Chapter 123: Taran

I think long and hard about escape, frantically coming up with new plans and then discarding each one as too dangerous, too complicated or too likely to fail. I think about climbing out a window and then hiding out somewhere. I even try to pry the window open, but I'm stopped when a contraction hits and doubles me over. The cramping is even worse with the added physical strain of trying to find a way out.
Even if I somehow manage to escape the house, I would be walking so slow it wouldn't be long before Stryker discovers me gone and comes after me. I ponder the idea of incapacitating or even killing Stryker. The thought is a disturbing one and I'm forced to ask myself if I have what it takes to kill. I killed a zombie when it was attacking me in the church, but it happened so fast that I didn't have time to do anything but react.
My stomach twists in protest as I remember the way the gun felt as it went off, kicking in my hands and punching a gory hole through my attacker. No, I can't do that to Stryker, not unless my situation becomes truly desperate. Not unless he threatens the life of my child.
My only other option is to get him talking, see if I can convince him to take me back to my husband or the doctor. Instead of searching him out I wait for him in the bedroom. He seems to be doing rounds of the house, inside and outside. Securing the area. I'm not sure from what. Primitives? My husband? He should be afraid of Diogo. Once Diogo realizes I'm gone he'll scour every inch of this city. There won't be anywhere Stryker can hide. It's just a matter of time.
Time I don't have. My hand drifts down to my stomach. I need to relax, I can already tell that the stress of the situation isn't helping. My labour pains are erratic and becoming more painful with each one. I'm concerned that there doesn't seem to be a regular pattern. Sometimes eight minutes apart and sometimes only two or three. I hadn't discussed this with Bishop, have no idea if it's normal, but I'm worried that it means my rising blood pressure is affecting the birth.
I force myself to take deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, counting each second. Just the way Bishop and Dee showed me.
"What are you doing?"
I raise my head from where I'm standing next to the window, my shoulders hunched and one arm wrapped around my middle as I wait out another contraction. One hand rests on the window sill next the board I've managed to pry open. Stryker is standing in the doorway looking at me suspiciously. He's a smart man, he'll know all of my potential escape options even better than me since he's had more time to plan this out.
"I just needed some fresh air," I tell him and move away from the open window to sit on the bed.
He nods thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on the window before they fall to me. "Need anything else?" he asks.
I'm surprised by the question, that my kidnapper actually cares about my comfort, but the truth is, Stryker is confusing me with his wife, a woman he loved deeply. He wouldn't want her to suffer. In that, Diogo is much the same. Even when he's being his most brutal Warlord self he still makes sure I'm as happy and as comfortable as he can make me.
I'm tempted to tell Stryker that yes, there is something I need, my freedom, my husband, my doctor, but instead decide to take a more diplomatic approach. Things aren't desperate yet, there's no point in antagonizing a potentially unstable man.
"I could use a glass of water please," I tell him.
He gives me another long look before silently leaving the room. When he returns I accept the glass and drink thirstily. It tastes fresh enough, which means he must've brought it in recently. I'm struck again by the preparation that went into this place, this whole situation.
"You've been sending Grayson out on more tasks lately so you can keep an eye on me, haven't you?" I ask the question in a neutral tone of voice so I don't accidentally upset him.
He nods his head and leans back against the crib, arms crossed over his chest, facing me. "Though he works for the Warlord, he also works under me. I'm a Commander on the wall. It wasn't too difficult to send him to the wall while I took over as your bodyguard."
I'd known there was a hierarchy in Diogo's military, but I hadn't realized Stryker was so near the top. It makes sense. He spends a lot of time around my husband and helps make decisions. Especially once Jorje Cruz was executed. This is two of Diogo's top men that've proven themselves to be untrustworthy, to have separate agendas from their Warlord. After this, I won't be surprised if Diogo becomes far more suspicious of his top people. A shame, because Grayson and Bossman are good men.
Stryker might still be a good man. He's not threatening me and despite his actions against the Warlord and his family, his reasoning isn't bad, just flawed. If I can keep him talking, perhaps lure him into realizing that we both need help, I may be able to convince him to contact Diogo or the Doctor. It's hard to tell how far into a mental break he's gone.
"Do you really think I'm your wife?" I ask him softly, cringing back into the bed a little as he straightens. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him that, but I'm straightforward, blunt. I say what I'm thinking. I don't know how to either play along with or resist his delusion.
"You aren't Abrielle," he says gruffly. "But you need saving just as much as she did."
"But why, Stryker?" I ask him. "My husband takes care of me, he keeps me safe. I'd rather be with him right now. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not necessary."
"Your husband," he says scathingly. "So arrogant, so sure he can bring this city back into order, thinks he can deal with the outside threats and protect his wife at the same time. Well, he's wrong." The words are so emphatic, so sure, that I realize he's talking from personal experience.
"Where are you from?" I ask him gently.
"San Antonio."
I nod sympathetically. "San Antonio fell to the Primitives after the flu epidemic."
"Yes," he agrees. "We were in the city until the end. I was so fucking confident back then, sure I could take care of my city, my Warlord and my wife. I was wrong. Just like Diogo is wrong."
