she sat, drawing her blade, she found herself moving forward and then rounding the corner into the long hallway they'd come through, turning right immediately as she entered one of the two rooms that they'd noticed on the north side of the home.

What she saw not only confused her but was nearly the end of them all.

The room was strangely devoid of any sense of decay, in fact it looked like something out of the old movies that they occasionally got to watch back across the river on special days. There was a computer, an actual working computer, in the left corner of the room, the control tower resting beneath the desktop and the screen resting atop the middle tier of that sat just above the main desktop.

Sitting at the desk, comfortably ensconced in a dark, plush chair, was a man that seemed to be in his thirties, or twenties, or....she just couldn't decide.

"Who are you?" she asked, the blade trembling in her fingers as she gulped loudly.

"Look at the screen and you might find out."

She nearly jumped out of her skin as she noticed the speaker sitting just in front of her, wondering how she'd missed him since he was big enough to have caught her eye the moment she'd turned the corner. While she couldn't determine the age of the man at the computer, the person in the plush seat right in front of her looked no older than his mid 20's at best, though he looked undeniably dangerous, even though he wasn't armed.

"Oh come on man," he said to the male at the computer, "I don't look that dangerous."

She frowned, but then looked at the screen, and couldn't help but gasp again as she saw the man's fingers fly across the keyboard in front of him, his eyes never leaving the screen as the words continued to flow across it. Her blood ran cold as she saw what was appearing upon the screen, her eyes widening as she looked to the other man, who merely grinned at her in a rueful sort of way.

"Trust me," he said, "It gets to be more annoying than anything after a while."

The words she was speaking, that the stranger was speaking, that she was thinking, were being shown on the screen. How could that have been though?

"How?" she asked in a breathless voice, watching as her question appeared on the screen.

"It's a long explanation," the man in the chair said, "But I'd bet that you don't have time to hear it. You're running from the Thorns that are currently on the island, yeah?"

She frowned as her gaze shifted to him, "How did you know?"

He shrugged, "That's my thing, I come and go, and I know things. But if you want to make it to the bridge, I'd suggest you get moving. They're going to start beating down doors eventually."

"Who are you?"

The man looked at her, his eyes coming fully visible as she recoiled from the dark, inky black orbs that now stared at her.

"This is what you want to talk about right now? You have three others and yourself to keep alive and you want to know who I am?"

Looking between the man and the screen she couldn't seem to form an answer in that moment. But as she tried to work her jaw around the words a sound in the distance could be heard, and her blood turned to ice in that instant.

The guttural, barking language that was part-English, part something else came from off to the left, far too close for her liking as she stood, frozen, her blade still dangling in her nervous fingers.

"I'd step to the left," the man said calmly, as though he'd just been stating that today was slightly overcast. She didn't ignore him though as she stepped to the side, peering around the jamb of the door as the clicking continued. Was the strange writer taking down everything that was happening?

"Despite all evidence to the contrary, yes," the man said, "Human eyes just aren't able to see the Story in its entirety. Be glad of that."

Even as she continued to peer around the jamb she saw as a single figure came bounding into view, snuffling as his spike-covered body twisted this way and that. Or it could have been a her, it was so hard to tell with Thorns. Their entire bodies were covered in curved spikes that were at least three inches long if not more, and they were usually unkempt and hard to determine when it came to gender. All that was definitively known about them was that they were deadly and extremely ill-tempered.

And they didn't give up easily.

"Woof," the man said as he looked out through the sliding glass door that had a perfect view of the street. A wide wooden deck separated them from the main path as well, connected to the home as it ran to the left and right, but it didn't feel like nearly enough of a barrier to her. "I forgot how ugly those damned things are."

Right then she didn't know whether to laugh or pee herself, but thankfully she didn't perform the latter involuntarily. The idea that this would be worse than death almost did make her laugh.

The creature was joined by several others, more than she could remember having seen chasing them as she ducked out of sight. As she tried to still her breathing, she heard the man sigh as he stood to his feet, straightening his clothing, which she now noticed was little more than a rumpled sweatshirt, a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers, all items of the old world as she'd learned it, making her suddenly think that he was someone that might have been older, or far-removed from the world she knew about.

