Read The End of the Fantasy (Book #6 of the Sage Saga) Online
Authors: Julius St. Clair
The End of the Fantasy (Book #6 of the Sage Saga) (24 page)
Alex spat the words at her so fast and with such rage behind them that they hurt Samantha more than any fist could.
She would have preferred it if her daughter had hit her actually. At least then it would turn into a wrestle of wills, but she didn’t know what to say now.
Perhaps she should have said
something
, but what could make it better? She was not one for words and she had long forgotten social etiquette and how to express her feelings. To fight the dead, she became just like them, knowing that dwelling on the past, what they lost, and how little they gained since the outbreak…it would destroy her from the inside out.
She watched her daughter powerwalk away angrily back to the cabin as she slapped her hand against the trees and kicked her feet through tiny mounds of snow. She was screaming on the inside and her fists were clenched tight but Samantha had no mind to address it.
She would get over it.
She would have to.
The world was already deadly for adults.
It was time for her to grow up.
There was certainly no place left for children.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder:
HERE
They walked toward their cabin with only the howling winds in their ears.
Neither one said a word as Alex reached up and poked at one of the chunks caught in her hair. Disgusted, she picked it out with her thumb and index finger just as Samantha spun around to face her.
“When were you going to tell me?” she asked and Alex stammered to find an answer.
“Tell you what?” she mumbled, still collecting her thoughts.
“I knew from the moment it happened, but I was waiting to see if you would be honest with me. Some of the infected is in your hair.”
“If you knew the whole time, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I already told you why. What other reason would it be?”
“I was wondering if you even cared about what happens to me.”
Samantha turned to face her daughter. Alex was surprised to see her countenance full of concern and remorse. She took a mental picture, trying to store it within the vault of her mind.
Samantha blinked rapidly as she took a breath and said,
“If you do, you never show it,” Alex replied.
Her body was rigid and it wasn’t because of the cold. She had poured out her heart to her mother before, but it was usually ignored or cast aside for a later time. For Samantha, feelings were a luxury, and sign of too much leisure time. There was only the preparation. There was only the Stricken. It was like they mattered to her more than her own daughter.
“I show it,” Samantha stated, but even the words sounded stale and forced.
“Not once,” Alex said, confident in her memories. “You tell me I’m wrong.”
Alex took a step to the side, as if her body was about to run away on its own
, but she fought the urge. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mother to embrace her. It was a distant hug. The kind one received from a family member of the opposite sex. But at least she was trying. Samantha broke the embrace and stared up at her daughter’s hair.
“I’m sorry I ripped out your hair…let us go home and wash it. It’s dirty.”
Alex nodded, still in a daze over her mother’s affection and apology. As she walked back home, she barely even noticed the forest coming to life. A deer pranced away in the distance. The squirrels searched the holes in the trees for sustenance and a couple of birds flew past, scanning the area for a new home.
When they arrived at the cabin, Alex was about to stomp the snow off her feet when her mother reached out and
“Let’s take care of your hair now. That can wait,” she said
, and Alex was cast further into her dream state. Who was this woman? Samantha motioned for Alex to have a seat at the table and she obeyed, as her mother shifted around their three room cabin, grabbing the necessary supplies for a proper washing: the half-rusted aluminum basin, a bucket of water, a throwaway rag, a second basin for rinsing, and a bar of goat milk soap courtesy of Daisy, rest her soul.
“Sit farther,” Samantha whispered and Alex scooted the chair away from the table. Immediately, her mother began scrubbing her hair vigorously with the soap and rag, and picking out the chunks of the Stricken by hand. Even through a simple hair washing, Alex could feel how strong her mother was.
“Will I ever be as strong as you?” she found herself asking. Samantha stopped scrubbing for a moment, the soap sinking off of Alex’s crown.
Alex nodded as Samantha continued fixing her hair.
Samantha noticed that the atmosphere had changed and so she tried to explain further.
“No worries, Alex,” she said. “When I was your age, I made many mistakes. The only reason I am the best is because I never gave up. It isn’t wrong to wish you had my strength, but you have to remember that you’re still a child.”
“How long will it be until I’m not a child anymore?” Alex asked quietly, fidgeting in the chair. Her mother caressed her hair gently. “When I was a child, I had to grow up quickly to survive. You are in a better situation. You can still laugh and play.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t become as good as you,” Alex said. Samantha began parting the strands of Alex’s hair, one by one.
“Then make a choice,” Samantha replied. “Stay a child and play, or take our training seriously and grow. Only you can decide.
“But remember this while you consider your options—out there in the wilderness…
children don’t last very long
.”
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder:
HERE
“No, I’m not,” Alex retorted.
“How could a hunter lose one of their most valuable weapons?”
