Round Four challenge is to weave an element of Fyor’s story into your passage. It should be no more than 450 words. For previous entries see the Fourth Fiction just under the header.
They walked on in silence with Sylvie clenching and unclenching her hands as she processed the short history of the Dead Zone. Mutt whined and moved to her side. She stroked his long, floppy ear, the velveteen flesh soothing between her fingers.
“It bothers you?”
“Of course it does. How could it not? How come I didn’t know? No one ever said anything.”
“Did you ever question before now? Did you ever go seeking the truth?” His green eyes bore into hers. Sylvie saw for the first time while he was devastatingly beautiful he was also utterly terrifying, but she didn’t look away.
“You are assuming the truth was available for me to find.”
“You’re all the same.”
He strode ahead of her and she reached out to slow him down. Her fingers stung with an electrical shock as her long fingers curved around his muscular forearm.
“Shit!” She shook her hand and ran ahead to block his way, careful to keep her distance.
“How could I not be pissed off with some individual making life and death decisions from afar. Some fucking power tripper. How much of a threat could some hippies be?”
“You have the power of life and death over women and babies. Over this mother and baby.”
“I’m not some nameless entity issuing orders for others. I have to live with the consequences of my decisions. Any day I could be outsed, charged with being a birth attendant. Killed by firing squad for assisting women to birth outside of the system. I’m not afraid.”
Mutt growled and Sylvie shut up. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked.
“They track by fear.” He moved in closer and touched her cheek, holding her eyes with his own. The adrenalin in her veins slowed and a honey warmth sensation flowed through her. “They sense the hormonal release.”
“What would happen if they caught me?” Inside her there was a battle going on between the feel good vibe he was somehow infusing into her system and the natural fight and flight impulse.
“If you’re O negative they would kill you – probably devour you before your blood cooled.”
“I’m not O negative.”
“Then they would only bite you. Infect you.”
“And I would become one of them.” She tried to balance the cacophony of catecholamines in her system, employing the relaxation techniques she taught women to labour peacefully. Still her swum.
“Are you feeling calmer.”
“Don’t let go of me.” The shock jolted her fingers and wrist from their joints as she clasped his hand, holding tight as he tried to pull away. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“It’s Marcus,” he said surrendering, curling his fingers around hers.