Welcome back to another exciting chapter from CAPTIVE, in which our heroine, Addy, receives some explanation about her new world...though perhaps not everything she's told is the truth.
Catch up reading here: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter six.
An abducted cop and a gladiator prisoner must learn to
trust each other with their lives…and their hearts…to escape their alien
captors.
CAPTIVE
Chapter Seven
Addy sat with her back against the camouflaged wall, elbows
resting on drawn-up knees, her head in her hands. “I’ve got a zillion
questions, Duncan. I don’t know where to start.”
“Aye, I understand.” He plopped down beside her and patiently
waited.
“How did you know my name?”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Ye dinna remember telling me?”
“No.”
“Och, well, that’s because ye were still drowsy after Ferly Mor
brought ye in.”
“Who?”
“That’s the name of wee Hyborean. Me Da named him. Fitting, no?”
He paused. “Ye mean ye’ve never heard the legend of Am Fear Liath Mòr?” He
pronounced the Celtic words as “Am Fer Lee More.”
She shook her head.
“Am Fear Liath Mòr, or the Great Gray Man, is the name of a
creature which haunts the summit of Ben MacDhui. That’s a mountain in Scotland,
Earth. Ye see, Am Fear Liath Mòr has been described as a large,
fearsome-looking humanoid creature covered in fur.”
“A Sasquatch?”
“Aye, in part. But it’s more than that. There is something verra
queer about the top of Ben MacDhui. A malign presence there causes great fear
in those who climb her. Many hikers are overcome with utter panic and flee down
in terror. In their haste to escape the sinister feelings, some have even
fallen to their death.”
“I don’t get it. Is the legend a Bigfoot or a ghost?”
“Neither.”
“Duncan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I believe Am Fear Liath Mòr to be a Hyborean.”
“Let me get this straight. You think aliens are roaming the
Scottish Highlands, scaring the mountain climbers?” She couldn’t help
snickering.
“Well, I dinna think it’s for fun, aye? They are looking for
strong, capable warriors for their survival races.”
Out of all the shirtless men demonstrating their combat skills,
not one looked puny or out of shape. They all wore tight-fitting pants that
hugged their muscles, and a silver choker around thick necks. Each man was
indeed a strong, capable warrior. How did they end up here? Were they hiking
along one day and snatched by a Hyborean? By Duncan’s Ferly Mor?
“A mountain is filled with many dangers. Not every soul brave
enough to climb up is lucky enough to manage a safe return. Men can vanish.”
Wasn’t that the truth. Wilderness search-and-rescues were
difficult. Sometimes people went missing for weeks. Sometimes they, or their
bodies, were recovered. Sometimes nothing was found. Perhaps those poor folks
hadn’t become carrion for scavengers. Perhaps they were abducted. Which fate
was worse? She shivered. “You said your dad named the alien. Was your dad
abducted in Scotland?”
“Aye. Taken from Ben MacDhui when he was a young man.”
“Why didn’t he run away when he felt the evil presence?”
“It wasna evil that he sensed. Rather he heard the soft, soothing
call of a Siren, and he followed the lass higher up the mountain. It was the
Hyboreans, using their minds to lure him to their ship, ye ken.”
“Minds?” She plucked a blade of grass and tied it in knots. “You
mean telepathy?”
“Aye. Ye wouldna think it to look at all that fur, but Hyboreans
are highly evolved humanoids. Their brains are verra advanced and have long ago
learned how to communicate telepathically. They dinna have spoken language, and
we believe they lost the ability to produce sound centuries before. They have
no need for vocal cords, just as we have no need for an appendix.”
“But I heard them purring.”
“Did ye now? Or perhaps ye sensed them purring.”
Thinking back, the aliens hadn’t made actual noise. They worked
together, but neither one spoke to the other. “Are you saying I’m telepathic?”