“You mean the dagger?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not your best weapon,” Samantha said, pulling Alex’s hair back over the top of the chair so that she could begin rinsing it into the second basin. “Your mind is. And you are strong, Alexandra. How you handle the Stricken…no one besides me can kill them like you do.”
“Not today,” she said darkly, and Samantha pulled at her hair harder, making her daughter wince.
“If I died right now, I’m sure that you could provide for yourself.”
“I almost died today,” Alex muttered.
“You’re my daughter,” Samantha said
, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Alex closed her eyes at the slight pull on her scalp. With the warm water running down each strand, it felt like a tiny massage. Samantha smiled, allowing her a face a momentary reprieve, relaxing her muscles and watching Alex relax for once.
“And because you are my daughter,” Samantha continued. “It means that you are stronger than you think. Even if I hadn’t helped you today, you would have lived…I believe this.”
Alex sighed and became lost in her thoughts as Samantha’s face scrunched up once more. As her eyes lost their luster, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests—back to her childhood, when laughter was paramount. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the laughs to end. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped out.
Children don’t last long in this world,
Samantha thought bitterly.
Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder:
HERE
“If you hadn’t lost your dagger, you would have
…” Samantha stopped herself, realizing how fruitless her scolding was. She had just consoled Alex on the dagger incident, but now she was bringing it back up again, instead of leaving it in the past where it belonged.
She looked down at her daughter and saw that her eyes were closed, and she was sure that nothing short of a kind word or an apology would open them. But she just didn’t have it in her. The gates were closed but she didn’t have the key. She rarely had it.
Samantha lifted her head and continued washing Alex’s hair, but with far less vigor and care than before. As her hands went limp and the soap slowly coagulated, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests.
Back to her childhood, when laughter was a luxury and privilege. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped from them in the same location.
Children don’t last long in this world,
Samantha thought bitterly.
Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder:
HERE
“…and you could do a lot better,” Samantha said.
“If you had a second dagger, you could have easily handled the dead today.”
“Mm-hmm,” Alex said, resting her head on the back of the chair and allowing the soap and water to fall into the aluminum basin down below. Samantha wanted to say more, but she could already see that Alex had closed her eyes, blocking her voice out. Samantha scowled and continued washing her daughter’s hair, harder than before, but Alex showed no sign of pain.
She looked down at her daughter once more and saw that her eyes were still closed, and she was sure that nothing short of a kind word or an apology would open them. But she just didn’t have it in her. The gates were closed but she didn’t have the key. She rarely had it.
Samantha lifted her head and continued washing Alex’s hair, but with far less vigor and care than before. As her hands went limp and the soap slowly coagulated, memories of the past slid into her mind like unwanted guests.
Back to her childhood, when laughter was a luxury and privilege. Those with jolly, bouncing bellies usually had their guts ripped from them in the same location.
Children don’t last long in this world,
Samantha thought bitterly.
Not at all.
Samantha and Alex’s story continues in
Stricken
Now available for Preorder:
HERE
“It doesn’t seem like you care about me at all,” Alex’s voice cracked as she shook her shoulders.
Samantha shook her head slowly as she felt an ache in her heart.
Alex spun around violently and stormed away from her mother
, leaving her alone with the dead. Samantha followed after her daughter like a lost puppy, trying to maintain its master’s stride but unable to express itself in any way except that she wanted companionship.
Alex stormed into the cabin, kicked her boots off her feet—snow and all—and then began rummaging through the room, looking under tables and flipping over piles of dirty clothes. Samantha watched from the corner of her eye as she quietly stepped toward their iron stove. The three room cabin felt colder than usual today, and though the stove hadn’t worked since yesterday, she figured that one more try wouldn’t hurt.
A slide of a chair caught her attention and she cast both eyes to the center of the room.
Alex was sitting in one of their cedar chairs with her head bent low. She was furiously brushing her hair with a bar of goat milk soap, and pouring a pitcher of clean water onto her head and into the rusted aluminum basin at her feet.
She remembered to wash her hair
, Samantha thought proudly. Her daughter often forgot her instructions, but here was the fruit of her labor, front and center, manifesting itself before her very eyes.
She wanted to say how proud she was of her, but she could still see the sneer on Alex’s face. Samantha backed down, as she too often did when it came to emotions. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t fight for her relationship with her daughter. Fighting was not foreign to her. It was the fact that she had long forgotten what emotion was proper for which situation.
She was afraid of making it worse.
So instead of speaking, she decided to turn her attention back to the iron stove. Cold to the touch and as dark and empty as the pit in her stomach. She felt nauseous, and flashes of the Stricken ran through her mind. She shook her head violently, casting the images from her mind. She wanted to leave the dead where they belonged.
Outside in the snow.
And far away from her home.