Nation 27

CH 45: He Had An Air Of Refinement About Him That Belied His Sinister Intentions

Warning: This chapter contains disturbing descriptions of gore and unhealthy thoughts of self-harm that might be uncomfortable for certain readers. Please read at your own discretion.

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[Lyra]

In the dense thicket of the forest, where sunlight barely pierced through the thick canopy Lyra found herself trapped in a nightmare of constant pain and despair.

Every breath she took was a struggle- each inhale was a sharp stab of agony. Her eyes were glazed over with pain and exhaustion. The hike, if it could even be considered as one, was torturous and an incessant test of her endurance to pain. It felt like she was stepping on broken glass shards, except the pain was not limited to just the soles of her feet but radiated throughout her entire body.

However, despite all of the pain, Lyra was shuffled as carefully as she could as she knew that one misstep or fall, and she would be at the mercy of the hard, unforgiving forest floor. Then again, regardless of what she did, she was still at the mercy of her captor.

‘Why haven’t I been killed yet? This isn’t-’

THUMP

Blinding pain rippled through her body yet Lyra was unable to scream. Her voice had long abandoned her, stolen by endless cries for help that had echoed fruitlessly through the dense trees. Her throat was a desert, parched and raw from the desperate screams that had gone unanswered. Now, all that remained was a silent plea for mercy- a prayer for it all to end, be it by the impossible salvation or more plausible eternal slumber.

Her gaze flickered down to her injured leg, the part of her that radiated the most pain. 

It was a grotesque tableau, wrapped in a crude tapestry of twigs, vines, and tattered cloth. The makeshift bandage, though a testament to her captor's crude attempts at makeshift first aid, was failing to staunch the flow of blood. Crimson seeped through the bindings, painting a sinister mosaic against the pale skin of her calf.

Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch the makeshift bandages in an attempt to tighten the bindings. A stray tear streamed down her dirt-stained face.

‘When will this end? By now, I’m sure that the wound has already contracted blood poisoning…’ Lyra licked her dry lips, ‘How long does it take for one to die from blood poisoning? Considering the amount of time this journey had taken, it shouldn’t be that long, right?’

“Tsk! What are you daydreaming about? This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen. Come on, get up!” Lyra’s captor ordered as she roughly dragged Lyra up to her feet, “We’re almost there. It’s no longer than a mile now.”

Fear gnawed at Lyra's insides, threatening to consume her whole. She didn't know what fate awaited her at the end of this harrowing journey.

Somewhere in the distance behind them, a wolf howled.

“Hurry up, will you? If you dilly-dally any longer, you’ll only become food for the wolves,” Lyra’s captor warned.

Lyra glanced behind and noticed that the crimson liquid seeped through her leg bindings had painted a macabre trail in its wake.

“Look, if you wish to die, be my guest. But don’t you dare attempt that while you’re under my watch! If you care for your parents’ well-being, be a good girl and behave yourself. Once we’ve returned and the doctor has seen you, you may go to a dark corner and off yourself for all I care,” Lyra’s captor growled.

Lyra’s eyes lit up in surprise.

Although Lyra had not been able to audibly ask for confirmation, her captor seemed to have understood the hoarse whispers and huffs. An eerie smile formed on her captor’s lips.

“Yes, if you really care about them and wish to see them, I suggest that you-” the captor gripped tightly at Lyra’s arm and started dragging her along, “-that you hurry up!”

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[Somewhere in the outskirts of the forest…]

“Ah, we’re finally here!” Lyra’s captor exclaimed.

A shiver crept down Lyra's spine as she gazed upon the imposing barrier that stretched out before her. The cluster of tall tree logs stood like silent sentinels, forming a makeshift wall that spanned as far as the eye could see. It was a testament to the small community's resilience, a desperate attempt to stave off the relentless tide of the undead that threatened to engulf them all.

But instead of finding solace in the sight of the barricade, Lyra felt a chill grip her heart. It was only yesterday that she fought so hard to escape from this place. Memories flooded her mind, of blood-soaked grounds and echoing screams, the nightmarish night that her village was invaded by these barbarians.

But now, as she stood before the towering wall of logs, the echoes of the event that just took place yesterday reverberated within her, filling her with a sense of dread and despair. To her, this place now represented the very essence of the heinous and barbaric nature of humans. 

A pang of guilt twisted in Lyra's chest as she thought of the amount of pain and torture the survivors had had to endure as she escaped.

“Hey! Open up!” her captor yelled towards the barricade.

The silence hung heavy as Lyra and her captor stared at the imposing entryway. Every nerve in Lyra's body was on edge. Her senses were heightened as she braced herself for whatever punishment she would receive upon entering the threshold.

Then, with a creak and a groan, the massive wooden gate began to lift, slowly revealing the passage into the heart of the survivor's enclave. Lyra's heart raced as she stepped forward, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond for any sign of danger.

As they passed beneath the looming gateway, Lyra felt a sense of trepidation wash over her. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, decay, and something sickeningly iron-like, a stark reminder of the chaos and massacre that took place just the night before. The blood-soaked ground further enforced the awareness that death lurked around every corner- regardless of how safe a place may have once been

Before Lyra could dwell on it much further, a set of footsteps echoed through the tense silence. Suspecting the identity of the approaching individual, she instinctively began to back away, only to be abruptly halted by the firm grip of her captor.

Gulping against the dryness of her throat, Lyra lifted her head to meet the gaze of the man who was steadily approaching them. He cut an imposing figure, tall and middle-aged, clad in a worn-out hospital coat stained with the telltale marks of blood. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was an air of refinement about him, an aura of authority that belied his sinister intentions.

But Lyra knew better than to be fooled by appearances. This man was no savior; he was the orchestrator of the carnage that had befallen her haven, the architect of her people's demise. Behind the mask of kindness lay the heart of a monster, a fact that Lyra had witnessed first-hand.

"We have been waiting for you, Little Lyra," the man began, his voice smooth and calculated. "You were gone for so long, and we were beginning to think that you did not care about your parents’… predicament. Well, that's all in the past now. Come on in. We were just about to have a feast.”

Lyra remained silent, her gaze unwavering as she resisted the urge to succumb to fear and despair. But the man's patience was wearing thin, his facade of geniality slipping to reveal a hint of irritation.

"Oh my. Someone is acting a little spoiled, are we? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, I hate to say this, but if you know what's good for your parents and friends, you ought to start behaving like a good girl. What do you say, Lyra?"

With a silent nod, Lyra reluctantly complied, allowing herself to be led in the direction indicated by the man. But before she could take another step, he halted her with a demand.

“Huh, now that I think about it, I don’t believe that you’ve greeted me yet. How about we start with you saying my name?”

Knowing the consequences of defiance, Lyra swallowed against the dryness of her throat, mustering the courage to comply. In a voice barely above a whisper, she uttered the name of her captor.

"D-Doctor Heine."