“Aye and no. Because human and Hyborean brainwaves and neural
pathways are different, we dinna have the ability to transmit our thoughts or
feelings telepathically. Thus, Hyboreans can no’ read our minds at all. Nor can
we read their direct thoughts. However, we have a primitive ability that allows
us to sense or perceive their emotions and feelings, though none of us
interprets them in the same way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We decipher the same idea—being soothed, for example—differently
based on our own experiences. Ye had perceived Ferly Mor’s soothing ye as
purring, whereas I might have perceived it as relaxing by a fire, drinking a
hot toddy.”
She flicked the knotted grass. “If our brains are different, how
do we communicate?”
“Hyboreans understand our tone of voice and body language same as
we can understand the meaning of a cat’s purr or hiss. But alas, ye can jabber
away as much as ye like. They dinna comprehend our language. Therefore, we can
communicate, but canna converse. ’Tis a shame, really.”
“If they can’t talk to you, how do you know so much about them?”
“Same as any foreigner learns about a country’s society when they
dinna speak the language. Astute observation and shrewd interpretation. And a
wee bit of trial and error through the generations.”
People had lived on this planet for generations? Yesterday, her
life had purpose and meaning. She was a law enforcement officer in Klamath National
Forest. She was an athlete. She was free. Now, she was a small, insignificant
being trapped on an unknown planet somewhere in the vast universe, forced to
make babies for some alien survival race.
Deflated, she slouched against the hologram wall and looked up at
the perfect sky—soft blue with wisps of white clouds—wishing she had wings to
fly home. Home to her log cabin in the woods. Home to her cat, Zira, curled up
on her lap while watching late-night TV. Home to her determined father whose
life mission included cramming her freezer full of berries from his
hyper-prolific patches. She couldn’t pull out an ice tray without causing an
avalanche of plastic berry bags. Every year since she could remember, they’d
have a marathon jam-making session. Who would help Dad can his blackberry jam
now?
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She forced them back,
refusing to cry. Crying admitted defeat, and her fight wasn’t over.
“Come.” Duncan stood and held out his hand. “Let’s walk. There’s
much more to show ye.”
Knowledge is power. Addy took his hand,
determined to learn everything she could in order to figure out how to escape.
She dusted off the back of her jean shorts. “I have no memory of coming here.
Do you know how I was abducted?”
Before Duncan could answer, an enormous warrior whacked him on the
back. “Hey, Gramps, bring me two more bottles of—” He stopped to size her up
and down. “Hello, pet.”
Towering over Duncan, he must have been six foot six, but as he
stood there in his militant stance scrutinizing her, he grew another foot.
Sweat dripped off his long, dirty-blond hair and rolled down his Conan the
Barbarian chest. He wore tight black pants—the kind a football player wore,
only without the padding—tucked into tall boots that hugged his calves. A belt
hanging low around his waist held his wooden sword and scabbard.
He was the winner of the sword fight.
Though he didn’t appear much older than she, perhaps twenty-five,
there was no mistaking his commanding presence. Everything from the way he
carried himself to his entitled gaze radiated authority and power.
Time paused while he appraised her as though he were the sole
judge of a wet T-shirt contest. Shuddering from discomfort, she folded her arms
across her chest.
“Regan,” Duncan began, “may I present Addy.”
Not wanting to appear as intimidated as she felt, she extended her
hand to the warrior.
Regan gripped the back of her head, fisting a clump of hair, and
jerked hard. His mouth ground against hers. She gasped for breath and his
tongue snaked inside. He yanked her back. The taste of his sweat and salt
lingered on her tongue. Stunned by his brusque assault, she forgot how to spit.
“Did Gramps, here, explain the breeding box?”
His leering gaze boiled her blood. Would punching his smug face be
considered police brutality? “He didn’t need to. I’ve already been there.”
Regan’s eyes lit with surprise before they narrowed. “Who was your
stud?”
“Och, now it doesna matter, does it, lad?” Duncan stepped
protectively in front of her.
“The hell it doesn’t. I’m the alpha in this Yard.”
“Mmph. Well, perhaps yer master doesna see it the same way as ye
do.”
The angles in Regan’s face sharpened with contempt.
“But if it makes ye feel better, it wasna anyone from our Yard.
