by Dawn Husted
I closed the trunk and ran back around the front. James was unresponsive to his name.
The road we were on only left two options; we either go back or go forward. However, I had no idea what streets to take that would lead home—not even sure if that was the best place for us right now. The other option was to keep driving forward and hope James had a plan, and I would somehow drive straight into it. Maybe somebody was waiting for us?
But there was one vital problem—I had no idea how to drive.
I pushed James’ legs, scooting him as gently as possible over to the passenger side. The weight of his body made it easy to push carefully; he was too heavy for me to move any faster.
With the severed finger in my right hand, I gradually forced the tip onto the icy blue button and the car hummed to life again.
Now what?
I grabbed the translucent wheel and felt the car jump forward. Startled, I took my hands off the wheel, and the sound of the car halted. This time, I grabbed the wheel gentler and the car hummed to a gradual speed. I was careful not to press too forcibly on the wheel, which was harder to do than I thought. My natural response to tense situations led to me being tense all over and I wanted to grip the wheel with all of my strength—releasing some of my worry upon the animated object.
We weren’t driving at a fast rate, but nonetheless it was steady and constant—safe. My hair whipped me in the face from the wind flying through the doorless side.
After fifteen minutes, the road came to an end. A dirt path on my left appeared as a possible entrance leading somewhere. Also straight ahead of me was a dirt trail worn between overgrown foliage and it didn’t look to lead anywhere in particular, probably closer to the perimeter.
I had to make a decision. Left or straight. Right would take me nowhere except the perimeter, and there was no type of clearing for me to drive through; the right side was completely dense with thick trees and vines, and god knows what else.
I peered back to my left. Barely visible was a burgundy piece of material flowing back and fourth in the wind. The mini flag was attached to the end of a stick, poking a few feet taller than the ground.
I filled my lungs with a deep breath and turned left.
After a few more yards another piece of material, the same as before, flapped in the wind. However, this time they were on both sides of the dirt path. I drove carefully, following in between the marked flags guiding my path and counted fifty of them before…before seeing the first body.
He was lying in the middle of the road; I almost hit his distorted limbs. I dodged around him just in time, not hard with the rate of speed I was driving, and I knew for sure I didn’t need to check if he was dead or not. The body was mangled beyond repair. His flesh had been torn with large parts scraped from all over his naked, exposed skin. Vines covered him, but I hardly noticed them through the blood and the dark night. I continued driving along, fearfully scanning my eyes along the nasty skids trailing behind him. My headlights and eyes followed the path. The car suddenly jerked, my head heaved backwards, and my senses vanished then came back with a jolt of realization that my hands were gripping the wheel too tightly. I quickly released my fingers, but kept my hands in place. I had never seen a dead body. My grandparents died when I was young—old age. I’ve attended funerals, the few there were. Any families that had chosen execution were euthanized in the most humane way possible, without any onlookers, and then laid to rest prior to everyone paying their respects.
The left side of my brain, the more logical part of me, screamed TURN AROUND, and while I considered my options, I spotted a few more bodies lying near each other, lining both sides of the road. They weren’t torn and shredded like the one prior, but their torsos and faces had been riddled with punctures. Not punctures. Gunshot holes. Blood soaked the ground around them. Hands sprawled out to the side, feet disheveled over one another, torsos turned in conflicting ways—not normal. Pools of blood adjoined underneath each, coming together into two large pools, making the entire scene impossible to miss.
Immediately, I began turning the wheel to the right, forcing the car to the far side of the dirt path, giving me enough space to turn around while I still could. Out of nowhere, the car hummed to a complete stop. I shook the translucent wheel and pressed whatever buttons I could find. I stomped my feet against the floorboard like an angry, scared child, but it didn’t matter. This car wasn’t going anywhere. It was dead. Great.
The power was nearly depleted; the only thing still working were the headlights and a few interior lights. I brought my eyes up and realized the lights were shining onto a form, no…a structure, something resembling a house in the near distance.
It wasn’t like any of the ones in the Colony. Most of the houses there were built from stone and rock. This one was encased with long pieces of material, same as the flags, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark night, I realized the structure was only the start of dozens more like it—varying in dingy colors. The lights from the car were bright and glimmered off tiny pieces of reflecting objects and hundreds of tiny vases stacked on one another, layering the ground in between the homes like tiny little bridges attaching each home together. Outlining the exterior of the one closest to me were dozens of wooden sticks a few feet high in length with skulls and horns attached at the tips. Hanging on the ends of the horns swung long, vibrant feathers, dangling in the wind. I swallowed the fear inching its way up my throat.
I knew exactly where we were—the Lowers.
The Lowers, the place that I, and everyone else my age, was forbidden to go. Not just that, but nobody ever wanted to come out here, forbidden or not. When I was little, kids told haunted stories about where the Lowers lived. But they were always made up, stories pieced together from their own imaginations. Parents didn’t talk about them, and besides the kids, nobody else did either. We kept our distance unless forced near one another due to a mandatory meeting.
