The Ocean’s City
Chapter 45

The sun was unforgivingly hot. After a few weeks of living in this hellhole, I should be used to the environment. I was not. Dalton and all the other men seemed unphased. Their horses continued their steady pace through the vacant land.

“How are you doing?” Dalton leaned back a bit to press his body up onto me more.

I didn’t tear my eyes from the horizon like it was the most interesting thing. In truth, I was tired of the scenery. Looking away wouldn’t change that. I grunted my answer.

His gloved hand gently brushed my arm that was wrapped around his waist. He let out a whistle, summoned everyone to stop, and walked his horse closer to the wagon, swung his leg off the saddle, and hopped down into the dirt. He raised his hands up to help me slide down. I felt sudden relief at the idea of stretching my legs.

“Rest in the wagon for a bit.”

The wagon had little space. It was piled high with sacks. I had to climb over the bags to get cozy. Dalton gave me a look once over, nodded his head, and returned to his horse. As he got on, Jones rode his horse up near the wagon. It was clear by the way the horse jostled around that he was in a lot of pain. Yet his face was a cement mask, hiding his pain.

He gently helped Fran off the horse, whispering softly. His hands lingered on her skin like he was touching pure heaven, and if he didn’t worship the feel of her skin enough, it would disappear with the wind. His eyes were glued to the expressions on her face as she meekly pretended all his attention wasn’t on her. There was a pain in his glazed-over eyes, and it wasn’t physical pain. It was purely emotional, like being allowed to be so close to her was a gift he wanted so badly, but felt he didn’t deserve.

Fran tucked the flyaway strands of hair behind her ear and made her way to the wagon, making no attempt to climb over the sacks and get comfortable like I was. I watched her, knowing our eyes would meet for the meekest of moments, completely aware of Dalton’s eyes on mine.

Dalton never looked at me like Jones looked at Fran. He had moments similar but never to that level of intensity. I looked at Fran, trying to make herself as little noticeable as possible, and felt my heart tinge. What Jones had done to Fran was far worse and more unforgivable than what Dalton had done to me.

A hot, thick breeze caused the desert sand to dance along the ground, and the wagon jostled into its steady pace. Dalton and Jones followed behind on their horses. Dalton’s stare was locked on me, but I ignored it, dragged my eyes away from Fran, and locked my gaze back onto the horizon.

After a while, Hutson rode up beside Dalton and spoke in a low, inaudible tone. It only slightly piqued my interest, mainly because Fran tensed up and fiddled with her fingers. The sun set, and signs of a vibrant sunset streaked across the sky. In a few hours, the sky would be another color other than the cloudless blue it had been all day.

My ears strained to hear what they were talking about, but all I could make of it was Dalton’s grunts of agreement. Suddenly, there was a squeal of a horse, cutting the two’s serious conversation off; their eyes bolted like they knew exactly what was happening.

I followed their gaze, faintly noticing the blackened thunderstorm sky but mostly noticing Ian. His horse was rearing up like a snake under his feet, flinging Ian’s body backward. His face looked utterly lifeless, but it was his eyes that had me so scared, instantly knowing something wasn’t right.

There was not a cloud in sight all day today, and that was because they were in his eyes. So white, no blue nor black could be seen. He began to fall from his horse. His hat flew in the opposite direction. A long streak of lightning stretched as far as the eye could see, making the suddenly darkened scenery light up just as his body hit the floor. Thunder cracked as if that was his body’s sound when hitting the floor. The sound was so fierce it sounded like the world had broken, causing all the horses to startle.

The wagon shook as the driver struggled to keep them under control. The wagon turned sharply, tossing bags on Fran and me as it landed sideways. The driver yelled, and the horses neighed. There was a frantic pound of their hooves growing distant.

With all the chaos, I could only faintly notice Fran screaming. I was more distracted by the ground shaking, causing the wagon to still feel like it moved because of the frantic horses moving about. Adrenaline had me pushing the bags off of me like they were nothing but air and rolling out onto the shaking floor. Tiny grains of gravel danced on the floor. It was an unusual sensation.

“Silvestia!” Dalton shouted as he leaped from his horse and ran towards me. He reached for my hand. Our palms touched. The sweat from my hands caused our hands to slip apart as the floor between us suddenly ripped into two. It was like hell was coming to greet us.

I could see the fear in Dalton’s eyes as he helplessly watched me struggle not to fall into the gaping crack, growing larger by the second.

Above Dalton’s shouting, a vicious war cry was let out right in my left ear. I felt the force of another body push me, and all hopes for not falling into the earth’s divide left me as I went through the motions of falling— scared for what was to come.

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