Come, lass.” Duncan took her hand to lead her away, but the gladiator caught
his shoulder and turned him around. A hand rested on the hilt of his sword as
he stared Duncan down. No doubt Regan would get his answer by force if necessary.
“Don’t toy with me, Gramps. That body”—he pointed at her but kept
his eyes locked on Duncan—“was meant for breeding gladiators. Who was her
stud?”
Duncan tapped his lips in a slow and deliberate show of
contemplation, further annoying the warrior. “I do seem to recall a name.”
“Well?”
“I believe it was...Max.” Duncan smiled as if he’d laid down a
royal flush.
Regan howled with laughter.
Why he thought her being in the breeding box with Max was funny,
she had no idea. Funny wasn’t close to the word she’d use to describe
it. She lowered her gaze, suddenly interested in the grass.
Regan’s meaty hand covered her shoulder. “My poor pet. Having to
endure that old man. Lucky for you, he couldn’t last long, eh? Don’t worry.
I’ll show you what a real man can do.” He slapped her butt.
Heat surged angry through her veins. “He’s more man than you.” Max
had jumped off her after she called him an animal. This cocky bastard would
never do that.
“You say that now because you don’t know any better. I’ll see you
in the breeding box.” Stepping closer, he licked his lips and whispered in a
husky voice, “If not sooner.”
She pushed him, but her hand slid off his sweaty shoulder. He
didn’t move. “You’ve got spunk, pet.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “I’m
going to have fun with you.”
“Ye best get back to practicing, lad, if ye wish to best Max at
the championship.”
“Ha. Beating Max is no wish, Gramps.”
A musical tune like a cell phone ringtone sounded behind Regan.
“If I’m no’ mistaken, it hasna been reality either, aye?” Duncan
grabbed Addy’s hand and quickly ushered her away, but not before Regan’s face
flushed with anger.
“I expect my whiskey before I leave tonight,” he yelled after
them.
Once out of the warrior’s sight, Addy turned on Duncan. “Thanks a
lot for introducing me to Mr. Alpha Jerk back there. Who the hell does he think
he is? It wasn’t my fault I was in that stupid box with Max. Why doesn’t he go
pick a fight with your stupid Hyborean?”
“Settle down, lass. I had no choice in the matter. Regan is the
Yard’s alpha gladiator, and no mistake. That wee display of power was his way
of explaining things to ye.”
“Well he didn’t have to hurt me to do it.” She rubbed her sore
scalp. “A simple ‘Hi, Addy, I’m in charge here’ would have sufficed. This
planet is insane.”
“Aye, well, Hyborea is different, to be sure.”
“Different? I’ve been here one day, and half the people I’ve met
shoved their tongues down my throat. I’m like S’mores at a Boy Scout jamboree.
Duncan, these men can’t help themselves to me whenever they want. I won’t allow
it.” She smacked a low-hanging branch out of her way. “I can’t stay here.”
“Dinna fret, lassie. It’s no’ so bad. Ye’ll get used to the way of
things.”
Was he serious? Who could possibly get used to being a sex slave?
A human broodmare. He was as insane as the rest of the planet. She stopped to
face him and lowered her voice. “Max told me he knew someone who had escaped.”
Duncan’s face changed from surprise to sadness then back to
normal. He shifted his weight to the other leg. “Did he now? Perhaps that was
another of his wee fabrications.” He started walking again, his pace quicker
than a moment ago.
Clearly, Max wasn’t the only one lying.
*
* *
They spent the rest of the day walking the perimeter of the
Yard—which, according to Duncan, was three miles long by one and a half miles
wide—to prove there was no way out. Duncan agreed to the trek on the condition
they take multiple stops to rest and eat some food they picked along the way.
He led her around like a proud museum curator, spouting facts and numbers about
the Yard he grew up in.
She committed every detail to memory.
“The Yard is over 2,800 acres. We’ve training fields, woodlands,
farmland, and many water bodies. All the flora and fauna ye’ll find is
indigenous to Earth.”
Just how many times had he’d given this little
everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-Yard speech? It sounded way too rehearsed
to be off the top of his head.
