RVA: The Red Vixen at Sea, Part 14-A
Nov. 12th, 2016 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalSheer terror propelled Melanie back the way they had come, running away from the bay, past the dock, and back around again to Windskimmer’s next to the last resting place. She stopped there, falling to her knees by the tree with the boat’s anchor rope still wrapped around it, dislocated shoulder aching in pain.
They had captured Rolas. He was going to be turned into one of the ardalian’s puppets, unable to control his own body, his mind free to watch in horror as the creature used it. She had a horrible vision of him coming towards her, tentacle leash dragging behind him, arms outstretched, only his eyes betraying his terror as he was used to hunt her down.
She had to hide. Though the island was small, her hunters were severely limited in their mobility thanks to their long, awkward puppet strings. If the ardalian either didn’t spot or didn’t think to erase the Assistance Needed Badly message Rolas had left on the beach, the AI controlling the satellites in Greenholme’s planetary monitoring network would see it eventually, and vector a rescue her way. All she had to do was stay hidden until it arrived. Indeed, her (she vented a small internal argh) “condition” obligated her too. Placing herself at risk was acceptable. Placing the two little lives inside her was not. Help would arrive. The ardalian and its puppets would be neutralized. Rolas would be freed… eventually. She just needed to avoid the puppets while getting fresh water and she could survive a week or more.
Yes, and after a week, or more, of being under that ardalian’s control, what condition is Rolas going to be in? she thought. It would be a violation, as surely a violation as the beatings and sexual assaults Salli had endured under her late husband, as surely a violation as Ali’s former life as a slave and child soldier had been under Bloody Margo.
No. That will not happen.
Melanie levered herself to her feet, glancing at the driftwood they’d gathered in their attempt to start a fire. She needed a weapon, and an improvised club was the best she could do on this beach, given it was unlikely that she’d get enough time to knap a flint spear point here. Not that she had any flint handy. What she wouldn’t give right now for even a damned table knife....
Mel paused in her meandering, a smile worthy of her old Red Vixen persona crossing her face briefly. Ah, of course.
First things first though, she had to do something about her shoulder. She took hold of the anchor rope still wrapped around the tree, tying a loop into a slipknot and pulling it over her wrist. Then she braced one foot against the tree and leaned back, feeling her arm stretch until it felt like it would pull loose from her shoulder altogether. The violent pop as her shoulder shifted back into place sounded loud enough to carry across the island to her ears, and she fell backwards into the sand, gasping in relief.
Then it was simply a matter of grabbing Rolas’ lifejacket, discarded where she’d left it after dragging him ashore. Had that really been only two days ago? It seemed more like a lifetime. She shrugged it over her neck, the smart straps pulling it close to her body as she walked out into the surf towards Windskimmer’s mast, still sticking up out of the water, marking where it had gone down.
Blessed Mother Goddess, forgive me for placing my children at risk, she prayed, as she began kicking into the roiling surf, swimming towards the reef and the boat full of tools just beyond it. For if I can not rescue my husband, half of my soul will die with him.
TBC
They had captured Rolas. He was going to be turned into one of the ardalian’s puppets, unable to control his own body, his mind free to watch in horror as the creature used it. She had a horrible vision of him coming towards her, tentacle leash dragging behind him, arms outstretched, only his eyes betraying his terror as he was used to hunt her down.
She had to hide. Though the island was small, her hunters were severely limited in their mobility thanks to their long, awkward puppet strings. If the ardalian either didn’t spot or didn’t think to erase the Assistance Needed Badly message Rolas had left on the beach, the AI controlling the satellites in Greenholme’s planetary monitoring network would see it eventually, and vector a rescue her way. All she had to do was stay hidden until it arrived. Indeed, her (she vented a small internal argh) “condition” obligated her too. Placing herself at risk was acceptable. Placing the two little lives inside her was not. Help would arrive. The ardalian and its puppets would be neutralized. Rolas would be freed… eventually. She just needed to avoid the puppets while getting fresh water and she could survive a week or more.
Yes, and after a week, or more, of being under that ardalian’s control, what condition is Rolas going to be in? she thought. It would be a violation, as surely a violation as the beatings and sexual assaults Salli had endured under her late husband, as surely a violation as Ali’s former life as a slave and child soldier had been under Bloody Margo.
No. That will not happen.
Melanie levered herself to her feet, glancing at the driftwood they’d gathered in their attempt to start a fire. She needed a weapon, and an improvised club was the best she could do on this beach, given it was unlikely that she’d get enough time to knap a flint spear point here. Not that she had any flint handy. What she wouldn’t give right now for even a damned table knife....
Mel paused in her meandering, a smile worthy of her old Red Vixen persona crossing her face briefly. Ah, of course.
First things first though, she had to do something about her shoulder. She took hold of the anchor rope still wrapped around the tree, tying a loop into a slipknot and pulling it over her wrist. Then she braced one foot against the tree and leaned back, feeling her arm stretch until it felt like it would pull loose from her shoulder altogether. The violent pop as her shoulder shifted back into place sounded loud enough to carry across the island to her ears, and she fell backwards into the sand, gasping in relief.
Then it was simply a matter of grabbing Rolas’ lifejacket, discarded where she’d left it after dragging him ashore. Had that really been only two days ago? It seemed more like a lifetime. She shrugged it over her neck, the smart straps pulling it close to her body as she walked out into the surf towards Windskimmer’s mast, still sticking up out of the water, marking where it had gone down.
Blessed Mother Goddess, forgive me for placing my children at risk, she prayed, as she began kicking into the roiling surf, swimming towards the reef and the boat full of tools just beyond it. For if I can not rescue my husband, half of my soul will die with him.
TBC
