Betty and The Beast Slayer (Book One: Deliverance)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Burning

Everything I saw was out of focus; it was as if chaos had consumed the ground and the air. Birds flew off in the distance, children screamed, and smoke was everywhere. I could barely be asked to focus enough to step one foot in front of the other, except for the gentle guidance of Marcus pulling me forward with his hand. Samson was where we left him, tied up to a makeshift stable outside of where we had resided for the night. He was letting out a furious protest to the conditions surrounding him, trying to break free of the rope binding him.

"Easy does it," Marcus whispered.

I glanced around, seeing more people rushing in. There were white faces in the crowd, in the chaos. The British were here. Marcus did not see them but was instead focused on preparing Samson for an escape of some sort. It was likely Marcus had already realized the danger we were in. Smoke was clouding my eyes, my lungs, and everything burned. The near distance of inconspicuous infernos was clear. Heat radiating the air, though the source was unclear. This was hell, and the devil had come for me. Some part of me searched the crowd for a Roan and his black figure, unsure if that would bring me comfort or fear. However, I only saw men. In the distance I saw a soldier, a young man who was probably just a boy years ago, dragging a native girl out into the open as if he had grace intentions. I glanced away from the brute atrocities since Marcus pulled me forward. Samson was steady and we climbed atop him. I had my ax tucked away in my sash, and Marcus had left his scythe resting nearby his steed. We had battles ahead of us, both mortal and supernatural, and we would fight.

It was easier than I would have expected to escape. There was so much chaos, and most of the village was intent on fighting the soldiers or stopping the fires. To simply run seemed to have evaded the minds of Jacy's people. Of course, I had not run when the British came to Salem. A homeland, especially in the end of days, is worth fighting for. Only cowards would flee such a fight. Of course, Marcus and I had no ties to this place. It was possible the soldiers were not there for me, but simply trying to raid the settlement for supplies and food. However, the fires felt different. Why burn down a refuge and attract the beasts? Either the army did not understand the detrimental effect of a great commotion, that the gates of hell would open up and swallow them whole, or they welcomed it. Perhaps they were not so oblivious to the world, perhaps they themselves were seeking out Roan. Nevertheless, the fire had taken down the expansive gates and there were several exits available. With speed and precision, Marcus and I were able to flee into the forest.

Samson ran through the forest. A few stray beasts, drawn to the fire and the screams, wandered past us. Some were oblivious to us, mesmerized by the dizzying sensations of the place we left behind us. Some were simply too slow to catch us on Samson, whose fear made him more than a mere animal. His legs were fueled by stamina unknown to man, a seemingly miraculous speed and determination filled his limbs. Marcus was able to swiftly cut down the few beasts who did approach us, his own mind filled with an adrenaline-soaked rage and will. My mind wandered through a litany of fears. Where would we go? What would happen to us? Could I ever forget the screams of the people left behind?

We rode for hours, the fires and the scrams a distant memory as night fell. We reached a clearing and there in the distance was a small cottage. My heart leaped at the sight, knowing Samson and Marcus could not keep running. One queer sight raised made my heart beat faster: there was a candlelit in the window. I could see in the sky above the home the faint sight of smoke billowing out as if someone had recently put out a fire. There was not enough here to attract any beasts, not a great number at least, but one truth was undeniable. Someone was here, and we had no way of knowing if they could be trusted. Marcus slowed the steed and hopped off, holding his hands to his mouth in a gesture of silence.