Instantly, the wheel disappeared from my hands and all the lights turned off. Now the car was entirely out of power. I had mixed feelings, more horrified than not, but slightly glad the car turned off in a place where other people existed, even if I was terrified at who these people were.
Chapter Four
I lowered my hands from the empty area where the translucent virtual wheel subjected my grip—and my uncertainty. The tension I had been so desperately trying to control freed from my arms and sunk effortlessly into my body, transferring the tension throughout me. I sat there not moving, with my stomach convulsing. Minutes later, I swung my legs out the doorless side, placed my feet on the ground, and braced myself with my hands.
I stood up in the quiet, breezy night alone, staring at the home not far away. My long sleeves kept the wind from hitting my skin and my body was grateful for it. Somehow, my shirt from home also felt like a barrier, something to keep me safe. More of a mental thing, I guess. Finally, my eyes adjusted as much as they would with the only light available being the stars and the full moon; the natural tiny balls of fire numerous, covering the sky like a blanket of lights.
All of a sudden, a figure ducked out from underneath the entrance of the house and a curtain swung back behind him, or her. For a short while, the person remained in their doorway, eyes facing my direction. I could see, though not well enough to tell what the individual looked like. I assumed the only thing they’d be staring at was me and this large car. And I wondered if this particular individual had been the reason for all the deaths I passed along the trail here.
Was he going to kill me too?
I looked at James still lying across the front seat. If it wasn’t for all the blood, I’d think he was sleeping peacefully. He was not moving, eyes gently closed, with no expression on his face. Unfortunately, that also meant he was still unconscious and would be no help protecting me.
I closed my eyes and tried wishing him awake, hoping that this situation would simply disappear. Maybe he could read my thoughts?
That was a stupid. Nobody is ab
le to do that.
The memory of him moving swift and precise as he fought the two guards clearly bigger than he, was alarming, but I wouldn’t mind seeing him do the same right now with whoever this person was still looking at me. Honestly, I didn’t know James could move like that. I never saw him in action or training. Nobody did unless they were also a guard. And he never bragged in detail when telling me about his day. I knew without a doubt, he could easily overpower this person—who was most definitely contemplating ways to kill me.
Or was it a she?
I couldn’t make out any movement from the other houses, only this one. The house where the dark figure now took his first step towards me.
I wasn’t sure if the earthy ground beneath me was trembling, or if the shuddering was coming from the shaking of my own legs. I’d never actually felt an earthquake. However, I didn’t see anything else moving around me, so I was positive it was the latter. I didn’t let my knees give way, and held my position. Unmoving and not showing this person any of the fear trapping me. My shoulders sat firmly back and my head upright, sturdy, chin outward. My breathing was a different story. I had to get it under control. I began counting numbers and solving scientific equations in my head. Try to relax.
Every step this person took towards me, I focused more on my tedious thoughts. Seconds passed, and I had already counted to fifty and solved two equations. My eyes stayed focused. More seconds gone.
He, not she, was closer now, and I finally made out part of his appearance. He looked plain, no lines. There were no vines covering his skin. But how was that possible?
Surely my eyes were going as crazy as the thoughts running through my mind. I tried rubbing the blurriness from them, and then regained my superior stance, arms taught by my side.
He walked with his weight leaning more to one side, hobbling, favoring his right leg. A wrap was tied around his left thigh where his pants looked as if they had been torn off; his right leg still holding the entirety of the navy material they were made from, the left shredded directly above the wrap. Strings of thin fabric flung down over the rest of his skinny leg and dry blood painted his skin like a backdrop to the fabric. His dark hair was an enormous tangled mess, strewn about his head, sticking out in every direction.
Now, he was close enough for me to touch.
My eyes didn’t lie; there were no vines.
His body looked frail and his bony joints large, poking through his skin. Eyes dark, unmoving, drilling deep into mine. He was old. Wrinkles creased around the edges of his lips and eyes.
I stood still as he gradually sniffed the air around me. Then he turned his head and looked into the car. He saw James. He jumped back, and then looked at me. The expression on his face was unreadable. Angry? Lips together in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed. His chest rose and he glanced at James again.
I didn’t know what else to do but ask, “Please, will you help us?” I uttered the words quickly before my unavoidable death, which I was positive he had considered carrying out. I looked down and noticed his left hand holding a small hatchet with a sharp, shiny tip. His fingers grasped the hatchet tight, unyielding.
He responded to my question with a few low grunts and bent over into the car, pulling James’ body out easily, and then he tossed his lifeless body over his shoulder—still holding the hatchet with his left hand. Without any words, he turned around; James’ blood trickled down the man’s back.
I quickly reached into the car and grabbed my backpack from the backseat and the guard’s gun—not forgetting the severed fingers for their useful DNA. I stuffed the digits into my pack, strapped the gun over my shoulder, and then sped up beside the old man. I wasn’t sure if he was leading us into a trap, but I didn’t really have a choice.
