Chapter 16: Chapter 16: Alone in Darkness
The sky was completely obscured by the storm clouds by the time Tara and her captors arrived at an encampment. She scrunched her nose, disgusted at the putrid smell of feces and unwashed bodies that filled the air. Still, the fear was enough to prevent her from gagging or making any other noise.
"What have you got there?" A muscly man approached from the most grand looking tent. Unlike the others who surrounded her, this one lacked any facial hair.
"A spy, maybe?" the swordsman replied, "She spoke a dialect that none of us could understand."
Tara raised an eyebrow. His words were shaky, almost as though two voices were speaking in tandem. She could only guess that Mikey had improved its understanding of the language.
The newcomer took one look at her before turning his attention back to the swordsman. "You sure your men weren't craving the touch of a woman? I mean, look at her. How can you tell me, without a doubt, that she had malicious intent?"
"She was hiding behind a fallen tree whispering nonsense. Sure seems suspicious to me. We'll let her go if it turns out we've made a mistake."
The beardless man answered with a mouthful of gibberish — from Tara's perspective — then turned away. Without another word, the swordsman and one subordinate led her to another tent nearby.
Inside of it were supplies including food and weaponry. At its center was a green, layered wood pole, identical to the ones she had seen on their trek over. The man holding the end of her rope pulled her over to it, then tied it firmly to its base.
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of ya," he whispered into her ear. Tara shrunk away, repulsed by his rancid breath. The man responded by glaring down at her with menacing eyes, which seemed to glow red in the dim light.
"Hmph." He turned away and followed his superior.
"Bleh," she gagged the moment the man was out of earshot, "Whatever the hell am I going to do now?"
The AI answered through her conscience. "I'll need time to—"
"Oh can it, would ya? You need time to do everything. Is there any way you can do it faster?"
"Apologies, princess, but my CPU can only handle such much processing at a time."
Tara let out a sigh. She hadn't the slightest idea what Mikey meant when it used such mysterious jargon, nor did she care to find out. At that point, her only concern was making it to her comrades alive.
Silhouettes of dozens of soldiers moved about outside her tent. Some talked amongst themselves, while others carried around what appeared to be weaponry. Their voices were mostly jumbled together, but a few were discernible.
"Did you see...prisoner?"
"She's almost as...as the...herself!"
"...how would you know...looks like?"
The rain pattered on the roof of the tent as thunder rumbled overhead. Tara felt her eyes begin to close. Realizing what her captors likely had in store for her, however, she forced herself to stay awake. She continuously tapped her feet on the cold dirt in hopes that the physical movement would keep her awake for the rest of the night.
~
The tent flaps whooshed open. Tara woke up with a start. All around, the morning sunlight illuminated her surroundings, including the clean cut man from the day before. In his hand he held a bowl of a white gruel.
'Damn it,' Tara thought to herself as she rose up slowly. Thankfully, it seemed no harm had come to her while she slept.
She turned to look at the man in the eyes but said nothing. Indifferent, he set the bowl down and muttered to himself.
"Poor girl. With a face as pretty as that, there's no way she'll make it out of here unscathed."
He then turned away, still mumbling as he exited the tent.
"He must be nuts if he thinks I'll buy that poor excuse of a story. That damn Zhao."
'Zhao?' Tara furrowed her brows. Such a word was unfamiliar.
"According to my findings," said Mikey, cutting in, "'Zhao' is the name of your captor — the long-haired gentlemen wielding a blade."
"Good to know that I have a name to match the face," she whispered half-heartedly. Knowing his name didn't help to relieve the trauma. The memory of his menacing figure as he stood over her, ready to slice open her neck, was still fresh in her mind.
Tara instinctually stood up, only to be yanked back down by the taut rope that bound her forearms together behind her back. She fell backward, her head hitting the pole that held up the tent.
"Ah—"
She seethed in pain. The area that had taken the brunt of the impact throbbed. The pole vibrated but thankfully didn't give way.
Outside, the ambient voices became alarmed.
"What's going on in there?" one shouted. A myriad of footsteps quickly followed. Once more, the tent's flap flew open, this time revealing a group of men.
Tara lay in the same place, slightly dazed from the impact to the back of her head, but more so over being jolted back unexpectedly.
Zhao — among the few able to fit in the entryway — stepped forward. He kneeled down and gently lifted her upper body off the ground to inspect for any injuries.
"Fairly obvious that she's tryin' to escape," one soldier remarked from among the crowd. Many others murmured in agreement.
"We can't rule out the possibility," replied Zhao, placing her back down. "But it seems to me that she was just trying to stretch her legs. No harm in that."
Without waiting for approval, he untied the end of the rope bound to the pole and redid the knot such that it coiled around a lesser number of times. Tara gazed up at him, confused. Zhao looked back at her with a slight smile before turning to address his men.
"Anyone have a problem with this?"
No one answered, though a few made their contempt clear through scowls.
"Good. Then get back to work! We'll be moving out first thing tomorrow!"
