Escape from Paradise

by D. Richard Ferguson

  “I don’t think so. Your house was the only one hit. It had to be the mountain people. They must have gotten into the city somehow before the gates closed yesterday. They were targeting you, Adam. George tried to stop them, but ...” The man looked down at George’s body and shook his head.

  George’s first and last acts toward Adam had been deeds of friendship—welcoming him into this place when he was alone and defending Adam’s home in his death.

  Adam’s arrival into this world had replayed in his head a hundred times since his conversation with Kailyn. Images of George colored those memories. Adam could still taste that first orange George had given him and recalled how George’s unending ramblings had somehow calmed him that day.

  Bereft of words, Adam knelt beside the broken old woman and held her.

  The authorities arrived and took the body. One by one the others left until only Adam and the widow remained. When her tears ran dry, she stood and touched Adam’s face.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and with sagging shoulders and faltering steps, entered her house.

  Adam turned to his own home. The front window was shattered, the door ajar. Do I even want to see the inside?

  In his bedroom, the gold-framed bed his weary bones so craved was gone, and with it, the stockpile of gold he had labored all these years to build. The cold, empty shell of his house mirrored his empty soul. He had nothing now but his maps.

  The maps! He ran to the closet and retrieved the chest where he had hidden them along with the gold bands he had received from George.

  Empty! He fell to his knees, curled into a ball, and wept.

  Hour after hour pressed down on him as he peeled back the layers of his grief. Losing his wealth hurt, but infinitely worse, losing the maps. Without them, the door to home had slammed shut forever. He was heartbroken about George. But beneath all those sorrows lay the deepest grief—the crushing reality of the emptiness and utter futility of his life.

  Nothing he did mattered. He couldn’t imagine anything he could ever do would matter. His efforts to save the city from disintegration had been futile. He had no idea where he was from, and he had nowhere to go. It wasn’t only this world that was half-real. He had become part of this empty place, and his very life lacked substance. That day at the pond was the last important moment he remembered. He might as well have lived no life at all.

  He tried to console himself with thoughts of Jacqueline. She said she wanted to see him again. And the gold he lost amounted to pennies compared to the reward he would receive from Royce Steadman. But right now the only thing that seemed to matter was that empty chest looming in the corner. Why did they have to take the maps?

  An hour later Adam walked out the city’s west gate, wondering if he had lost his mind. Each step darkened his world, as if he were leaving life itself behind. Everything he loved remained in the city. But he hated his life there. He refused to look back, knowing if he did, he would be caught forever. He no longer wanted the calm of the eddy. He would take his chances in the current.

  He found a road leading westward. It progressively narrowed, like a dead-end path that becomes more overgrown the farther it goes. Clearly, no one had traversed this road in a long time—for good reason, no doubt. But if there was even the remotest chance the cottage was real, he had to find it.

  Soon the path disappeared altogether. Adam stood in an untouched wilderness. As he traveled westward, the forest grew darker—and colder, though the sun hung high. Climbing through the crisscross of fallen timber made the trek increasingly arduous.

  He wondered at the cold silence. Then it came to him—no birds. He looked around. Not even the birds ventured this far.

  He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was undeniable—a growing sense of dread filled him like a slow leak filling a ship. His soul listed.

  He looked back toward the city, but without the road for a guide, he wasn’t even sure what direction the city lay. Every passing hour made his departure feel more irreversible. There was no going back. Once again, his home, his security, his friends—all left behind. The unknown that lay ahead loomed like a dark void ready to swallow him up.

  He needed to summon courage. For the first time in years, he tried to imagine his brother being with him. But the stubborn memories refused to emerge. He had no idea what his brother would say or do.

  A deep longing to belong somewhere coupled with the terror of losing everything a second time slowed his pace. Pangs of regret at his decision to leave squeezed like a knot being pulled tight in his chest.

  Then he shook his head. Get a grip Adam. Remember why you left the city. Trembling, he plodded forward.

  Despite his determination, the compulsion to abandon the quest persisted. The relentless thought nagged, Go back! Go back! The strength of the impulse astonished him.

  Faces emerged from twisted vines. Gnarled trees glowered at him like frozen demons ready to animate at any moment. Telling himself it was all in his mind didn’t help. It only added yet another layer of fear. Was sanity itself slipping away?

  On the other hand, what if his hesitancy was the sanest of his thoughts? He was abandoning security and plunging into dangers about which he had been warned. Was he gaining freedom from an empty life, or walking blindly into a trap like a fool?

  The cold penetrated his clothes and chilled him to the bone. He heard footsteps behind him and stopped short, listening. Silence. Turning, he scoured the area but saw no movement. Could it have been the sound of his own footfalls echoing off the trees?

  Something touched his ankle. He kicked in a frantic reflex to shake it off. But it held on, squeezing tighter. A snake? No. A vine had wrapped itself around his leg.

  He pulled it off and pushed ahead until another vine took hold. The brush before him thickened into a tangle. He searched for a way through, but the foliage had created an impenetrable wall.