"Tell me about it," I invite him, keeping my voice low and soft, encouraging him to reminisce about the past. Maybe it'll help him see the present more clearly. "Tell me about your wife."
His eyes take on a sharp look as he gazes at me. I sense I'm skating a dangerous edge. What if he realizes I'm definitely not his wife, nor am I his second chance at saving her? What if he leaves me here to give birth alone? Or what if he just kills me, gets rid of the evidence and walks away. I have to hope that neither is an option for this broken man.
Just when I think he won't answer, he starts speaking. "She was beautiful, but more of a quiet beauty than obvious. Like when she smiled, her intelligence, love, hope, it all shone through. Kind of like you."
Despite the situation I'm flattered by his comparison. I've never dwelled on my looks, there was too much else going on around me. But like every woman, I've had moments where I wonder if I could be prettier, more delicate, more desirable.
"She sounds wonderful," I murmur.
"She was," he agrees. "She was also stubborn as a mule and refused to listen to anyone if she thought she was right. When the flu came to San Antonio, I begged her to leave with me. She was pregnant and vulnerable. But she dug her heels in, insisted she wanted to have the baby in her hometown, near her family."
"I can understand that," I say a little drily. I'd also planned on having my baby near the only family I know: Diogo, Emery and Bishop. My sister too, if I could've gotten her into the city in time. A shaft of pain slices through my heart as I think about Skye on the other side of the wall with the other refugees. Diogo had been trying to get her into the city for tomorrow morning. Tears prick my eyes when I realize that if she agreed to come, and I was still at home, she would get to see her brand-new niece or nephew. Now, well, now I don't know. Don't know where I'll be or if my baby is going to be okay...
Stryker doesn't notice my sudden distraction, he keeps talking. "Most of her family fell to the flu. Took out three quarters of the city until our defences went down."
Same story as Las Vegas Sanctuary and a few dozen others. Flu ravaged the regions, taking out humans and leaving the Primitives to pick off the rest. Of course, knowing this, I know exactly where his story is going next.
"After her parents died, along with her siblings and their families, she went into early labour. Had the baby in our apartment while I was out on the wall. Didn't even radio for help, just gave birth right there in our bed."
He sounds both admiring and frustrated. The more he talks about Abrielle, the more I feel a kinship for the woman. She also found herself pregnant and about to give birth while under extremely difficult circumstances. She was probably terrified but did the best she could with what she had.
His voice takes on a strange faraway quality as he continues. "I was terrified that either she or the baby would get that flu. I wouldn't let her leave the house. Cleaned every part of my body and clothes when I came home from wall patrol. I was so fucking careful, but it made no difference."
"There's nothing you could do," I say quietly. He doesn't hear though, he's lost in the past. His fingers clench around the wooden bars of the cradle as memory assails him.
"We were overrun while I was on the wall. I fought harder than I've ever fought in my life, my single goal to reach Abrielle, pack her and the baby up and escape the city. I wasn't far from her position, but I just couldn't get back to her. Every time I killed one of those fuckers, another ten leapt into place. By the time I made it back to her it was too late."
A wave of sympathy rushes over me as I listen to his story, as I watch the creases in his face deepen with grief and guilt.
"There's nothing you could've done," I say again. Maybe if he hears it enough he'll finally be able to let go of the guilt that has been riding him since Abrielle's death.
He shakes his head, his voice hoarse now. "The baby... the baby... she was only a few weeks old, she was... they..."
Nausea wells up and another contraction squeezes me. "I know," I choke out. He doesn't need to explain what happened. Babies are vulnerable. They're too fragile, too soft. The skin just... I shudder at the thought of dead babies.
I breathe through the contraction and nausea, asking, "Abrielle was bitten?"
He nods and drops his chin to his chest as he remembers. "She was covered in blood, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by zombies when I arrived. Thought she was dead, but she was in the middle of the Turn. I fought them with everything I had, cut them down as a group, determined to follow her into the grave if I found her dead."
The contraction passes and I relax back against the wall. "She wasn't dead though, was she?"
"No," he agrees. "She was just coming out of the Turn when I reached 'er. I wrapped my arms around her, tilted her head back to look at 'er, but she was already gone. Eyes wild, nails turned to claws. She launched herself at me, tried to tear my throat out. I pushed her away, but I couldn't... I just couldn't."
He couldn't kill her. Of course he couldn't. I don't think I'd have it in me to kill someone I loved either, even if I knew it's what they would have wanted.
Silence falls between us as he remembers and I'm left with yet another horrific story of the lives and loves lost to the Death Kiss.
"Should've finished her," he finally says.
I shake my head. "You did everything you could, Stryker. You have to trust yourself."
He looks up at me, his eyes glowing with the ghosts of his past. "I don't trust anyone, but this time'll be different. This time nothing will happen to you or the baby. I'll make sure of it."
"Stryker..." If I'm going to reason with him it has to be now. The contractions are too close together. If I'm going to get out of here, have the baby someplace safe, it has to be now.
He takes a step toward the bed and reaches out. I flinch back, but all he does is touch his fingertips to my forehead and brush my hair to the side. "I'll do for you what I couldn't do for her, for my Abrielle."
My heart breaks for him as he turns and strides away.