Solace by Therin Knite

Author:Therin Knite
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Dystopian, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Teen & Young Adult, Metaphysical & Visionary, Time Travel
Publisher: Therin Knite
Published: 2015-01-06T06:00:00+00:00

PART SIX

THE MAN IN HIS PRIME

29

Sleeping on stone benches is a great way to induce neck pain.

As I learn when I wake up in yet another mysterious location.

The narrow bench is situated in front of a fountain that reminds me of the Cedar Park number—empty save for a thin layer of pine needles and rainwater. Its centerpiece is a generic angel statue in Greek drapery, holding a dove in her open palm. Lines of orange rust mark the places in her folds where streams of water can cascade to create the illusion that her clothing rustles in the breeze.

The fountain sits in the middle of a rundown courtyard. A small flower garden left unattended has grown out of control, and in the cool air of early fall, browned petals litter the sidewalk around it. Likewise, bushes never pruned partially obscure the path that leads to an old, gray-stone church. Three stories of worship and hymns on high. Stained glass windows depicting pastoral scenes. A ramshackle roof that tapers to a bell-adorned steeple.

Nothing beyond the church is visible. Partially due to a bushel of tall, lanky trees concealing all but a sliver of my view. But mostly due to the high walls encompassing the courtyard.

I can’t get a lay of the land with my eyes. So I try to use my other senses to figure out where I am.

I start with hearing:

Car horns blare from a nearby road. Tires squeal on asphalt. Muffled chatter from a crowd flitters over the walls. Shrill screams. Harsh swears. Cold laughter. Desperate pleas. Furious shouts—more than I can count.

The atmosphere of this noisy crowd is too dark and electric for it to be a parade or a fair or a market.

A demonstration of some sort, maybe?

I move on to smell:

Gasoline. Organic trash. Fresh paint. Heated rubber. Wood smoke. The scent of a juicy burger with a side of salty fries fresh out of the fryer from some nearby fast food joint. My mouth waters, and my stomach gurgles. Ravenous. Like I haven’t eaten in weeks.

But I ignore the hunger for now and try to stay on point.

So, I’m in a populated place with a fairly temperate climate. A description that fits half the United States in autumn. Excellent observation skills, Corina.

Sighing, I sit up on the bench. My limbs are liquid and shaky, muscles twitching in time with my breaths. But, oddly, I don’t feel like a half-eaten zombie, the way I would expect to feel after fighting my way through a raging fire. Instead, a nervous energy zips through my bones; it reminds me of those first few minutes post-power nap, where your body believes it’s refueled and ready to take on the rest of an errand-filled Sunday afternoon.

How long have I been asleep?

I examine myself.

I’m wearing the same clothes I had on during the Banding Blaze, minus the jacket I gifted Lu for a pillow. Everything is still damp (not too much time has passed, then) and the layers of protective wear stick to my frame, a weighted body suit.

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