  Something unnatural was happening. Or was nature itself against him? Or was it protecting him—warning him?

  Whatever it was, this excursion into the unknown was clearly over. But in his meandering effort to find a way through, he had lost his bearings. He made his best guess on the direction of the city and began making his way “home.”

  A cool breath swept across his face. What was that? He stood perfectly still. The air was ... moving.

  The stillness of this world that had seemed so strange at the pond was now such a fact of life that air movement seemed an absurdity. Yet, standing still as a statue, somehow the air caressed his face, his arms, his entire body as if he were running or falling.

  Goosebumps covered his skin. Every nerve in his body alert. Never before had he felt so small as the very atmosphere moved upon him.

  He ventured a tentative step. The breath strengthened. He took another. With every step it increased. Soon he could hardly keep his footing.

  As the mighty breath howled in his face, a new word formed itself in his mind. Wind. A strange term, yet it seemed to fit somehow. Had a silent voice spoken this word to him? Or was this a memory from his world?

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it with his sleeve. After a few minutes of struggle, he turned back to take shelter behind a nearby tree. When he faced westward, the breath, or wind, stopped. Relieved that it had passed, he turned once more toward the city. But when he did, the wind gusted again and halted his steps.

  His irrational fears—imagined noises and faces in the trees—evaporated, replaced by a different kind of dread. A force so much greater than he—the world’s invisible blanket, great enough to surround and protect the planet from the deadly hostilities of space, yet close enough to fill his lungs a thousand times an hour, sustaining his life. And now it moved upon him. He would not resist it.

  Then he noticed a bright blue substance smeared on his shirtsleeve. He had never seen any tree sap or plant residue anything like this color. As he searched around him for the source, another strong gust arose and he lost his footing. He gripped a sturdy vine
to steady himself, and the vine snapped in his fist. Amazed at his own strength, he pulled at another. It gave way like a burnt rope.

  He tore at the living prison, shredding branches, vines, and roots. But almost as quickly as he destroyed them, new ones grew in their place, entangling his legs, blocking his way, and pushing him back toward the city.

  The wind gusted harder. With a shout like a war cry, he cut into the tangle like a machine.

  Finally, he broke through. He started to run, but a backward glance revealed the vines were not chasing him. Instead, they withered and receded to the east.

  He sat to catch his breath, wiping sweat and blue residue from his face. What just happened? He took hold of a branch above him and gave it a tug. The branch didn’t move. His strength was back to normal.

  Both the wind and foliage seemed to have wills of their own, but with opposite purposes. The wind pushed him toward the cottage, and the plants blocked his way. But which should he trust? In this wind-versus-world contest, which force was working to keep him from something good, and which was working to protect him from danger?

  One thing he did know—there were no answers about his family in the city. The cottage at least might hold answers.

  He continued westward, keeping a wary eye on the forest around him. The only friendly thing about his surroundings now seemed to be the fruit trees. He stopped whenever he came across one, but the farther he traveled, the fewer he found. Was he leaving his food supply behind?

  The wind drove him on.

  At last, Adam emerged from the forest and lifted his eyes to survey a sprawling valley that stood between him and the elusive cabin. Still a long way to go, but it would be easier traveling in this grassy, gently sloping valley.

  Just a stone’s throw into the meadow, he saw a young man reclining against a rock.

  “Hey there,” he called.

  The man didn’t respond.

  He must be asleep.

  Approaching from behind, he scuffed his feet to wake the man up without startling him.

  He still didn’t move.

  “Hey, friend ...” Adam touched his shoulder.

  The man turned slightly and slid sideways to the ground.

  Chapter 7

  When Adam saw the man from the front, bile rose in his throat and he gagged. The man had been mutilated. His chest torn open. Blood still trickled through the dirt beside his leg. This had just happened.

  Adam’s eyes swept the valley to the west and south, then north. The woods from which he had just emerged were sparse enough to see a fair distance through the trees. The forest to the north, however, was much denser. It was steep, rugged, foreboding country. The mountain people must be in that forest. And they couldn’t be far.

  Adam turned back the way he had come and sprinted toward the cover of the trees, his eyes searching the tree line ahead and to the north. When he reached the trees he stopped to gather his thoughts.

  Then another grisly discovery. Three more bodies, not twenty feet from the path Adam had been on—all with gaping holes in their chests.

  Adam’s own chest pounded. The mountain people, or whoever did this, must be nearby. They might be watching him this very moment from within the black timber to the north.

  He considered his options. Continuing westward in the grasslands was out. Too much exposure. The wind had stopped, so his natural impulse was to run full speed to the city—the only place of safety he knew. It made the most sense, but ...

  Adam didn’t like the idea of having an unknown danger at his back. The best way to avoid being found, he figured, was to keep his eye on the hunter.

  Staying as low as possible, he crawled back toward the meadow for an unobstructed view. Just inside the tree line he found a protected position that allowed a northward view. For most of the afternoon he listened intently and kept an intense gaze on the edge of the black timber, watching for movement within the trees.

