The Dark West

by JT Dylan

  It was gone.

  “Shit.” He carefully traced his steps back to the exact spot that he had been laying when he came to. He saw his footprints make shuffling steps from a rounded bowl in the dirt. There were a few more footprints spaced further apart and leading toward it from a copse of trees some way from the road. He followed the prints, his heart beating harder. The footprints became lighter as the dry soil turned into knotted grassy streaks. In the shelter of the first lot of trees he found a rough opening leading into marshy woodland beyond. The footsteps stopped abruptly at the mouth, but a little further in he could make out wet indentations that were probably sunken footmarks. He took a last glance down the highway toward civilization and stepped into the darker coolness of the wetlands.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Akuti rode ahead of Old Gray Wolf. To their sides were two of the village's strongest and fastest -their protectors for the long road ahead. Akuti knew one as being their elder's personal protector, Taroo, who always travelled with him. The other, Kaaru, was a little younger than Akuti, and they had played together as children. He had shown great promise this past year with his huntsman skills.

  Their horses trotted at a much slower pace than Akuti was comfortable with. The horses’ movement was courteous to the elder of course; his pain must have been immeasurable with each stray footstep and jolt. Akuti glanced back and saw only a silent double mask of calm from the old man. She turned her attention back to the path ahead. They had left with the sunrise and had travelled far already, but at this rate she knew not if they would reach the beach by nightfall. Even if they did it would be a long night ahead whatever they found there. The young warrior Taroo suddenly screeched, mimicking the sound of a tree rat.

  The party stopped instantly.

  It was their warning signal. The horses harrumphed and shook their manes in protest, eager to move onwards. The young man who had raised the alarm slid off his horse and ran ahead softly, one hand clutching four arrows, the other gripping his bow. Kaaru steered his horse to the front, his weapons unsheathed, a human shield between the threat and the elder. Akuti maneuvered her horse silently to the side, to a stronger hillside position. And waited. The old man seemed unmoved by any of these events and simply waited for the moment to pass. Several long minutes went by. No irregular noise or movements alerted Akuti to any kind of danger but something was firing her instincts to run. She wanted to bolt, to kick her horse's flank and to get as far away as possible, but she fought the feeling, mistaking those thoughts for weakness. She edged further up the hillside instead, where she could better see her group and any danger that might come from the woods. And then it came in one terrible instant.

  Two arrows flew silently from within the trees. The first found nothing but air - the air warmed by Akuti's breath only a moment earlier. The second flew straight and entered Kaaru's skull through his right eye socket. He tumbled off his horse and slipped quietly into the tall grass, and then the silence was shattered. Akuti's horse cried out in surprise and Kaaru's mare bolted. Grey Wolf's ride sprang into life too, throwing the old man to the ground. Akuti heard him cry out in pain. She watched as the three rider-less horses kicked and bucked their way out of the clearing and away from the commotion. She acted quickly, out of instinct and training, not with any conscious thoughts. Tapping her horse's sides quickly with her heels, she ducked her head low behind the cover of the muscular neck. The horse galloped toward the fallen old man. Akuti was there in moments, dropping to the ground by his side. She saw that he was not awake. She slapped the rump of her horse and yelled the command for him to flee. Alone in the tall grass, she was all that stood between the attackers and the Grey Wolf. She had to assume the worst, that Taroo had also been hurt or killed. A solitary scream came from the woods and a human shape rushed toward them through the grass. Akuti's hairs stood on end as she prepared to fight to her death to protect the elder. The attacker was a monstrosity, drenched in blood from the head down, and shouting her name. He slowed a few steps away and fell awkwardly to his knees. She saw that the blood was not his own and he was unarmed. It was Taroo.

  “Akuti, we are safe, they are no more.” and with that he fell exhausted onto his back, his breath a ragged loop and his eyes rolling back almost to their whites in their sockets.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The creature awakens. He does not know how much time has passed but the sunlight has gone. The scratching in his head is as loud as ever. He pushes himself up onto his knees and the world bends away briefly. He grips a solid surface for balance and hauls himself upright. His balance settles after some moments and he realizes that the air does not burn him any more. He is breathing air. He shuffles towards the glass window and sees only darkness on the other side. The scratching in his head makes it difficult for him to think about anything. A curious tiny winged animal lands on the window ledge and stands there, chirping, adjusting its head position erratically, and studying every movement the creature makes.

  The bird’s arrival has made the scratching louder, and the creature’s instincts move his body before his consciousness realizes it. His hand shoots out, snatching the bird in its stained claws in a fraction of a moment between two heartbeats. The bird opens and closes its beak silently in shock. The creature brings the bird closer to his own face to investigate. It can feel the vibration of its blood flow and the fluttering of its tiny organs. The creature loses interest and crushes the bird without a further thought. More interesting to him than the blood trickling down his forearm and the sudden cessation of warmth within the tiny animal is the sudden silence.

  There is no scratching.