The sun crossed the sky as they strolled by people swimming,
fishing, and lounging in hammocks. Groups played soccer or practiced some kind
of martial arts. They passed three women knitting baby blankets. Two of them
were pregnant. The third wore her baby in a sling. Duncan waved to someone
farming in a field.
Two Hyboreans had been in the Yard until the sun lowered and the
temperature fell. Then more aliens—children, presumably, by their shorter
stature—had come out to play catch with their full-grown human pets. None of
the aliens had paid Duncan or her any attention, thankfully.
“How come some people wear chokers and others don’t?” If she
didn’t want to get zapped while escaping, she had to get rid of hers.
“The decision is up to the individual master. Mostly though,
gladiators, Earthlings, and anyone new to or visiting the Yard wear them. Most
Hyborea-born humans—or Hyborhus, as we’re called—don’t.”
“Do you and Tess wear one?”
“No, lass. Except when Ferly Mor takes us on his travels.”
“He lets you out? Where does he take you? How often do you leave?
Will he be going back to Earth?”
“Och. I hope ye’re no’ of a mind to escape. Ferly Mor won’t let
that happen.”
The metal around her neck seemed to tighten. She tugged on it,
though not as hard as yesterday. She didn’t want to risk pissing off the
Hyboreans. Would they remove this damn shock collar if she demonstrated good
behavior? Searching for an answer, her gaze drifted up at the holographic
mural. The wall could barely be seen behind it.
“Duncan, how high would you say that wall is?”
“Too high for what I think ye’re thinking.”
“You don’t believe I could climb over it?”
“Ye canna. The Yard is no’ what it appears. The walls enclose us
in a synthetic habitat. Our sky is nothing more than a brilliantly engineered
holographic dome. Hundreds of ultraviolet lights brighten and dim in
correlation to the Hyboreans’ solar system.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying we’re actually inside a giant
atrium...with a planetarium roof?”
“Aye. That about sums it up. Ye must agree the 3-D forest mural is
a nice touch. We dinna have to look at ugly buildings like in the subclass’s
Yards.”
The sun setting behind the trees painted the sky in a
pink-and-orange glow. A gentle breeze, carrying the scent of wild onions, swept
hair across her face.
How could all of that be fake?
Duncan’s eyes shone with tenderness. “I ken this is difficult for
ye to understand, but what I show ye tonight will help. Come, lass. We’re
nearly home.”
By the time darkness covered the Yard, Duncan pressed a black
button in the camouflaged wall. A section sublimated. Hyborean doors didn’t
open on a hinge, slide, or revolve. Their matter transitioned from a solid
state to a gaseous state without becoming a liquid first, like dry ice.
She recalled Max appearing in her bed as if out of a white fog.
That must have been when the Hyboreans sublimated the door and placed him
inside the breeding box.
They stepped through the swirling white vapor into Duncan’s
kitchen. The doorway crackled as the gas transitioned into its solid state once
again. She never would have guessed they’d been standing outside of Duncan’s
home. When she’d sprinted out of there that afternoon, she hadn’t looked back
to notice the “glass” wall was only transparent from the inside like a window
in an interrogation room. How many other houses were concealed behind the
hologram murals?
She followed him to the back of his living area where he pressed
another button on that wall. A section sublimated from solid to gas. A blast of
icy air hit her. She shivered.
“Put on this cloak.” Duncan wrapped the heavy garment around her,
then took his eggplant-colored cloak from another peg on the wall. When they
crossed the smoky threshold, the room illuminated without flipping a light
switch. “This is our master’s apartment.”
The stark white room nearly blinded her. Brilliant walls, ceiling,
and floor shimmered like ice crystals and appeared to be manufactured from the
same material as the breeding box. To her right, a long white table stood as
tall as her head, and the cushions of the accompanying chairs came up to her
waist. His ceiling must have been twenty feet high. Each step on the staircase
leading upward was about knee height.
Other than some Hyborean-sized furniture and a potted
evergreen-type tree in the corner, the room was empty. There were no
bookshelves, no knickknacks, no lamps, computers, TVs, nor wires of any kind.
