Deathless

Chapter 41: Millie

My arm is aching, and shooting pain slices across my shoulders. One harsh tug will pull it out of its socket. The Death Warden continues to walk at a blistering pace, pulling me roughly beside him. It doesn't stop me struggling, doesn't stop me trying to yank my arm free.

"Let me go!" I yell as we head towards an arched black door at the end of a grand hallway. Gothic details make up the matte black walls, those silvery cracks flickering against the darkness. The sight makes my heart speed. What I'd done was beyond stupid, but if it gave Jackson a little more time, it was worth it. Plus, right now, I was so confused and angry about how I felt about him, about everything. I was almost pleased to be parted from him. Almost.

I didn't know where I was going. A few scrambled conversations between the Death Warden and a nameless voice on the radio had told me nothing. Everything I'd seen so far told me this door could be anything. A gateway to hell or a backdoor to Buckingham Palace for all I knew.

The Death Warden grabs the coiled gold handle, opening the door before I can make out what's inside and shoves me in. I land face down in a patch of dirt. The door slams shut behind me before I can find the words to scream at them. I feel grass tickling my face, mud clinging to my cheek as I pull myself up onto all fours. Coughing, I spit some dried dirt from my throat and peer around. Inhaling the scent of grass, and the fresh smells of early morning in the countryside is a welcome change from the cloying scent of smoke and explosives. The fields go on for miles, hazy with a silver fog drenching the skyline, painting dew across the grass, but in front is the familiar shape of Stonehenge. The rising sun, glowing dimly behind, bathing it in shadows. I look behind me to find that the door has disappeared.

Groaning, I stand, dusting myself off as I walk towards the ancient monument. There's a chill in the air, and a stillness that feels oppressive. Silence surrounds me, which is weird. On the news, people were swarming places like this, places with spiritual connections, praying for death to return or thanking whatever god they believed in for the miracle.

There was something about this place that was just... off.

When I reach the stones, my mouth drops when I take in their size. They're over double my height, and in the early morning light, they seem to glow like mercury. I'm not sure why it surprises me, but it does. I walk closer to touch a stone and let my fingers feel the rough surface, maybe expecting to sense some link to history. Or even just a distraction from the wailing thoughts telling me I needed an escape plan. What I wanted was a moment to exhale.

"They're not real."

A faint American accent drawls. I turn and on the stone opposite, leaning against it, sits a woman. Her legs stretched out, a pencil skirt pulled up to her thighs. Her blonde hair in messy victory rolls, a mass of colourful tattoos covering her skin.

"So we're not at Stonehenge? This is all... fake?"

"Yup". She chuckles, sounding bitter.

"Then where the hell are we?"

She yawns like she's bored and stretches her arms casually above her head.

"We're in the basement, still in Scythe. This room adapts to become a different wonder of the world. I'm not sure why, I guess I'm not important enough to know. Not anymore anyway. Not since I've been forcibly demoted and imprisoned." With a groan, she stands up and takes a few clumsy steps forwards, like she'd forgotten she was wearing heels. Now closer, I can see her cat's eye make-up is smudged, her lipstick is bleeding into the lines around her mouth. She looks exhausted. "So you're the infamous Millie?" She says as if this amuses her. There's almost a drunken slur to her voice. "I know all about you."

"I guess that makes you Jeanette. That's a nice collection of firearms you have hanging in your office." I add drily. "And you're Jackson's boss."

"As if Jackson ever pays attention to anyone, but yes, technically, I'm his boss. Where is he?"