Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Drake nods.
“The lake is so abundant, in fact, that we don’t need to raise land animals to meet our nutritional needs, although we do keep some domesticated animals for milk, butter, and the like. But otherwise, we’re pescatarians, is what I believe you mainlanders call it.”
“Pescatarians,” I say slowly, watching my footing on the trail. “I like it. And what did you call me again? A mainlander?”
“Yeah,” Drake drawls. “You are from the mainland, aren’t you? I don’t see my double anatomy peeking out from your shorts, despite their flatteringly-short length.”
I giggle despite myself.
“This is how women’s hiking shorts are always cut! They don’t make them super-long the way they do men’s. But yeah, I guess I am a mainlander,” I concur. “From Minnesota, to be precise.”
“Ah, the Land of 10,000 Lakes,” Drake comments. “Also very beautiful.”
I blush. Is he hinting that I’m beautiful in some roundabout way? But I shake my head. Can’t be.
“It is gorgeous in Minnesota, depending on the time of year. Even in the dead of winter, the snowy banks and drifting snowflakes make for an idyllic landscape. But you’re from the Land of 10,000 Lakes too,” I point out. “Because this island is a part of Minnesota territory. Or do you consider yourselves independent of the state? Kind of how like in Copenhagen, there’s the Free Town of Christiana? Although I don’t think they’re legally separate from Copenhagen. I think they just consider themselves to be independent, which is what you could do too.”
Drake snorts.
“We’re independent,” he drawls. “Yes, like free city.”
“So?” I probe. “If this is a free city, then who’s your leader? Where are we going?”
“You mean, who’s going to wield the knife when you’re sacrificed?” he asks in a dry tone. “Who’s going to bleed you out, spilling virgin blood onto the altar?”
“Surely you wouldn’t use a knife,” I jest. “We’re beyond that, right? A good hanging would be appreciated, or lethal injection is an option too. Maybe a firing squad even.”
“Or a gas chamber,” Drake remarks. “That could work as well. Although we’re on an island, so we may not have the right facilities to make sure gas doesn’t escape the shower stall and poison us all.”
I shiver.
“The Holocaust was scary,” I say in a quiet voice. “Even I wouldn’t joke about that.”
The huge man is immediately repentant, his expression going somber even if his strides don’t slow.
“I agree,” he says in a low voice. “I’m sorry for making that comment about the gas chamber shower stalls. It was unnecessary, and not funny at all.”
I take a deep breath and nod, staring at my sneakers as we walk, appreciating his immediate apology. Drake’s different from what I thought, actually. At first, I believed him to be a huge hunk of beefcake, which he is. He’s tall, bronzed, and heavily muscled from the physical act of fishing for hours every day. But he’s also articulate and well-versed, with a nuanced understanding of historical events. Even better, his judgment is solid. He wasn’t offended when I shut him down when it came to the Holocaust, and I’m glad we see eye to eye on the importance of respect for such a terrible event in human history.
Still, he’s shepherding me to the site of my sacrificial ceremony, and I want to get to the bottom of that. So I shoot him some side-eye and continue to probe.
“Any pointers on what to expect?” I ask dryly. “Or should I get on my knees and beg for mercy as soon as we arrive?”
Drake shoots me a grin, white teeth flashing in the late afternoon light.
“You’ll know when we get there,” he remarks in an off-hand manner. “It’ll be a good time for all. Especially for the men who will observe.”
“You mean because of the gore?” I ask drily. “By the way, I should add that I’m not a virgin so your hopes of conducting a virgin sacrifice aren’t going to come true. I know a lot of these types of ceremonies call for young virgins who’ve never touched a man’s privates, but we’re way past that when it comes to me. Sorry to disappoint you guys.”
Drake throws his head back and laughs, revealing a dimple on his cheek. I have the oddest urge to press my lips against it, but hold myself in check. This isn’t the time to develop affection for my captor.
“No, we don’t need a virgin,” he answers in a wry tone while shooting me a sideways look. “In fact, I think an experienced woman would be best, seeing what’s going to happen.”
I stop and stare at him.
“Wait, what? I thought I was going to be put to death.”
But Drake just shrugs.
“You will, in a manner of speaking. A little death. Or maybe two little deaths, to be precise.”
I’m stunned and have no idea what to say. What in the world is he talking about? I was envisioning a ceremony where I’m bound, gagged, a chained to an altar, my nude form unable to move. Then, they’ll stick a hood over my head before slitting my femoral artery, leaving me to bleed out while they chant sacred hymns to a pagan god. But that’s a real death, and not some facsimile. So what in the world is he talking about?