  He wonders if it was the bird that was making the scratching noise. He grins and lets the bird drop to the wet floor. He can think clearly again and thinks of all the sensations he has yet to try with his new found freedom. He likes the sight of the darkness outside the window and believes he would like to go there next. He moves toward the window, a little more gracefully now, his inquisitive mind hungry for more sensations, the bird's crushed remains already long forgotten.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The sunlight fell diagonally across Freeman’s lap as he gazed out across the lawn. The window was a large one, allowing a broad view of the outside world, but the bars on it were far from decorative. President Benjamin Freeman scratched at a lazy beard he had acquired these past few weeks and yawned. He wheeled the chair a little closer so that he could follow a sparrow’s path below the window ledge. To the onlooker he would appear disheveled and impassive, but Freeman’s mind was running at full capacity. He looked up from the hopping bird to the long grass strip, past the morning patrol and to the trees at the far end. He saw the tall arching chain link fence, and the five lengths of electrical wire running across the stretch of blank space at the top. He saw the lone guard with the big bear of a dog exchange pleasantries with the afternoon shift as they hopped off their buggy. The military medical institution’s left wing stretched for almost an acre toward the front gate and ran perpendicularly to the older structure of the main building.

  There was a subtle settling of a floor panel on the inside of the room’s locked entrance, and the room’s temperature seemed to drop by a couple of degrees.

  Freeman willed himself to breathe normally and continue exploring the world outside his new prison. Behind him, by the doorway, a tall man in a fitted dark suit licked his lips. His skin seemed to ripple as he did so.

  “I’m not sure why anyone would break into a high security establishment, or what tricks you keep pulling to do so but I’m sure your reasons are well worth taking the time from a busy morning to listen to them.” Freeman spoke without taking his eyes from the window.

  The creature behind him smiled, and he remained by the shadow of the grand old archway. The sunlight seemed not to reach him there.

  “You intrigue me chief. You certainly do. To put yourself through so much trouble, just to get yourself stranded here. Do you wonder sometimes what part in this madness is your
s? What pitiful jigsaw piece you’ll become?” the creature scratched a face that looked older than sand.

  Freeman held his composure and tried to hear above the screaming of his heartbeat. This past week he had reached the conclusion that he had either truly gone mad and this recurring apparition was a symptom of his condition, or worse… that he hadn’t.

  “What part do you play, would you say, if you’ll forgive me my curiosity?” Freeman wished that he could use his damned legs so that he wouldn’t have to take this craziness sitting down like a duck in a skeet shoot. He was just about ready for a fistfight - anything except these off-kilter mind games. Sweat poured down his back now, soaking his undershirt and he forced himself to look for the sparrow - to seek out calmness in this crazy mess. A loud mechanical sound behind him made him flinch visibly in his chair and he cursed his nerves for allowing such a weakness to overcome him. He whipped round to look his cursed apparition in the eyes, but instead saw only a white suited orderly, opening up the secure door and whistling as he entered the room. There was no one else. Freeman exhaled. As the orderly carried in a fresh bedpan and clattered about his menial tasks, the President glanced out again at the calm scene outside. His eye line traced the sparrow’s footprints in the damp grass, untouched yet by the morning sunlight, and stopped when he found the little bird in the shadows. It was lying on its side, its tiny beak opening and closing in a slow, fragile rhythm. He’d seen it a few times before. Birds caught by a cat or having mistaken a closed window for an open one. Birds in deep traumatic shock. Dying. Freeman shivered. He had to get moving. Away from this madness. It was time to bring the plan forward.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Jack and the boy reached a large rocky outcrop at around midday. The sun was bright and warm and they were both silent. Jack scoured the valley below for any sign of movement. Little Sonny kicked at the dust with his boots. Jack swiped at a fly that took an interest in his moist forehead and took a moment to catch his breath. Below them, over the edge of the cliff, stretched a green tree belt of several acres. In the distance they could hear the promise of water. Jack shook his makeshift canteen and heard a last mouthful sloshing about in the container.

  “Here, boy.” He offered out his hand. Sonny took the pouch and drank gladly. He offered the drained jug back to Jack. Jack shook his head. “You keep it son. If you’re man enough to drink a man’s last drink, you’re man enough to carry its weight.” Sonny looked down, unsure if he was being reprimanded.

  Jack’s sneaky smile told him otherwise and the boy’s frown faded.

  “Thank you.”

  Jack thought the boy needed a boost. He had no idea where old Sonny Senior had gone, or how to find him. He would have to do the only other thing he could for now and that was to keep the boy’s mind occupied.

  “Say, do you hear the river down that gulley?” Jack pointed over the edge. “That’s where we need to be before nightfall. I think that’s a fine place for a couple of tired travellers to set up camp for the night, wouldn’t you think?”

  The boy’s face darkened. Jack realized again that little Sonny was nothing but a scared child, forced into a man’s world too soon. It scared him how quickly he could forget. How naturally he himself could absorb life’s heaviness and assume that others did the same.