The men quickly obeyed. Zhao took one last glance at her before following suit. Just before exiting the tent, he chuckled. "I don't know if you can understand me. But if you can, just know that I won't do anything more to harm you. It's just that there's something—"
He quickly cut himself off.
"Nevermind. At best you can understand bits and pieces."
Tara didn't answer. She only watched as Zhao promptly returned to his duties. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.
All alone once more, she sat in silence, deliberating over her next course of action.
~
Night fell before she knew it. The chattering outside continued for most of the day, but by now had turned into loud, slurred wails and chants.
"Are they...intoxicated?" Tara pondered, "To think that substance abuse would be a problem even here."
One of the men ran by screaming. His comrades laughed. Tara then heard a body fall to the ground and saw a hand appear beneath the flaps.
For a few moments, the fallen soldier didn't budge, though a few whispering voices egged him on.
"Little slut's right in there..." one snickered.
The words rang clearly through Tara's ears. It seemed that Mikey had honed its understanding of the language — slurs and all. Still, she was taken aback by the crude language used to describe her. As much as she wanted to retaliate, she knew better than to draw unneeded attention.
The men continued their incessant ramblings. Tara sat in a close-legged position, prepared for the inevitable struggle. Shuffling noises came from just outside the tent and were followed by the groans of an individual far past his physical prime.
Tara watched helplessly as a disheveled man sporting twisted robes stumbled into view. A contorted sneer was plastered across his face.
"Heya gorgeous," he babbled, "you gon be ma lover tonight."
The drunkard's gaze wandered aimlessly as he uttered those words. Unwilling to go down without a fight, Tara faced him defiantly.
"Don't you dare touch me!" she hissed. It was at that moment, as she caught a glimpse of the assailant's beating red eyes, that she recognized him as the foul-breathed man from the night before.
He reached down, clasping her thighs while licking his lips disconcertingly. Tara held her breath. The drunkard then attempted to pry her legs open.
"Jus accept it, ya worthless whore," he seethed. He paused briefly, then continued with a mellow tone. "Come on, please? I'll make ya feel good."
Tara's instincts howled at her to push him away. But much to her misfortune, the rope that bound her to the pole denied her the ability to do so. Fatigue soon began to set in. The drunkard's smile widened as Tara's legs began to buckle.
He leaned in, ready to claim his prize, when Tara jerked out of his grasp.
"Oh no you don't!" Using the drunkard as a springboard on one foot, Tara spun onto her stomach while simultaneously interlocking her legs with the man's neck caught in between. He attempted to pull away, but quickly realized the predicament in which he had landed.
"Come on…" She squeezed even harder in hopes that he'd go down quietly. Instead, the struggle continued, with Tara wincing as the drunkard dug his nails into her left thigh and thrashed around violently. His pained grunts quickly drew the attention of his comrades.
Three more men rushed in. Two of them halted in their tracks, shocked over what was transpiring. The last one picked up a wooden box and chucked it at Tara.
Reacting quickly, she hoisted her legs up, using the drunkard as a shield against the projectile. He screeched out in agony as it broke into a thousand pieces on his face.
The new attacker bared his teeth. He hadn't expected such a fight from a mere woman. Knowing he had the higher vantage point, however, the now enraged man charged forward. He stomped down with the intention of crushing the rebellious girl.
Tara barely dodged the potentially fatal blows. His poor excuse of a friend had fallen unconscious — foam pulsated from the corners of the drunkard's lips. This frustrated the attacker even more. He reached out, grabbing her by the strap of her garments, and yanked her in.
"Damn bitch! Just who the hell do you think you are? You need to learn your fu—"
The princess, completely unfazed by the rant, quickly released the first assailant and delivered a swift kick to the second's nether region. His eyes appeared to nearly pop out as he let out an ear-piercing squeal.
With the last of her energy, she kipped up from a lying position and knocked him away. A dirt imprint of her heels was left on the clothing covering his solar plexus. Before she could land on her feet, the rope yanked her back. Tara fell hard onto her back, exhausted.
Blood continued to seep from the wound on her thigh. The air was now completely silent, for no more voices sounded from outside. Though Tara hadn't the energy to turn her head, she could tell that the cowardly pair from before had fled.
"Thank goodness. Could've been a lot worse," she panted to herself. The AI didn't respond.
"Mikey?"
Still no answer. Instead, a light-based projection in the space before her. In bright red, blocky letters, it said "Jolt to head sustained. AI malfunction. Sending error report to administrator…"
A few moments passed.
"Connection failed. Will now attempt self repair…"
As though on que, a sudden headache caused Tara to writhe in pain. She wiggled around in hopes of finding a position that would offer some sort of relief. But now matter where she turned, the ache only became worse and worse.
"This hurts. This really, really hurts—"
"What hurts?" a familiar voice boomed. A foreboding silhouette stood over Tara. Stunned, she narrowed her eyes.
"Zhao?"
Somehow, even without the aid of her AI, the two of them were able to communicate. His voice didn't echo as it had before either.
Zhao kneeled down. With a look of shock on his face, he asked a question which Tara couldn't even fully answer herself.
"Just who are you?"
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