Forgotten Liberty

by Alessio Cala

  "Leave it."

  He snatched the machete, looped the strap to his belt and placed the shotgun sling securely over his shoulder.

  "Come with me," Annie called out to the boy. "I won't hurt you.” She gestured to the child with open arms. He was apprehensive at first, but when he heard the engines closing in; his mind was quickly made up. Though Frank could not see the trucks, there was no doubt in his mind that they were heading their way. He detached the only remaining horse from the cart and helped Annie and the boy up onto the saddle.

  "You ready to run, boy?" he asked Max as he mounted the horse. The dog tilted his head to one side, gazing at the new companion that sat between his masters. Frank and Annie looked back one last time. The rusty military trucks rose swiftly over the horizon through the damp drizzle. Frank kicked his heels into the horse's sides. Annie sat behind him with the frightened boy between them, holding her arms tightly around Frank’s waist as they set off down the track. He looked back and saw Max sprinting fast, doing his very best to keep up.

  The horse was through the gate and up the trail before they even had a chance to gauge their surroundings.

  "Tracy!" Annie called out to the house. It was a little rough around the edges and could have done with a lick of paint but it was home. She hopped off the horse, up the front porch and disappeared up the stairs. Across the landscape, Frank spotted clouds of black smoke rising. The stables. Scorching flames parried the drizzle of rainfall. Henry's home and livelihood, once a beautifully handcrafted wooden stable was now a blazing inferno.

  "Oh God..."

  The stench of reeking gasoline lingered out from the burning stables. The fire spread rapidly across the tall pastures between them, creeping closer and closer toward the rich fields of Frank and Annie's farmland.

  "Frank!" he heard her call to him from inside.

  He went for the door but remembered the boy, still sitting atop the mount. He looked petrified, the distant flames dazzling the whites of his eyes. Frank took the boy into his arms and headed into the house with Max on his heels.

  He found Annie sitting on the bed beside her older sister Tracy. She was pale, shaking and withdrawn from the others. Annie felt obliged to look after her older sister and she cared for her very much. She remembered when their mother died and how hard Tracy took it. It was the first time they discovered her symptoms. While most grieved for the loss of a loved one; Tracy shot through phases of grief, anger and uncomfortable fits of laughter that worried them all so dearly. She was never the same after that, but Annie was always there to care for her.

  Frank stood in the doorway with the child in his arms. His soaked jacket and waterproof poncho dripped onto the warped wooden floorboards below. He hesitated momentarily, not knowing whether the child could be trusted alone. He wanted to pack additional supplies and time was running out. Tracy needed Annie by her side and he feared he might learn to regret leaving the boy unsupervised. He sat the child on the bed next to Tracy and began stuffing his knapsack with extra clothes and two blankets that lay at the foot of the bed.

  "Who is this?" Tracy asked.

  Frank didn't look back. "We're not sure."

  "What do you mean you're not sure?"

  "There's no time. We need to get out of here right now."

  The child's eyes bounced around the room, dazed and confused. He was unsure of his surroundings but continued to remain still.

  "Annie, I need you downstairs in one minute. Can you do that for me?" Frank asked.

  She didn't acknowledge him but he knew she heard. She took hold of Tracy's hand and carefully helped her up onto her feet. Frank bolted down the staircase, through the kitchen and out the back door. He packed some rope from over where he tied the wooden ladders together and ran back indoors. Once inside, he took to his knees and scrambled around the lower cabinets. Various cast-iron pots and pans spilled out onto the kitchen floor behind him. He took a small boiling pot and tied it to his knapsack with a piece of the rope. He wrapped the pot in scarce rags to muffle the clattering sound of metal. He checked the cabinet above the sink – a single tin of homemade tomato soup, a box of matches and a container of leftover strips of grilled rabbit jerky – it would have to do. He took his canteen from the knapsack and filled it at the sink before stuffing it back inside. He would have to boil it some other time. The bellowing rumble of engines shook the house. He froze for a split second, as if to double-check that his ears were not deceiving him, but the engines grew louder with every passing second.

