Part the Two Hundred Sixty First Ninth: Hope’s Surrender
Hate.
Hope felt it burn inside her as she stared at de Colera. He was astride Abigail, the pistol in his hand, whiffs of smoke rising from both the flint lock and barrel.
Hate.
It swelled as she sawAbigail’s pain writhing across her face. Spurts of her blood dribbled on her face from the wound just to the side of her neck near her left shoulder, the powder burn on her chemise like the cone of a volcano.
Hate.
It made her flesh sizzle, threatening to drip off her bones like the wax on the candles back in the flaming chapel where the map was burning.
Hate.
It made her skin taut like a mainsail with a full headwind filling her. She could feel her feet move under her like the deck of a ship hurtling afore a storm.
Hate.
It steadied her when the second rapport peeled, an explosion over the heads of pirates and Spaniards alike, married to bright flash that drew all other eyes over head.
Hate.
It kept her focused as two of the Spaniards surrounding her crew fell. Before the sudden blast of light died, she caught sight of Mason behind his victim, drawing his knife across the man’s throat.
Hate.
It made her think faster than her captors and their prey.
Hate.
It made her grab in one quick motion the hilt of the sword she’d been carrying since they freed Abigail and come to her feet.
Hate.
It made her steady the blade as she guided it into de Colera’s stomach and turned it to head up into his ribcage…
Hate.
It spewed from her lips, a cry, more like a growl, as she shoved harder, pushing the blade up through his lungs, trying to go for the bottom of his heart…
Hate.
It kept her pushing steadily on despite the second bombast over their heads, another explosion that took everyone else by surprise…
Hate.
It twisted her face so much as she skewered de Colera that she watched two Spaniards point at her with fear before they were taken down from behind with slit throats and stabs in their backs…
Hate.
It allowed her to stay steady when de Colera opened his mouth for the first and last time, and the only thing to emerge was dark red blood that he coughed up in clots…
Hate.
It froze her in place until her victim collapsed at her feet.
Hate.
She did not like this hate, what it did to her, what it made her, how it changed her.
Despite what she could finally do with it when she grasped and pulled it inside her…
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James Ryan 