The Uprising (Book #3 in The Inception Trilogy)

chapter ten

(**unedited** but it's a decently long chapter so hopefully that makes up for my consistent laziness. also, ronreaco lee--above--plays davon. love you all xx)

CHAPTER TEN

IT HAS BEEN THREE days since Axel let Davon leave with Erik's note clutched in hand. He has no idea what he's doing, honestly. He's been walking up and down the streets endlessly, making random turns every now and then to make things interesting. He's already had a run-in with a hardcore camp who believes killing people on sight will improve their lifestyles.

Whatever that means.

How do you improve this life?

The only way to do that, Davon imagines, is by dying.

Maybe he would consider that option if he didn't have a daughter depending on him. Maybe he would still be inside Wolf's camp if he didn't have a daughter depending on him. Being out here in the freezing cold with food rations that are slowly diminishing, well, it isn't the most luxurious vacation. Certainly not one he'd want to take again.

These people better be as important as Erik--and even Axel--make them out to be, because this is absolute hell. Wolf is the worst scumbag of all, but at least he had a warm bed in the camp instead of these leaf piles that itch his skin through his clothes.

Not to mention the protection the camp offered--Davon has been pampered for so long, he's not used to looking after himself. He jumps at the slightest noise, from squirrels chasing each other through the trees to the crunching his own body makes when he tosses and turns throughout the night. He feels like the biggest idiot, but he's heard rumor after rumor about what happens in the woods. In the night.

He thinks he hears a footstep snapping a twig.

Shut up and go to sleep, he snaps to himself mentally.

He breaks out into a sweat when he hears another, closer to him now. He clutches his sheathed knife and squeezes his eyes shut, determined not to give into his paranoia. It's all in your head, you moron. His heart picks up pace, but he refuses to even let his fingers loosen on the hilt.

Another twig.

"Ah, shit," he grumbles, darting upright while simultaneously snatching his knife out. Of course, there's nothing around him. "Screw this."

He gets to his feet and slings his pack over his back, intending to find the road to camp out somewhere more open. Or even an abandoned asylum would be less creepy than the middle of the woods, for crying out loud. And he despises the idea of psychotic ghosts lurking about while he sleeps.

But do I take my chances with psychotic ghosts or vampire replicas?

At least ghosts are said to not be able to physically harm you. He's not sure if he believes that, but he knows for damn sure that a vampire can tear into his throat in a split second.

Vampire, of course, only partially hypothetically speaking.

Partially.

He hoists the strap further up his shoulder, though, it hadn't been sliding. He quickens his pace, trying to remember which direction he came from. When it's dark, he can't exactly see a road. The dark pavement sort of blends with the ground when the sky is pitch black, not even a half moon allowing him any sort of light. He had a flashlight, but since his first night he was awake all hours with intense paranoia, it died within hours of the next day.

Typical.

He maneuvers left, then pauses. Or had he come from the right? Maybe he should just walk straight. He'll wind up somewhere eventually. He may not be the road but... at least he won't be sleeping, vulnerable, in the middle of the damn woods.