  "Annie!" he called out from the kitchen. He held onto the shotgun and tossed the knapsack over his shoulder.

  "Annie, we have to go right now."

  "We're coming," she hollered back.

  Annie and Tracy rushed downstairs and through to the kitchen. Annie held the boy in one arm and the boy held on tight whilst fiddling with his ear. Frank tossed Tracy her coat and bag. She caught them in a flustered mess and put them on amidst the madness. Frank swung open the back door. It clashed against the stopper and reverberated back on its hinges.

  "You get them down the field and into the tree line. You don't stop, understand?"

  "What about you?"

  "I'll be right behind you. Just go."

  The trucks stopped outside the front of the house and the engines cut to dead silence. Frank heard Annie and Tracy's footsteps cutting through the tall grass of the allotment out back. He peered into the hallway and saw shadows emerge through the frosted glass panels in the front door. A sharp set of knocks startled him and he instinctively raised the shotgun. Max barked at the silhouettes.

  "Stay!" Frank muttered, slowly backing further into the kitchen.

  “Frank?" a familiar voice called out to him from the other side. He lowered the shotgun in bewilderment. "Henry?"

  "Frank, you need to open the door."

  "Henry. The stables..."

  "Don't worry about that."

  Frank sensed a disturbing inflection in Henry's voice. He stopped, eyes fixated on the silhouette of his neighbour through the glass.

  "Henry?"

  "Yes Frank?"

  "You’re not alone, are you?"

  "No Frank."

  He felt a lump in his throat, a single bead of sweat dripped down his temple.

  "I'm so sorry," he choked. It was all he could muster. He struggled to leave from that spot; to turn his back and leave his neighbour, his friend, knowing that he would never see him again.

  “You should get out of here, Frank.”

  Frank retreated several steps before turning his back on Henry. He darted out the back door as fast as he could and hurtled down the hill. Max sprinted ahead of him. Frank felt his equipment weighing him down with every step, his lungs peddling overtime. The crack of gunfire tore shreds of wood and glass from behind him. He felt his legs speed up to the downward momentum but the rest of his body failed to keep up. He stumbled forward and his hands slammed hard into the earth below. His legs flew back over the top of his body. He tumbled down the grassy hillside and crashed through the cane pillars of the tomato patch.

  All the pain shot to his ankle. He lay there on his back, the rain water splashing against his dirt-ridden face. Gunfire snapped by overhead. He turned onto his belly and crawled towards the tree line. Henry's tortured screams carried out for miles across the raided valleys. Frank heard men hollering to one another in a foreign language but he struggled to distinguish it over the echoing gunshots. Annie emerged from the shrubbery. She stalked over to Frank, pulled him up onto his feet and guided him into the forest.

  "Where's the horse?" he asked. Annie's only response was her faltered loss for words. "I thought you were going to get her? That's why I thought you told us to go on."

  "Forget it. We can't go back."

  "What about your ankle?"

  "I'll be okay. Just grab the boy."

  They trekked a few miles downhill through the forest. Frank didn't stop in fear of their pursuit. The constant rain caused the forest floor to bec
ome a stodgy marshland. His ankle throbbed and began to swell but he carried on nevertheless. Exhausted. Through the gentle patter of rain and squelching of their boots, they each lifted their weary heads to the unmistakable sound of running water. Tracy reached the peak of the valley and took a moment to breathe. "There's a river," she called out to the others falling in behind. Frank caught up beside them. He noticed the approach of nightfall and recognised the river.

  "Kiors Creek. Carries down from a stream far west. The other end flows north to Elkford,"

  "I've never seen it," said Annie. "When did you come up here, when we first came over?"

  "Not quite that soon. Maybe four years ago or so."

  "What for?"

  "Was stocking up on medicinal plants, and it was a good excuse to give Max and the horses a walk. All we have to do is follow it."