  “Pa won’t be there. He will be waiting for us someplace else. What if those men have him?”

  “Steady now son. Your pa has other things to tend to. His path doesn’t cross with those men. He already knew of their intention and told me so the night before he… the night he went on his own track. He was always one step ahead of those fools.”

  The boy seemed to think this through. “He’s not like us is he? Pa I mean. He’s different.”

  Jack took a breath and scanned the horizon for answers. Or just for strength. Where the hell was a whiskey when he needed one? He hadn’t done any parenting for a long while and this was an old and difficult road for him. He turned and crouched down next to the kid. He patted the ground with his hand, gesturing the boy to sit next to him. Sonny did so, with a sigh.

  “Your father, the man you call pa, is a man who would do anything for his boy, you hear? We’ll find him son, and then you can ask him all the damned questions you need to. But until then, we’ve only got each other to muddle through this and it’s apt to be difficult enough as it is without second guessing about the things we have no answers for.”

  The boy dropped his head and scratched at the ground with a stick. The boy was lost. Jack could see that. The boy likely had years of questions just boiling at the surface, now that he had someone else to share them with. Jack remembered how old Sonny had always treated the boy as an equal. Jack exhaled before looking the boy in the eye.

  “Your pa is different, that much you’re right about. He knows things before they happen. It’s because he’s been there before, in a way. We’ll talk more about this someday if we still find ourselves running in the same company, but for now, you can rest a little easier knowing that your pa isn’t just another pa. He’s special. And that’s why I have an idea that he’s safe, and doing something important that needs to be done.”

  Little Sonny sniffed and seemed to nod to himself. “I knew it. I sometimes thought it’s because I’m small and he’s old. But it’s not that.”

  Jack smiled. “You’re a clever boy, Sonny. Your Pa was right about that too. What do you say we find ourselves a camp for the night and find us some water to get rid of this mouth full of dust we seem to be carrying around with us? And maybe tomorrow, we’ll be a step closer to your Pa.”

  The boy was already on his feet. He wiped the dirt from his pants with an absent minded slap of his little palms, and walked toward the steep drop. Jack marveled at the child’s complete lack of fear and shuddered. That would help the boy hold on to his sanity with some of what was to come. The boy turned, as if he was remembering something.

  “Pa can wait. Tomorrow we have men to catch. You promised.” And with that he clambered over the rim, leaving Jack feeling small and old and thirsty on the dusty cliff edge.

  FORTY

  The river was almost filled to bursting and Jack wondered about flooding. There hadn’t been too much rain lately so there was no easy explanation for the swelling. Settlers maybe, or some natural obstruction down-river. He forced it to the back of his mind and went about preparing the fire. Little Sonny had already wandered off to fetch a second helping of driftwood and Jack didn’t want the boy to see him pondering. They had chosen a spot on some high ground, in a clearing away from the water’s edge. The nearest steady pool was hundreds of yards away and nothing but churning water ran past their camp. This was safest, so that no animals or passers by stumbled across them while looking for drinking water. Jack collected an armful of dried up hunks of wood and dropped them onto the pile. The boy returned with a smaller armful and blew out dramatically. Jack chuckled.

  “Am I working you too hard there son?”

  “There’s just no easy firewood. It’s either wet or still growing out of the ground. This is all there is.” Sonny wiped a dirty sleeve along his mouth. Jack could see that keeping the boy busy was keeping him from thinking about too may questions, which was alright with him.

  “Come here boy. Let me show you an old soldier’s trick.” Jack made a big show of scratching his head as if deep in thought and then looking carefully along the tree line in all directions before settling on a patch of trees he’d spotted previously to the East. “There. See those trees with the brown ferns all blackened by their base? I think you’ll find what you’re looking for somewhere around there.”

  The boy’s brows dropped down over his eyes in exaggerated disbelief and he trudged there shaking his head. At first he just made a show of looking, kicking at the undergrowth, before shouting back.

  “Nothing much here. Just some burnt grass.”

  “That just means you’re in the right spot. Look properly now. Heed what I say.” Jack assembled the smallest pieces
of kindling into a reasonable version of a campfire and left the wet logs to dry on higher ground. The boy’s shrill cry caught him off guard and his heart sprang in his chest.

  “Wahoo! There’s enough for a bonfire here.” The boy was dragging half burnt chunks of timber longer than his arms from under the bushes. He was getting scratched and cut to hell doing so, but from the smile on his face Jack didn’t think he was overly concerned.

  “Well done son. Now, hush the hollering. Or everyone will be here stealing your plunder.”

  They dragged over a healthy amount of wood together before deciding that they had more than enough for two whole nights if needed, although Jack had long decided that they would have to leave again by daybreak. Whoever had left their stock of firewood would be back soon, and the river was already higher now than it had been when they arrived. Something wasn’t right. It was best to be gone before any more distractions cropped up.