Killing for Manhood
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 4
Thomas woke stiff and aching, his body pressed into the cave wall where sleep had taken him in pieces. Anna lay where he had settled her, pale and quiet, her breaths shallow but steady. When she opened her eyes and saw him, something like dread passed across her face—then resignation.
“You’re still here,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he answered. Then, after a pause, “But not long.”
He brought her water and dried meat. She ate little, nausea turning her face away, but she drank because he asked her to. He watched her left leg as she shifted, hoping again—against sense—for movement. There was none.
Later, when the sun had climbed enough to warm the rocks, he spoke.
“Your place,” he said carefully. “Village. White people. Man there—doctor, maybe. Or preacher. He help.”
Her eyes sharpened. “You’re taking me there?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
Thomas did not answer at first. He began gathering his things instead—bow, quiver, water skin. The truth pressed against him, heavy and unavoidable.
“And then you’ll leave,” she said.
He nodded once.
“If I stay, they hunt me,” he said. “If my people see me, they kill you. Or me. Maybe both.” His voice cracked despite himself. “If I leave you there, you live.”
She closed her eyes.
When she spoke again, her voice was steadier than he expected. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “You should be.”
He did not argue.
The journey took the rest of the day.
He made a litter from branches and his own clothing, tied tight with cord, and carried her when the ground grew rough. When the path widened, he dragged it instead, stopping often to rest. Each time he lifted her, she gasped softly, pain flaring despite her still leg.
“I’m sorry,” he said every time.
She stopped answering him.
By afternoon, they saw the village—low buildings, smoke, the sound of voices drifting faintly across the land. Civilization, fragile and loud against the quiet desert.
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