  She knelt by the river where the rain beat against its surface. She scooped the water up and brushed it across her face. She then did the same for the boy standing beside her. He remained silent, yet to speak, but allowed her to wash his face for him. They filled their canteens by the river but Frank could see Tracy was hesitant. "It's safe to drink once we've boiled it. Waters never met the ocean, rain won't do much harm.”

  All at once they heard Max's call not far up at the face of a nearby cliff. They followed the sound of his bark up through the trees and rocky crevices. When they reached him, his front paws stood raised against a dying pine, barking up at a panicked squirrel that spiralled up the diseased trunk. Frank noticed a small convex dip in the side of the moss-engrossed stone cliff, a shelter in the form of a cave. It was a poor excuse for a cave, maybe more of a small cavern, only five metres deep but Frank wasn’t in any position to complain. It appeared unoccupied. No signs of leftover carcass lay within its depths, nor any faeces or disturbance of nesting. Frank contemplated the risk of staying the night. The light was fading fast and the cavern sheltered them from the rain that appeared to have no end in sight. He knew there was no way they could continue through the dark, especially with his ankle that had been overworked since they had left the house. His throbbing fingers and aching chest made the prospect of rest all too tempting. The cavern was tucked away from the open stretch that followed Kiors Creek. Although it was cramped, it would have to make do as their camp for the night. There were no alternatives. The wilderness of Autark could be a dangerous place for drifters and travellers alike; but if there was one thing Frank was certain of, he would not sleep well that night.

  FOUR

  Frank lay in utter darkness, completely still within the cramped conditions of the cave. He felt the cold in his bones and the temperature dropping in the night. In the corner of his eye he could see the last haze of the campfire's smoulder drift outside, lost to the forest.

  He couldn't sleep. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, the mass of the earth flooding his mind. He thought about the boy; how he had not spoken a single word since their discovery. He wondered what had led him into their lives. That night they had pitched a fire inside the cave, surrounding it with tall rocks to aid in the concealment of its light and flame. They had no bedrolls, only the clothes on their backs and two blankets between them to keep them warm. Annie and Tracy shared one, pushed up against one side of the cave. Frank could just about make out the boy, wrapped tightly in the other. He was curled into a ball and Max lay beside him in a similar fashion, his nose tucked round into his scruffy tail.

  Frank couldn't help but wonder if they were being followed. His mind flooded with questions. What do they want? Is it the boy? He gazed out into the bitter darkness. Moonlight shimmered off naked branches that whistled and cracked in the cold.

  The cackle of the pestering crow stirred Frank from his indefinite slumber. He had barely slept at all, maybe two hours at best. Rays of sunlight beamed into the cavern. He felt his heavy eyelids hang as though they were being held shut. For a split second, he imagined he had woken in the comfort of his own bed. The sudden realisation was like a fist in his gut. A flushed sweat triggered across his brow. He shot up and looked back over his shoulder but there was nobody there.

  He scrambled up to his feet but dropped back down to one knee. He'd forgotten about his ankle. His body fought desperately to catch up with his eager mind. The monotonous croak taunted him from a treetop outside the cavern. He listened to it again and knew he was mistaken. It was not a crow but rather a raven. He had recognised its call from before on the road back from Merribank. At first it irritated him, mocked him from afar, but the more it croaked the more he believed its call was that of unsettling woe. His head lifted, eyes squinting against the rays of light, and once he gauged a clear view into the clearing he was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief.

  The boy sat peacefully atop the stone’s flat surface. His feet did not touch the ground and instead kicked freely, back and forth as he scribbled into a black leather-bound book. Max sat beside him, stripping away layers of bark from a fallen tree branch with his teeth. His fur was still damp from the previous day. He sensed his master approaching and stared up at Frank with those glistening brown eyes, his tongue bouncing with every pant. Frank hobbled out from the cavern’s shelter.

  “Where’s Annie?” He asked the boy.