He was the first Lower I’d seen outside any mandatory Land meetings. In fact, I never actually conversed with any of them—ever. I didn’t know what to expect. The only thing I knew for sure was that there was a reason they lived all the way out here on the outer edge—away from the Colony.
I walked behind the old man, not saying a word. He was silent as well.
A few feet from his house, I turned my head towards a rustling noise on my right, but nobody was there—that I could see. A few more feet and we’d be on his doorstep.
The man pushed the curtained entrance to the side. As I followed him in, the interior was pitch black. I had walked into a place that made the outside seem like there was plenty of light. I couldn’t see James or the old man. Suddenly, a memory washed over me from when I was eight years old and I had a horrible fear of the dark; my father sat on the side of my bed and held my hand, promising me there were no monsters in the room. I wish he were here now.
I heard a thud, followed by a flickering light.
Finally. Light. As soon as the light steadied, I saw James on the ground, not moving and placed in a casual position on his side.
The man didn’t say a word as he passed me, walking back out the entrance. A candle was lit on the table to my left.
I heard the rustling noise again and quickly shot my head around, spotting a blonde-headed child crouched down in the corner behind a small table.
He eyed me up and down, squinting, hunching, and observing me with every move of his head.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered, ducking down a tad to seem less intimidating. Of course, I think I’m the least intimidating-looking person around. My brunette curls didn’t look fierce, and what I wore wasn’t scary at all.
The boy shot his hand across the table and grabbed a small figurine; a tiny toy carved out of wood. He wore a light gray shirt and had no vines either, just like the old man. He was small and didn’t give off the I’m-going-to-kill-you kind of vibe.
Even still, I kept my distance.
Time passed, and nobody had walked back into the house. The boy also left. James and I were the only two remaining. I constantly kept an eye on his chest, making sure it still moved up and down. Checking if he was alive. I wondered what the old man was doing, who he was talking to.
Were they planning on a way to torture us for information about the Colony?
Perhaps.
Then James began muttering something. I quickly turned and ran closer. His voice was too low, inconsistent, for me to hear what he was saying. I leaned closer on the ground and put my face in front of his.
“James. James. Wake up. What are you saying?” I said, shaking his shoulders.
I turned my head and pressed my ear gently to his lips.
It helped a little; the words were still muffled, but clearer. More of a hushed whisper. The words merged, making one long, repetitive gurgling sound, varying in octaves, but not in clarity. The only two words I was for sure I heard were, Penny and Dee or Ida. I had no idea who Dee or Ida was.
I shook him again, even gently slapped his cheek, but nothing. He wasn’t making any sense, and then he passed out again.
And I gave up listening.
Turning around, I began pacing the room to help me think. I crossed my arms while talking to myself and threw my hands in the air amidst the unhelpful one-way conversation I was having. I almost forgot about what started this whole thing. The virus.
What did I have? What was I sick with?
Why was taking me to the Academy so important that my dad risked everything by giving me…those vials.
Vials.
I wondered what they were. I walked over and grabbed my backpack off the floor. I hadn’t opened it until now. Unzipping it, I was sure the vials had broken when all the insane driving took place; my pack smashed against the interior side of the car every time James swerved.
My fingertips carefully unzipped the pack and I was relieved to see the vials lying neatly to one side, unbroken and on top of my clothes. Taking a deep breath, I gently pulled one of the tiny tubes out of my bag.
A small vial with blue liquid, barely enough to seem like it would make a difference if anyone used it, was inside. The liquid wa
s still. Motionless. And yet something so tiny had changed my life forever. Surely, my dad would be caught; someone would find out these were missing. What would happen to him? I stopped myself from thinking. I knew the Colony; I knew President Falcon. He and my father were friends. At least I had thought they were until my dad said he was holding my sister for ransom.
Whispers, loud whispers, came from outside the entrance of the house. The voices were a mixture of multiple people and they were talking about James. One voice, deeper than the others, and coarse, left no doubt about what he thought should happen to us. I stuffed the vials back into my pack and quickly zipped it close.
He didn’t think we deserved—James deserved—to be helped. He thought we would only bring trouble and they should make us leave, let us take our chances without their help. He didn’t know us, I didn’t know any of them either, but the gunshot to James’ shoulder proved we were in trouble. And whatever kind of trouble we were in, he made it clear he didn’t want any part of it.
He was probably right; this couldn’t lead anywhere good.
But weren’t they killers themselves? The trail of bodies. Why would they care if we brought any trouble upon them?
The voices continued for a while until, finally, four people, three men and one woman, all with bright, piercing green eyes and hair as straight as a board, entered under the curtain. As they walked towards me, the last person stood blocking the only exit, forcing me to stay in the house. I took a few steps towards James, guarding him the best I could.
Each of them, except the last guy guarding the entrance, stared at me. I assumed he was the one with the lower voice who thought we should leave. The other peoples’ eyes had speckles of brown in them. I stared back—astounded. None of them had vines. The man carrying James wasn’t anywhere in sight.