The only visible technology was the 3-D holographic pictures on the walls and
side table that played short movie clips of other aliens or of Duncan and Tess
before starting over again.
Addy’s breath clouded in front of her. Her teeth chattered, and
she drew the hood over her head. “It’s freezing in here.”
“The Hyboreans live in an arctic environment. They’re verra
comfortable in the cold. Ferly Mor usually keeps his home about ten degrees
below zero on your Fahrenheit scale, which is a wee warmer than outside.” He
crossed the alien’s room, jumped onto the couch, and climbed up the back. “Come
see for yourself.”
Addy followed him up, peered through the transparent wall, and
nearly tumbled backward.
Outside bustled a monstrous frozen metropolis. Enormous white
buildings lined the streets. Hovercrafts skimmed over crystal powder. A flurry
of Hyboreans rushed down frosted sidewalks sparkling beneath city lights.
The aliens looked like giant Eskimos wearing fur suits in a
supersized, snow-bleached New York City. She imagined the Yard as a large
Central Park walled off by the city’s buildings and a hundred-foot-high roof.
“We’re on the second floor? We never walked up any stairs.”
“Aye. The Yard is about twenty feet or so deep with dirt.”
“It’s not the real ground?”
“No, lassie. That’s the real ground out there.” He pointed down at
the snowy street.
A weight fell on her heart. Tunneling out left her with one less
escape option. Lights from distant spacecraft climbed into the starry night
sky, where two silver white disks—one bigger than the other—hung full.
“You have two moons.”
“Aye. Luna Major and Luna Minor. The Yard’s celestial holograms
are synchronized exactly to Hyborea’s thirty-hour day. We’ve twenty hours of
daylight and ten hours of darkness.”
“Hold on. Back up. One day is thirty hours?”
“Aye. Every new day dawns at one o’clock, or zero one hundred
hours if ye prefer. We’ve six days in a week and four weeks in a month.
Essentially, one month on Hyborea is comparable to a month on Earth. Twelve months
make up a year—”
“Stop. Stop it. Please.” She rubbed her temples to alleviate the
dull ache behind her eyes. “Don’t tell me anymore. I can’t take it.” Resting
her forehead against the windowed wall, she stared out into the frozen city. An
icy chill seeped through her hood. Who cared about Hyborean weeks and months
and years? She wouldn’t be around here that long. She was going home to Earth
to live free twenty-four seven.
But how the heck would she escape? And where would she go when she
got out of this building?
The alien’s apartment door sublimated. The monster stepped through
the cloud into his living room, took off a silver ring from around his head,
and tossed it on the side table. The gas crackled as it transitioned back into
its solid state. Even if there had been enough time to jump off the couch and
run through it, she couldn’t. Her legs were frozen. Her breath came out in
quick puffs of smoke.
The creature approached slowly—probably so he wouldn’t frighten
her (too late for that)—and picked up Duncan, embracing him. Duncan returned
the hug, and Addy sensed the alien’s happiness. It gave Duncan a pat on the
head and set him down on the couch’s seat.
“It’s okay, lassie,” Duncan called from below. “He won’t harm ye.”
Before she could say anything, the monster picked her up and
cradled her in his arms. Squirming made her hood fall back and the cloak twist
and tighten. The alien untangled the material and repositioned her before
drawing the fabric around her again. He gripped her firmly enough that she
couldn’t get away, but not tight enough to cause pain. His soft, furry body
emanated warmth and the scent of black licorice.
She hated black licorice.
His long, spindly fingers stroked her hair, and she couldn’t help
wondering if her cat, Zira, had felt as uncomfortable in her arms as she did
right now in the alien’s?
“Can ye sense it, lassie? Ferly Mor cares for ye verra much. Ye’re
no’ just any human to him. Ye’re his human.”
#
Can
you imagine what it would be like to be a human pet? Keep reading next
week to find out how Addy and others think about their roles on Hyborea. Chapter 8
K.M.
FAWCETT
Romance with a rebel
heart
www.kmfawcett.com
