The red lines began their scan, starting at the feet. Kilt strained to follow the light as it slowly moved across the blanket and over his stony legs.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw something on the skeleton’s hand. Without moving he focused on the blurry flesh-colored dot. When he felt the tickle of it moving from Pa’s hand to his own his breath froze in his throat.
A brown recluse. A big fucker too with thick legs, needles with hinges, probably gluttonous with venom. He tried not to imagine how many more were crawling around his ankles. As the laser moved over his crotch he did a quick calculation of which was worse, jail or death by spider bite. But before he could decide, the hot light sliced across his fingers and over his hand. The irritated spider shifted under its beam.
As the scanner moved up his arm, over his neck and across his jaw, Kilt shut his eyes and held his breath. Through his lids he could still see the gory glow. It seemed to be retracing its steps over the skeleton face, analyzing it for life. He tried to keep his hand still but the tickling was torture.
Finally the vibrations stopped. Kilt carefully opened his eyes. The room was back to its normal color and the humming faded as the drone left. He released a deep breath and flicked the demon off his hand.
Kilt jumped out of bed. He hopped around hitting himself like a he was on fire. “Damn critters.”
He stood in the middle of the room, panting. The skulls looked up at him reproachfully.
Kilt opened the bedroom door and crept over to the living room window. He couldn’t see the drone from any angle. “Headin’ south I hope.”
He leaned his head against the cool pane, right over the crack, until his breathing returned to normal. Then he straightened up and went into the bedroom.
He stood over the skeletons, still clothed in faded overalls and a pink housedress. He reached down and delicately returned Pa back to his side of the bed. Then he pulled the patchwork quilt all the way up over their heads.
Back out on the porch Kilt opened his pack, checking its contents. There wasn’t much to see except an empty canteen and the two dark green eggs he had found, abandoned in the backyard shed.
He liked to think of them as eggs. It was better to convince himself he was walking around with two delicate eggs rather than two volatile grenades.
Should I leave them behind? He thought, not knowing how stable these ancient bombs could be after baking in the heat all these years. He didn’t want to make a wrong move and blow his spine straight out his ass hole. Then again, they could come in handy for protection when he was ready to go back towards the Kradle.
“Oh, what the hell,” he muttered, closing his pack and throwing it over his shoulder. If he wound up dying of thirst he supposed he could always blow himself up. That might speed things along.
He looked down at the tin, the Broger dog facing inside the house like a forgotten pet. He kicked the can, watching as it skipped across the hard dirt like a stone over a lake. Then he started off, heading north. He figured it was the best direction to find water before he would turn and go east, closer to the Kradle where the air was better. He would hide out in the woods, and although he risked encountering wild animals and more drones, it was no riskier than dying of thirst.
And if he was wrong about the water being up north, he’d be dead within twenty-four hours.
Chapter 7
Mevia
Mevia hung from the edge, her nails digging into the hard earthen wall, clawing into the dirt, trying to pull herself up. Sweat poured down her forehead and into her eyes as she strained to push away the bamboo with her nub. She almost had it, but her foot slipped and she slid to the ground.
“Shit!” She looked down at her muddy fingers, the nails red and bloody. Standing up, she took a deep breath, hoping her knees would stop shaking. She took three large steps back and then got a running start and attacked the wall again. This time she moved up faster, pumping her legs, digging in with her toes, kicking the dirt as if fighting it. She grabbed the edge again. Gritting her teeth, feeling the crunch of sand grinding in her molars, she pushed against the cage, shuffling it inch by awkward inch.
Voices!
She dropped to the floor. Her foot slipped and she bumped her head on the hard ground. Biting her lip she held in the yelp that threatened to escape her throat and listened.
Someone was singing. It sounded like Spider. He was probably out gathering potatoes.
She struggled to catch her breath, but the air was thick, suffocating, and she was certain she was having a heart attack.
After a minute, he shuffled away, his song trailing after him all the way back to the cave.
Mevia pulled herself to her feet. She looked up at the surface and then her eyes trailed back down the wall. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” She bit down, clenched her fist, and ran. She sprang up the wall, propelling with her legs, tearing into the earth like a frantic mole until finally, firm in her fist was that blessed silky grass. After two hard tries, she managed to move the cage allowing just enough room to crawl through.
“Rrrr,” she grunted as she pulled herself up by the grass which mercifully had thick, deep roots. Once high enough, she slung her elbow over and used it as a pick axe.
Then the grass roots gave out and she slipped. “Oh!” She snatched up another handful, stopping her fall. Panting, she painstakingly writhed herself completely out of the hole.
Mevia looked up at her surroundings. Now at ground level, she felt the nakedness of being prey amongst predators. She crawled quickly into the shelter of the jungle, away from the blinding, unfiltered sun.
Her heart was racing, making it impossible to think. She scanned the environment. Ok, ok. What now? She wanted to pick a direction and run wild, but she talked herself down. She had to be smart to make it out of here alive.
The ridge. She thought. I’m not free until I get over the ridge and through that jungle. And the best way to get there without being seen was to climb past the cave.
Mevia crept through the brush toward the tribes dwelling. As she drew closer, the sound of Flora’s carnal screams enveloped her.