  The boy pulled his attention from the illustrations but remained silent. He caught sight of the bearded man and glanced sheepishly over towards the river.

  “I’m going down to speak with her,” said Frank. “You stay right here with Max, you understand?”

  The boy nodded. Frank patted Max on the head and set off downhill, clinging on to each tree that he passed for support.

  With the sun shining through the pines, it was as if Frank was seeing the river again for the first time. The light reflected off the water’s surface, flowing down the river’s course with such natural grace. He spotted Annie and Tracy filling up their canteens where they had done so the previous day. They noticed him hobbling down and he could tell Annie was none too pleased to see him up and about on his feet.

  “You should be resting,” she called out as he covered the last twenty yards.

  “You should have woken me. It isn’t safe out here.”

  “Why aren’t you with the boy?” Tracy asked.

  Frank looked back uphill and caught vague glimpses of Max and the boy through the branches above.

  “He’s okay. Max is watching him.”

  “He's certainly taken a liking to him awfully fast.”

  “I know. Strange. He's usually more careful with strangers.”

  Tracy knelt down to fill her canteen. She held the top against the water's current so it flowed in with minimal effort. Frank rested both hands on his hips and turned back to the ladies.

  “So what we gonna do?”

  “What do you mean?” Annie asked.

  “Well we have a stray child on our hands and it isn’t safe to head back home.”

  “I thought you said we were heading to Elkford?”

  “We are. I’m talking after that. After we hand him over.”

  “Hand him over?” said Annie.

  Frank sensed the sudden disappointment underlying her tone. “Well what did you think we were doing? He belongs to somebody, Annie.”

  “He’s right, Annie,” Tracy piped up, her back still turned as she capped the canteen shut. “His parents are probably worried sick.”

  “I know, but what if his parents aren’t around anymore? Who will take care of him?”

  Frank glanced to Tracy and knew that she too shared his concern. He rested his hand upon his wife’s shoulder and moved in closer.

  “We’ll figure this out once we get to Elkford, okay?”

  Her opinions had not been reciprocated among the others. He saw her saddened eyes shy away. He was drawn to them, so deep and full of disappointment and his heart sank low in his chest.

  Frank made his way back up to the cave ahead of the others. He aimed to pack up their supplies to start heading north as soon as poss
ible.

  “Are you an outlander?” a soft voice whispered.

  Frank stopped. He turned to face the boy who sat with the blanket wrapped around him. His cheeks a rosy complexion and eyes so wide you would think he had seen a ghost.

  “Am I what?”

  The boy struggled to look him in the eye, intimidated by Frank’s rugged exterior.

  “An outlander; from the outside.” he repeated once more. His accent was remote. Frank had never heard anything like it.

  “So you do talk?”

  The boy nodded. Frank moved closer to him, ignoring the aching pain in his ankle. “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. What’s your name?”

  The boy glanced up, unsure. “My name?”

  “Yes, your name. You must have a name?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Do you know where your mother and father are?”

  The boy ignored the question and returned to his book. Frank quickly lost his attention and could tell he was no longer comfortable with the subject. If they were going to find his parents he would need more information. They had the entire journey to Elkford to find that out. The boy just needed time to warm up to them. Although he had seen the start of something between Annie and the boy, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to pass the child on as quickly as possible. Their home had been destroyed and the only thing on his mind was keeping his family safe and seeking amends for the damages.

  Frank began to learn more about the raiders every day. He had heard stories and rumours of their existence from the merchants of Merribank but never believed them to be true. Although they had no official name, they were said to have been pirates of the sea, claiming that the island of Autark had previously belonged to another. Even though Autark was situated in the north Atlantic, their numbers consisted of men and women from all over the eastern coastlines of South America. He remembered a fisherman in Merribank who once claimed they had overthrown the military base four years ago. He claimed that all communications with the outside world would be destroyed, that the raiders were using the base as a fort. People in the west rarely ventured east. There was little need and if they ever did, it would only ever be to visit Wolvendale to purchase building materials in bulk.