Read Patrick for Free Online

young girl was sitting—knees to chin, arms wrapped around her legs, hugging herself, rocking back and forth, whimpering in her misery. Her eyes were closed, and tears glistened on her thin, dirty face.
    â€œWho are you?” I croaked. The voice which issued from my mouth was as dry and feeble as an old man’s, but the girl opened her eyes and gazed at me.
    â€œI thought you dead,” she said after a moment.
    â€œNot yet,” I gasped.
    She regarded me with an expression that said she was far from persuaded.
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œThey killed my mother,” the girl replied, her lips quivering. She sniffed back the tears. “They came for us at night. I don’t know what happened to my father.”
    â€œWhere are we?” I asked again, raising my voice slightly. Even that sent spasms of pain spinning though my head. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
    â€œAre you injured?” asked the girl.
    â€œMy head hurts,” I replied between breaths. When the pain subsided, I opened my eyes and said, “What is your name?”
    â€œDrusilla,”
    â€œDo you know where we are?”
    She shook her head slowly. The entire side of her face was a mass of purple-black bruises; her hair was matted with dried blood, her slender arms streaked with soot and dirt.
    I looked beyond her to some of the other survivors farther along the beach. I made to call to them, but the pain in my head began as soon as I raised my voice, so I desisted until I could make myself heard without setting the waves of agony thundering through my poor battered skull.
    Carefully, I turned and looked back up the rising slope to the top of the cliff, then along the strand to the right and left.The coast seemed vaguely familiar. I guessed we were no great distance from Bannavem. The enemy seemed to have gone, and I thought that if I could get to my feet and gain the clifftop, I might yet reach home.
    â€œDrusilla,” I said, “I’m going to climb up to the road. I need you to help me.”
    She looked at me sadly and shook her head again. The resignation in her expression angered me.
    â€œWhy not?” I demanded. “We have to try at least.”
    Without a word she stretched out one leg to reveal an iron shackle tight around her skinny ankle. Glancing quickly down at my own feet, I saw that I was shackled, too. Cold, hard drops of sweat stood out on my throbbing temples as I beheld the iron rings and chain.
    I grabbed at the chain with my hand and loosed a strangled cry of rage and frustration. Captive! The word beat in the pulse of my broken head. Captive! I had been taken prisoner. My vision dissolved in tears of helplessness, humiliation, and defeat.
    After a moment I swallowed my distress, drew a deep breath, and turned to the young girl once more. “Listen,” I said, “we can do this if we help each other.” I rolled onto my knees and held out my hand. “Here. Take hold of me.”
    She crawled to where I was kneeling, took my hand, and allowed me to help her to her feet, whereupon she took my elbow and held me up while I tried to stand. The movement brought a rush of nausea, and my stomach heaved, but there was nothing to vomit save the bile which burned my throat. I stood bent double until the rippling ceased, then wiped my mouth with my sleeve, put my arm around Drusilla’s bony shoulder, and we started forth one painful step at a time—like blind beggars hobbling uncertainly over alien ground.
    I coaxed Drusilla along much as I would a skittery colt: soothing her with reassurances, telling her she was doing well and that we would soon be free once more. Together we crept to the foot of the cliff; here the ground was covered with shattered slate, fallen from the rocky cliffs above toform mounded heaps. The flat rock tilted and slipped beneath our feet like smashed tiles, and we fell; I struck my knee on a sharp edge, and the impact set the pain