More Than Imagined

Chapter 18

He felt like an ant scuffling through an enemy ant hill, wondering how soon until the resident ants realized they were intruding. It reminded him of Leah. She loved ants. Though, he never understood why.

Winfrey thought after they nipped her up that day she landed a clumsy foot into one of their mounds, she would grow to hate the things. But it was just the opposite. Her love for those little buggers grew with each stinging bite.

She said she liked how they stuck together. How they all depended on each other to take down a larger enemy. If only he'd been born an ant, maybe he would have been able to sting a little of her love out for himself.

A narrow, dirt canal wound its way to an unknown destination, illuminated by the fire of Flinch's breath. Dust from the less solid parts of the walls accumulated in Winfrey's hair as they trudged forward. Traveling farther into the tunnel, they noticed it split off into two paths, one of which was already lit by torches. But the group halted when they heard the distressed cries of what sounded like children coming from the unlit pathway.

"Flinch, Luci, you're with me," Eli commanded, coming to a quick sprint down the unlit path. Flinch and Luci were right on his heels, providing light and backup.

Left to themselves, Jazara and Winfrey sped down the remaining path for a few brief moments before they were met with the sight of a torch-lit room and the muffled whimpers of captured Apex civilians.

They had them huddled in a musky corner, droplets of condensation from the hardened soil above dripping into a soggy bed beneath their bodies. Their arms were tied to rusted rings hanging from the wall by a thick rope. Gaunt and frightened, they crowded into each other, staring their deaths in the face as the Mares devoured the less fortunate.

Those from lower Sites always seemed to be the ones in harm's way. The ones who were apt to sacrifice—the disposables. As he peered from behind the rocky wall, Winfrey's mind wandered to Leah again. He thought of how easily this could be her. He thought about how it could have already been her captured and torn apart in a feeding that took place before this one, and his stomach knotted in on itself.

Everything I heard was true.

As he watched the bodies of innocent people inhaled into the ravenous guts of the Mares in front of them, Winfrey could not keep his gag reflex in check, and his retching resounded throughout the unfortunately acoustic room.

Out of anger—desperation—Winfrey lurched forward from the behind the mound of dirt with a gallant cry, ignoring the fact that his manifestation was most useful in defensive situations.

His sudden movement shocked everyone around him into action. The Mares dropped the disintegrating corpses to the ground, heads swiveling toward Winfrey.

One mare jolted forward, a fledgling spark oscillating between the arcs of his fingers. He swiped at the side of Winfrey's face, narrowly missing. Winfrey grabbed his arm, bending it back until his fingers come in contact with the gravemark under his shirt.

It glowed to life, absorbing each pulse of static until Winfrey reached his limit. He tossed the Mare aside, sure to be facing him. A violent buzz radiated from the depths of Winfrey's gut, and with a flex of his muscles, a static wave burst through the air. The Mare veered away, but the blast clung to the edge of his shirt—traveling through the nest of his nervous system. The Mare fumbled to the ground, twitching and spasming beneath the amplified effects of his own power.

As Winfrey dug through his pocket for the vial of dust to replenish his energy and prepare to fire the finishing blow—a cold pair of hands clasped around his ears from behind—locking his head into place. Winfrey struggled in the foreign grip, trying to turn to deliver another blast, but a strange vibration filtered into his ears—into his brain. His eyes drooped.