Mevia froze, shaking uncontrollably. She lost her bladder. The hot foam spreading over the ground between her feet. She gripped onto a tree, steadying herself. A startled sparrow fluttered through the branches and flew away. She watched as it blew through the trees and shot wildly into the sky. Soon it was just a speck against the clouds. What if she just ran away? If she left now, she was more likely to escape than if she went after Flora. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother looking for her since they had someone else.
I’d be more likely to get back to the mainland. She thought.
Beyond the trees, came a new wave of Flora’s cries. The tortured, unhinged screams echoed from the cave, pulling Mevia back to reality. She shook her head, flooded with shame. How could she even think of leaving her behind? She gathered herself and pushed forward.
Mevia crawled through the greenery until she came to the rocky slope leading to the cave. There were three drunk tribesmen passed out in the grass to her left. Hopefully they wouldn’t give her trouble. The rest were either inside or out for a hunt.
Getting down on all fours, Mevia climbed up the slope with trepidation. Grey pebbles slid under her weight threatening to dislodge her footing.
She only had to make it to the outer right edge of the cave and then she would be safely out of sight.
And then what? She didn’t know how she was going to get Flora, but if Grunt left the cave to go back to the pit, it would be over, and she would have to make a run for it with or without her.
As she approached the black, rancid cavity, there was the shrill of inane laughter. The tribe had figured out how to brew potato hooch and guzzled it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sometimes violent fights broke out over rations.
The sun blurred as she looked up, just a foot away from safety. She gathered her strength and with one final push was able to reach a jutting rock and hoist herself
into the shadows.
Mevia pressed her back into the jagged stone wall, her chest heaving.
She listened. There were three inside, which meant the others were out hunting. There was the sound of moaning followed by cursing.
Mevia didn’t like it, but her only option was to peak around the corner and try to get Flora’s attention. It would be risky, and if she was seen she would be forced to run. She wanted to escape together. If left alone, the odds of Flora surviving were scant.
Mevia squatted and slowly stuck her head around the side the cave.
The sick of bodily excretions mixed with food and sex smells washed over her like an acid bath. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the torch lit cavern.
There were three of them. Roach and Grunt were lounging next to the campfire already nodding off into a drunken sleep. The canteen hide of hooch sat between their gluttonous bulks. The other one, Crow, was on top of Flora with his back turned. Her dirt caked feet were close, within Mevia’s reach.
She held her breath, counting down the seconds. Until what? She didn’t know, but she knew the longer she stayed there the more likely she was to get caught.
Suddenly there was the scraping of gravel as Flora began tussling. Crow growled and struggled with her. Then Flora released a desperate wail, like a trapped animal and a sickening crunch-pop followed.
Mevia’s stomach dropped. She strained her neck, but Crow’s oaf of a body was blocking her view. All she could see was Flora’s wilted legs, blue and veiny.
Crow rose and stood over her body. From beneath the upside down V of his hairy legs Flora’s eyes stared blankly into the distance, a pair of burnt out light bulbs.
He walked away, tripping over her. There was a commotion. They were fighting, but to Mevia it was just background sounds of macho arguing and harrumphing.
The ringing in Mevia’s ears was all encompassing, as if her drums were blown up like balloons, pressing against her head. She reached out slowly. Her hand, powdered with grey dust from the rock, was shaking as she stretched and laid her fingers lightly on top of those dirty, little-girl toes.
“Flora?” she called to her quietly.
She didn’t answer.
“Flora?” Mevia shook her cold foot. Flora’s blood shot eyes, widened. The severe contrast between her lifeless body and her panic stricken, horrified expression was frightening. Her neck was cocked in an unnatural angle.
“Can you feel my hand?” Mevia asked. From Flora’s reaction, it was more like she was delivering terrible news instead of asking a question.
Flora’s eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth like someone was force feeding her something putrid and without a sound, she mouthed the word, “No.” Mevia tried again, shaking harder, but with all the reaction she got, she may have well been a ghost. “No,” Flora whispered again.
The ringing in Mevia’s ears subsided and she sensed the air had changed and the argument was winding down.
“Don’t feel bad man,” Roach was saying. “We’ll use her as if she’s good as new!”
Mevia’s stomach lurched, churning the green banana. She moved her hand and gripped Flora’s ankle. Could she drag her out?
“Hey!” one of them shouted. “There’s the other ‘un!”
Mevia jumped up and ran. She climbed over the side of the ridge. Close behind, there was the scraping of sandals as they chased her into the jungle.
Mevia raced blindly into the harsh daylight. The wind stung her eyes, blowing cold tears across her temples. She sprinted barefoot across the rugged, unfamiliar land not knowing in which direction she was going, where she was headed, or if these were the final seconds of her life. Grunt’s ragged breath was just behind her ear.
She twisted through the jungle trees which seemed to be taking sides with Grunt, their thorns grabbing and cutting her bare flesh as she crashed through the foliage. She climbed another rocky hill. She hadn’t used her legs for running in a long time. However, she was thin and agile while Grunt was fat and drunk.
