Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves by Richard M. Heredia Read Free Book Online

utensils! How weird is that? she
thought, quaking anew at the thought of the unbearable creature
that had taken her from her family. She shook the thoughts away,
reaching for the disposable implements. She broke the rubber band
binding them together. She scooted back toward the bundle, knife at
the ready. Which one do I cut
first…?
    The one by her head, you
idiot!
    She edged toward the end
where the girls’ weeping was the loudest, putting the semi-sharp
knife to the tape. She pinched up one of the sides so she would
begin to cut along its’ width. This was the easiest way to slice
through the ultra-strong, waterproof adhesive. It took a few hard
back and forth motions, but once the knife caught it made a deep
enough divide, enabling her the grab a hold on either side. She
tugged with all her strength, hearing a satisfying tearing sound
and the tape came apart.
    At once, the tension about
the textile released and within seconds Marissa had the girls’ head
free of the fabric. Only it was not a girl. It was teenager. A
petite, half-Caucasian and half-Chinese girl with a face streaked
with dirty tears. Her dyed-blonde hair was stuck fast to her scalp.
She had been sweating ample amounts within the confines of the
blanket (if that’s what it was).
    She turned her head to
look at Marissa, her eyes wild with fright. “Oh, thank god for you,
little girl. Oh, thank god!”
    The nine-year-old smiled,
tired far beyond her age. “Let me cut the other two bonds, so we
can get you the heck out of there.”
    As Marissa went to work,
all she could hear was, “Thank god for you. Thank god for you,”
over and over. It took the younger girl some time to realize the
older girl was not praising her. She had been praying for quite
some time. It might not have sound like one, but Marissa knew it
was one all the same.
    The instant the
nine-year-old had parted the third and final bindings, those about
her feet. The teenager burst from the blankets, swiping at her
clothing. Turning in a counter-clockwise manner, she bounced on the
tips of her toes. It was like there were a thousand ants riddling
her body.
    She wore skinny
blue-jeans, a light brown, long-sleeved, form-fitting sweater. She
had on a pair of chestnut-colored flats that grated against the
age-old surface of the ground. The noise was more than a little
annoying, and the fact the older girl was squealing like a stuck
pig the entire time did not help either.
    She looked about fifteen
years old, and weighed no more than ninety-five pounds. She had
hazel eyes and a narrow face with prominent cheeks in the middle of
delicate features. Her hair, as Marissa had assumed, she dyed. It
was bright yellow-blonde, but there were varying shades of light
brown the closer the strands got to her follicles. Marissa could
tell she had not dyed her hair in a long time, and was instead
letting it grow out, revealing it’s natural color over
time.
    Marissa had watched with a
bemused expression on her face, the first mien devoid of fear or
anxiety she’d had in a quite a while.
    When the older girl
finally stopped, she looked over at the smaller female for no more
than a second before she rushed forward. She engulfed her in a
tight embrace. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! You don’t know how
grateful I am. Thank you…” She trailed off, swinging Marissa to and
fro for a few more heartbeats. In was evident, her emotions were
getting the best of her.
    The nine-year-old endured
the outburst of gratitude, her arms pinned at her sides beneath the
near-crushing grip.
    The older girl came away.
“My name is Christine. Christine Sturge. What’s yours?”
    “ M-Marissa Avalon,” she
said, hushed, peering up at the teenager through her thin
eyebrows.
    She leaned in and gave her
another hug, much lighter than before. “Nice to meet
you.”
    The nine-year-old
nodded.
    “ Although, it would be
nice if the circumstances were a bit different. Don’t you think?”
she added, scrutinizing their surroundings