Off The Grid (Kindred Series-3)

Off The Grid – 1

            “The Nephilim were on the earth in those days-and also afterward-when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” Genesis 6:4

            I feel the texture of the scarred wooden floor under my blood stained hands, then the warmth of the room.  My skin feels strange.  I wrench my eyes open.  The world around me comes into sharp focus; then dissolves into a world of haze and confusion. 

The smell. 

I know it is blood, copper and death.  How I know is a mystery to me.

It surrounds and covers me. 

My eyes adjust and I see the thin coat of blood, now dried, on my skin. 

I do not panic because I somehow know it is not mine. 

I do not feel hurt. 

I take mental stock of myself.  Unsure of how I even know what to do.  My eyes jerk over my body not knowing what I am looking for but looking anyway.

A woman lay just a few feet from me – legs and arms thrown wide at her sides. 

It is her blood.  I can tell.  She and the blood all over me smell the same. 

            I do not know how I know these things.  But I know.  Whispers in my mind tell me that I am all right.  I try to move towards her but my limbs are clumsy, uncoordinated.  The side of my face collides with the sun-warmed floor as I stumble towards her.  I reach out to her and touch her skin.  It is cold.  Even where the sun dances across the pale skin it is cold to the touch.  Her hair is dark, silky and lush.  I allow my fingers to delicately trace her features burning them into my mind.  Her eyes, still open, are also dark, black as coals.  There is blood on her too but not as much as on me. 

I am not cold.  Yet I am not comfortable.  I try to stand but falter and decide to stay on my hands and knees, close to the floor.  There is a large piece of furniture and I crawl to it, stripping the two blankets off and wrapping myself in them, making a warm cocoon of the fabric around me.  I rub the material mesmerized by the feel.  Smelling it.

            My eyes sweep across the room still trying to understand.  Why do I not understand?  My world is a blurry haze that my eyes struggle to pierce.  At her left I see something by her hand.  I edge myself closer.  Loops and lines are depicted there.  I crawl to the place.  I touch the images scrawled there, tracing them as I had traced her face.  They are written in blood, her blood, and  I find them dry.  How long have I been unconscious? 

            For that matter, who am I?

the finding

 

               The front door opens and two men come into the small cabin.  Their banter is loud and jarring,  the opening of the door lets in a fresh stream of air and sun.  The coolness wakes me from the stupor that I had fallen into.  The fine hairs on my arms stand.  My head snaps up and I stare.

            “Holy shit, Fred!” the first man says running to the woman sprawled on the floor.

            “Who the fuck is that?” asks Fred.  He drops a bag at the door along with a long object that clatters when it hits the floor.