Digging her fingers into the mossy cracks she climbed to the top and glanced back. Her heart skipped; he was just below and faster than she hoped. Once at the top, she took off along the rock, pumping her twig thin legs beneath her bony frame. Her throat was clenched tightly around her breath making choked, pitchy sounds like frightened prey.
“Get back here y’ hoor!” He was close. “You’re gonna get it!”
She crossed through a curtain of jungle and dove under a vine heavy log. Blood oozed down her arms and legs, dripping onto the curly green moss. She curled into a ball, and bowed her head hoping she hadn’t made a horrible mistake.
Leaves clapped, branches snapped.
She held her breath.
Stomping. Thrashing. Cursing.
She waited. And then…silence.
Carefully, she lifted her chin until she saw his backside. His head was going left to right, searching for her. She stiffened, becoming a pale statue among the greenery.
Finally, he lumbered away. But he might come back. Mevia thought. She crawled away in the opposite direction.
Then the ground gave out with a crack and she was falling, rolling down a rocky hill rigged with jagged stones. “Umph! Uh!” With each bump, a painful slice was ripped from her flesh, every inch a new punishment.
“Oof!” She hit the bottom in a cloud of dust on a bed of flinty grey stones that dug unapologetically into her ribs. She rolled over on her back and coughed. Her breath was knocked clean out. The blue, cloud filled sky spread above her unobstructed, which meant she was laying out in the open.
A dark figure stepped over her, his back to the sun. She raised her sliced arm to shield her face, the gashed openings caked with gravel.
Her shallow, coarse breath quickened. And just as the man reached for her, she surrendered and lost consciousness, falling back into the darkness from where she came.
Chapter 8
It was the dull, persistent aches that finally stirred Mevia. With effort she managed to roll over on one side. The entire plank of her back groaned with stiffness while her bones popped as they adjusted and realigned. Her neck was worse, for it had clenched up while sleeping and now the slightest movement hit her with hot stabs.
But all of the aches were minor compared to the desert dry thirst, as if her tongue had shriveled into a raisin.
Her eyes focused and she was in an unfamiliar place. Then it all rushed back like a cold slap to the face and she remembered: where she was, how she got there and worst of all, where she had been. She lay on her side, her head throbbing, too heavy to lift, and so she moved only her eyes back and forth like a security camera.
There was so much sunlight. It poured over her like warm honey. She was in a large, flat open area surrounded on all sides by tall, probably five stories high, smooth walls sticking straight out of the earth like crooked bottom teeth. The rocks didn’t quite meet at the top leaving an opening like a volcano. The sun was shining straight down into the cavern like a laser pointer, which meant it was high noon.
And, oh was it hot. Sticky from humidity, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position feeling the stretching and breaking of the scabs that were painted up and down her body. She winced and went to touch them, but found they had been bandaged.
Brown leaves, dried and cracked like cigar paper, sticky with a thick oil, clung to her wounds, held on by a twisted string tied into a delicate bow. It was this careful detail that fascinated her as she fingered the dainty loops.
There was a dead, smoldering campfire at one end, its smoke billowing up toward the sky. The ash colored ground was mostly flat, but had shadowed dips and bulges like the surface of the moon. Makeshift beds, the same as she was sitting on, were scattered along the walls in uniform distance. She counted eight.
Suddenly, a switch was flipped the same way a deer’s head pops up from the drinking hole the moment it knows it’s being hunted. Perhaps she heard a sound, a voice, or a shuffle.
All of her surv
ival instincts flared and she exploded off the bed no longer feeling an itch of pain.
People. Unknown people. Men. Men were coming. Coming to get her.
Mevia ran to one of the rock walls. Was there a way out? Or a hiding place? She darted around, her hand searching along the stone. Not a nook or a crevice to be found on the solid plane.
She tore off to try another side of the enclosure. The skin of her palm scraped and peeled as it ran across the rough surface. The papery bandages fell like autumn leaves around her feet, but she kicked past them.
Panicked, she stepped on a pile of clay dishes and fell to the ground.
Crash! Clatter!
The sound echoed mercilessly in the cavern walls. She’s in here! Come and get her!
She jumped to her feet, but stepped on a cup, crushing it. She bolted toward the middle of the floor leaving a trail of blood from her sliced right foot. She stood in the center twisting her body about, but there was no refuge to be found. Then she clearly heard the voices. Men’s voices.
No, she would not be taken prisoner, she would sooner die.
Mevia reached down and grabbed the longest piece of the broken plate. It wasn’t as agile as the shanks they used back in the Slags, but it would work if she struck hard and struck fast. She bent over, ready to attack, squinting through the stray curls that fell into her eyes, the edges engulfed in a yellow halo from the overhead sun.
A large, flat rock about the height of a woman rolled over revealing two white eyes.
She took a step back, her bloody foot peeling off of the ground.
Two bearded men stepped out from the entrance and slowly walked toward her.
“Stay back!” she threated. Her heart quickened. From their belt loops dangled two shiny knives. The taller of the two men smiled and revealed his palms.
“Relax. We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Grrrooww!” she growled like a rabid fox, slicing the piece through the air, her instincts raging in full force.
Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1) Page 4