The wind cut against his face, bitterly cold and constant. With each breath he felt the cold invade his lungs, splash against the heat his core created and come out as a cloud of hot vapors. His legs hit that rhythm easily. His feet were pounding the gravel as consistently as a metronome.
It had been one week since his Retribution Match and though he had been able to return to simple everyday physical tasks, his doctor refused to allow him to push himself to exercise until today. He had been cleared to “take a slow walk” around the pond, but his body was literally aching to get stretched and used.
Despite doctor’s orders, today he was determined to get out on the path and run at least one mile. That should be completely doable. Before the stabbing, running twelve miles in under an hour was no big deal at all. So, though he was still sporting a few dozen stitches internal and external, one mile should be fine. Besides, he was about to go crazy cooped up in that hospital room; today, he was getting some fresh air.
With temperatures hovering in the teens, most of the trail’s usual occupants had opted for warmer, indoor exercise instead. He ignored the handful of cadets he did see and chose instead to pull his hoodie up, obscuring their view of him. Never one to feel comfortable in the spotlight, the last thing Creed wanted was attention.
Lost in his own thoughts, Creed didn’t notice right away that there was someone running close behind him. Once he did realize it, he studied the sound of the gravel crunching under the other runner’s feet and decided it must be a female meta. Ordinarily, he would have picked up his pace to pull further away from her, but he knew he was already over doing it physically, so he opted to slow down to let her pass him.
She didn’t.
She matched his stride and ran right beside him; their feet making unison crunching sounds into the path. Frustrated with the intrusion, Creed stopped running all together. He leaned over, and forced himself to breathe slow, deep breaths—not from over exertion, but because he had just felt the skin on his side pop open. Instinctively, he covered it with his hand.
Shit.
The other runner stopped and watched him for a moment. “You okay?” He heard her say.
“Fine. Great. I just don’t need an audience.” Creed was talking through his clenched teeth a little afraid to look at the damage he was pretty sure he’d done to himself.
Ignoring that last statement, the girl kept talking, “I think you over did it.”
Creed spun around to silence the annoying meta when he realized who she was. “Oh, it’s you.”
Farrow smiled beautifully and said, “Nice to see you too, Creed Young.”
“Are you following me?” Creed asked, more to change the subject than anything.
“I’m following orders,” she said flatly. “Dr. Williams wanted me to see if you were fit for duty and judging by the blood on your shirt, I’m thinking, not.”
“I just popped a couple stitches. No big deal.” Creed tried to say casually. Inside he was fuming with embarrassment.
“I think it’s a big deal, especially since we’re going to be partners. I don’t want to have to carry your weight.” She parked her hands on her hips and glowered at his nonchalance.
“Wait, what? Hold on. Did you say ‘partners’?”
“Dr. Williams wants us to travel to the Americas, locate Dr. Winter, terminate her and retrieve the assets—you know, the assignment you agreed to?”
“So soon?”
“He’s not known to be a patient man.”
“Right. Okay, let me just get this taken care of back at the hospital. When does he want us to leave?” Creed asked worried this was happening too fast and that he hadn’t had time to process everything.
“I’ll contact you tomorrow morning with specifics, but just in case, be ready to leave before lunch.” She looked again at the large blood red stain on the hoodie Creed was holding protectively and shook her head.
“You’d better not screw this up, Creed Young. I have a perfect record with Dr. Williams, and I’m not going to allow you to ruin my career with your macho-bullshit.” She turned and ran back down the trail toward headquarters.
“Oh, no. Of course not, your highness. I wouldn’t dare do anything to soil your pristine reputation as an ass-kisser!” Creed mumbled the thoughts to himself.
“Oh, hey, and don’t worry about me. You go on back to Daddy Williams. I have several other pints of blood I could lose before I pass out right here in the dirt,” he continued.
Truth be told, he wasn’t mad at Farrow. He was disgusted with himself for being Dr. Williams’ henchmen. No matter how he tried, he hated knowing he had sold his soul to that devil, but he couldn’t back out of it now. Morality had a new name and it was Justifiable.
With nowhere else to go, Creed limped slowly back toward the yellow lights of the medical building.
So much for doing the right thing, he sighed to himself.
Damn it.
Part 2
Winters in Kansas