"Stay here," he said calmly, "I'll see if I can persuade them to move on."

"Wh-what?" she muttered.

He moved past her down the hall, not looking back. Instead, he paused for a moment, still not looking around as he said, "Just in case though, take this door to the left and be ready to run."

She was going to ask what he meant, but as she looked back to the room where her people still huddled in fear, her mind was whirling with the possibility of escape. When she looked back to the stranger, he was gone. She felt the hesitancy that threatened to keep her where she was at the moment, but instead she remembered who she was and peered into the room where her people still were.

"Be ready to go."

They ran. They hit the door in the small room off to the left side of the hallway and they ran. She felt certain that the Thorns had torn the stranger apart, that he'd somehow, for some reason, sacrificed himself for them. In fact, she felt horrible for leaving him without even coming to his aid, but she had her own people to worry about, and her fear for their safety was keeping her going as they ran for all they were worth, making their way quickly out of the compound and out to the long, winding road that they knew would lead them to the old bridge that had been converted into a mechanized barrier to their enemies.

They were only a few hundred yards from the bridge now, they could see it in the distance, and yet she could feel her energy flagging. The armor she wore, patchwork though it was, still added a good deal of weight to her form, and it was wearing quickly upon her despite the burst of adrenaline that had allowed her to come this far.

"They're coming!" one of her people shouted, his voice laced with fear as the bellows of his breathing grew closer, his heavy footsteps pounding in her ears as she kept pumping her legs as fast as she could.

"Just run!" she shouted, trying hard to use as little oxygen as she could so as not to wear her out that much quicker. They were within sight of the bridge, but as she heard the Thorns gaining ground behind them she suddenly felt a clenching sensation in her right thigh, a painful cramp that seemed to squeeze and wring the muscle like a filthy rag. She tried as much as she could to keep going, but her body had other ideas, and as her right foot came down again something snapped, or tore, she couldn't be certain. All she knew as she hit the ground hard, the air blasting from her lungs as she went sprawling, was that her people were likely to stop for her. And it would be the end of them.

"Pick her up," said a familiar voice.

The ringing of steel as her people drew their blades alerted her to the sudden trouble, but she was quick to force the pain down for just a moment.

"No!" she breathed, "No, he's a, an ally. He, he kept the Thorns away from us, until now."

"And they didn't take my advice, since here they are," the stranger said in reply. "Pick her up and cross, and I'll deal with these prickly bastards."

She wanted to laugh at that, but another wave of pain hit her in that moment as she groaned, collapsing once again. Thankfully though she felt her people lift her up as they started running again.

He sighed internally, lifting his chin to the winds that sighed through the sparse woods that existed at this end of the island. This wasn't the reason he'd come here, and it certainly wasn't what he'd wanted to be doing with his day. But somehow trouble seemed to cross his path on a continual basis, and while he'd walked away more than once and allowed fate to take its course, this time he'd decided to stand up.

Maybe it was because of his affinity for the knightly group known as the Longblades, the clan to whom the foursome obviously belonged, or maybe he'd just felt the need to get involved this time. Whatever the case was, Tyler felt the absolute need to stand in the path of fate today, if only because it felt right.

The group of Thorns that had been dogging at the heels of the smaller group stopped as they saw him, perhaps thinking to take him out before moving on towards the group. As he faced them down however Tyler could hear the complex machinery of the bridge behind him as it was set into motion, the modifications that had been added to it over the years creating a span of whirling death that had managed to deter many an enemy since it had been constructed.

One of the spike-covered creatures stepped forward, pointing at Tyler with a clawed hand as he barked something that was barely comprehensible.

"End of the road meat," he snarled.

Tyler smiled, his dark eyes flashing with a sheen of silver brilliance as the skies above them rumbled ominously, a blade appearing in his right hand where only a moment ago it had been empty.

"Yeah," he nodded, "It is."