Slide

4

EMBER

Ember sat alone in her tent for almost an hour. She was feeling her aching wrist increase in size by the second. She tried to close her eyes and breathe deeply, but she could only think in sporadic flashes about her father and his dead body still lying beneath the desk.

She was trying to loosen her bindings, rubbing them back and forth slowly as she sat there alone. She could hear her coworkers speaking to one another in trembling, frightened tones. Some of them spoke the language of the area, but it didn’t matter; whoever had captured them was ridiculously determined.

After almost an hour of moving her wrists back and forth behind her back, two men came storming into her tent. She recognized one of them as the man who tried to assault her, and she leaned back as far as she could, almost toppling the chair over.

“No!” she bellowed.

The men roughly removed her bindings, then stood her up forcefully by the shoulders. Her wrist screamed like hot lava was being poured over her skin.

“Can I get someone to look at this?” she pleaded.

The men laughed together as they shoved her out of the tent.

Ember was surprised to be able to observe so much more than she had earlier. Her senses were spiked, and she scoured the scene like a metal detector.

There was a larger building at the center of the camp that she hadn’t noticed originally. It was painted eggshell white but age had dampened its spirit. That was where Ember was taken, forced through two open doors into a place that looked like it used to be the epitome of decadence.

“There she is!”

A man in a forest-green suit approached her. His smile was all teeth and obviously insincere, even to her tired eyes. She immediately recognized him as General Luis Amadou. Amadou was the leader of an anarchist organization in Efrana. He had been running various political campaigns since before she had started living there. Campaigns that were riddled with violence and intimidation.

Fear coursed through Ember’s veins as he approached her with open arms. It looked like he was coming in for a hug, but instead, he let his hands fall to her shoulders. He shook them with glee like they were old-time friends.

“Miss Ember, am I correct?” he asked.

Ember nodded. The men who had brought her in were still standing nearby, but they seemed to have grown more casual. Ember flicked her eyes around, faking glassy, difficult-to-resist-female tears.

“Can I get some ice?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Ember held up with their right hand, a light purple bulge protruding from her skin just below her thumb.

The General lifted his hands from her shoulder in fright, eyes widening with concern.

“My God!” he exclaimed.

He touched her forearm lightly, gently, like she was the most delicate flower plucked from a precious mountainside.

“Who did this?” he asked, looking around frantically. The General was angry, expressing himself in a way that may have been exaggerated, but it still felt menacing at that moment. It was the way he ruled, after all.

The men behind her looked around, both concerned and frightened. When no one answered, the General raised his voice, booming through the dilapidated mansion.

“Find her some ice!” he screamed.

Both of the men shook, then ran off like scared animals.

The General turned back to Ember. He was still holding her wrist as his frown melted into that giant, tooth-filled mouth. He brought his lips to her hand and planted them lightly.

Ember was once again frozen with fear as his mouth touched her skin. She had a lifetime of combat training, and fitness had become her passion and the main method of redirecting her unwanted anger. But at that moment, she had other people to worry about.

So she stood there, hoping her eyes were still shining with her phony tears.

He lifted his mouth from her hand, still smiling. He then tapped her forearm.

“We will see to your injury, Miss Ember,” he said quietly.

When the General finally let go of her, Ember felt like she could have collapsed from the relief. Her mind was chattering with options, all out of the necessity for the survival of her people.

“Come have a drink with me,” he said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Ember held onto her wrist as she followed him through the hallway and living room and, eventually, onto the backyard terrace. It was filled with furniture and decor that had once resembled a home but had since been permeated by henchmen with panic-stricken organization skills.

“I could use a glass of water,” Ember said softly.

The General snapped at a man who was sitting on a floral couch that was stained with what looked like coffee or tea. He had a dozy gaze, watching a tiny television in the corner.

Ember followed him to the balcony and took a seat in front of him. The chair was close to the General, but she was still trying to find a way to both gain his trust and reject what she knew he was about to propose.

It was the constant line that a woman needed to walk, and unfortunately, Ember had plenty of practice.

The dozy man came out, holding one glass of water and another filled with an amber liquid. He handed one to her and the other to the General, his hands slightly shaking. The General snapped him away, and finally, they were alone.

Ember took a generous gulp of her water, trying not to chug it too hard. He was staring at her when she placed the glass down, making her heart pound in her chest with fear.

“So,” the General began, taking a sip of what smelled like whiskey. “I think you know what I am going to ask you.”

Ember shook her head. She was sticking with the feigned, ignorant woman for the time being. She was trying to gather her thoughts in her mind, picking up the scraps of her trauma and attempting to be practical.

The General maintained his smile as he shot back the rest of his beverage. He snapped again at the invisible servant, and the dozy man returned with a pre-filled glass. He moved away as the General sat up in his chair, holding out his hands.