  As the sun dipped to the horizon, a deep chill descended. He would need a fire overnight, but not here—not where the killers could find him.

  Movement! Adam caught his breath. Just inside the thick timber ... it looked like ... legs moving. He strained to see. A tall, dead pine stood higher than the surrounding trees. Right around there. Yes! There it was again. He was sure of it. They were up there.

  He reassessed his position and concluded they would not be able to see him as long as he remained still. He kept watching. Soon three of them emerged from the trees into the meadow.

  What? Adam looked at the men, then at the pines behind them, then at the men again. His heart raced. No wonder everyone feared the mountain people. The men stood almost as tall as the trees. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  Several more giants stepped out from the trees. All were armed—swords, machetes, and clubs. They turned toward Adam. He froze.

  There’s no way they can see me in this cover from that distance. But they were all facing his direction. And now they were running!

  With their gaping strides they closed the distance with astonishing speed. Adam leapt from his nest and bolted right, farther into the woods.

  He was fast, but he stood no chance of outrunning those monsters. They would know he didn’t flee south or west because he’d be visible in the wide-open grasslands. They were coming from the north, so that left only east. If he continued that way, they would quickly overtake him. His only chance of not being found was to get to a spot they had already searched.

  When the trees blocked line of sight, Adam cut left—straight north, toward the monsters. His many years of sneaking out to search for the pond without being seen by irritable orchard dwellers had given him the ability to move silently through the woods. His only chance was to approach them head on and pass them undetected.

  He crept through the trees, taking care to leave no tracks and keeping wide of the line they had been taking when he lost sight of them. If they stayed on that course, this should work—unless ... What if there are dozens, or even hundreds combing through this forest?

  Sooner than he had expected, footsteps pounded just ahead. He dropped to his stomach and bloodied his elbows pulling himself into a dense thicket that stood less than two feet high and hoped they didn’t trample him. As one after another rumbled past, he thought he’d rather be lying in the path of stampeding buffalo.

  A giant foot landed so close it shoved twigs into Adam’s face.

  In a moment, the thunderous crashing faded to the south. Evidently, they were still rushing to the spot where they had first seen him.

  Seconds later, Adam sprinted northward. His certainty that the giants were the ones responsible for the killings grew each time he had to step over more bodies as he made his way through the trees.

  As he approached the dead pine, Adam stopped to listen. Several long moments without a sound satisfied him that they had all left the area.

  He would examine their tracks to determine how many there were, then follow them backward and discover where they had come from. Risky, but the more he knew about them the better.

  Tracking should be easy. Such men would leave unmistakable prints in the soft forest soil.

  After a few minutes of searching, Adam stopped and slid his fingers through his hair. Where are the tracks?

  He saw a few indentations that resembled a child’s prints, but the giants left no trace.

  Adam watched the western horizon swallow up the last golden sliver of the sun. Darkness fell, and with it, bitter cold. He would have to find cover before building his fire.

  While searching for tracks, he had heard movement inside the black timber. But it sounded more like the subtle scratching of animals than the marching noise humans make. Adam wondered if animals had killed those people.

  Whatever lurked in those woods, he needed to find shelter. Surely there must be caves in the rugged terrain within the black timber.

  With some effort, he broke a sturdy branch from a tree. Probably not much of a defense
against a wild animal attack, but better than nothing. He took a breath, peered into the darkness ahead of him, and entered the menacing woods.

  An hour of hunting and some welcome moonlight brought him to an opening in the rocky hillside. As he approached the mouth of the cave, he tossed a stone into the blackness, hoping to scare any animal that might be inside. Nothing moved. Another stone. Coast is clear ... I guess.

  He gathered an armload of sticks and used his free hand to feel his way along the cave wall. A short distance in, he kindled his fire, hoping he was close enough to the opening that the smoke would escape.

  Soon the flames warmed him, and he leaned against the side. A wave of fatigue swept over him and he closed his eyes.

  What am I doing here? If the giants find me, I’ll be cornered. And who knows what kinds of animals might be in this cave.

  Wise or foolish, this cave was his only option right now. And he needed rest.

  He drew a startled breath and sat up. What was that sound? The fire was out. He listened. I’m sure I heard someth—

  His hair moved. A flailing swing to brush the thing away impacted the side of the cave with a crack. He winced at the shooting pain and pulled his broken wrist to his chest, biting his lip to smother the moans that would give away his position.

  He checked his head with his good hand. Probably just a drip of water. Still, he wanted out of that cave.

  He rose to his feet. In that same moment, something landed on his back. This was no pebble. It was an animal, and it was biting him. The creature’s teeth punctured Adam’s skin.

  Forgetting the throbs of his fractured wrist, he flailed, nearly throwing his arm out of joint in a wild attempt to grab the creature. When he finally got a hold of it, he ripped the animal from his back and flung it with all his strength toward the back of the cave.

  Light filled the cave and a man appeared before Adam. A new kind of terror gripped him, and he dropped to one knee.

  The man pointed to the depths of the cavern and spoke. “Remember the vigor with which you cast it.”