Forgotten Liberty

by Alessio Cala

  “What does cogolots mean?” asked Sam, his voice both confident and enthusiastic.

  “Coagulate... it means to harden or solidify.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Frank sighed. “It means to– look, you put the plant on the wound and it will stop the bleeding, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  An entire hour had passed. Frank began to worry about Annie’s whereabouts. He buttoned his shirt and draped his jacket over his forearm.

  “Are we going now?” Sam asked, holding out his hand. Frank took the boy’s hand and helped him up, taking one last look around.

  “We have to go back," he said. Calm down, Frank. He couldn't help it. He needed to reassure himself. He took one last glance to the north before turning back.

  “Come on,” he said, guiding the boy back upstream. Moving uphill took its toll on his ankle. He slipped his jacket between his back and knapsack, freeing both hands to steady himself on the rocks. The misconceptions and panicked thoughts lingered in his mind. He was agitated by his surroundings. Every noise echoed in his mind; the birds, the river and the rustling of wind in the bushes caused him to startle easy. He blew away the sweat dripping over his upper lip and pressed onward.

  They had been walking for some time, maybe no more than a few miles from where they initially fell. Frank stopped, his vision blurred as he witnessed the swarm of a hundred men waiting for him at the top of the hill. The terror struck his heart. Something tugged his leg and he looked down at Sam who wondered why they had both stopped. Frank's head snapped back up to the hilltop, but there was nobody there. He had to blink a few times to assure himself, deceived by his own imagination. Frank picked up the boy in his arms and pushed on. He took three more steps before another set of noises stopped him in his tracks. It was real this time. He was certain. He knew it existed because the boy heard it too. They dropped to the ground and lay still, concealed by rocks that surrounded the riverbank. Minuscule streams of water flowed soothingly between them, brushing little stones and fallen leaves against their bodies. Frank peered over the rock, he could hear voices ahead. Sam burrowed his head into Frank’s torso and shut his eyes tight. A figure emerged from the valley's horizon about seventy metres upstream. A second figure followed, then finally a third. The three raiders were difficult to make out from such distance but he saw the rifles in their arms.

  A single sharp clicking noise startled him stiff from behind. His body tensed up and he recognised the distinct cocking of the weapon's hammer.

  “Easy, old man,” a female voice spoke softly. "Turn around, nice and slow."

  Frank gradually turned his head as instructed. He knew no window of escape was in order. There was nowhere to go. A young red-haired woman stood before him. One hand rested against the bark of a tree, the other wrapped tightly around the grip of a sawn-off shotgun. Frank’s eyes lined perfectly between the twin barrels only inches away from his face. The young woman noticed the boy in his arms. Her expression remained firm, well aware of the approaching party ahead and she seemed eager to lead them away.

  “Let’s go, come on,” she motioned Frank over with the shotgun. He had no alternative. He took the boy and followed her orders without question.

  “Crawl over here until I say it’s okay to stand,” she continued.

  Frank did exactly that, inching closer toward the tree line. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, examining her every feature. Although she had strapped an olive drab bandana around her head, it did little to stop her long red hair flowing in the breeze. Behind her field jacket was a black vest that draped loosely around her slim figure. Her olive cargos were tucked into a pair of scuffed up black leather boots. An intimidating bandolier of shotgun shells draped across the front of her torso and she wore a lightweight knapsack on her back. Frank held Sam close in his arm while using the other to shift them closer to the woman by the tree line. She waved the shotgun upward promptly, signalling for him to rise to his feet. He complied with her demand and noticed her step back to create some distance between them. She motioned with the shotgun once more; deeper into the forest. Frank took the lead, sensing the end of the shotgun on his back at all times. He heard her whisper directions to him as they moved further away from the river. Sam sobbed quietly. He looked down and saw the boy staring up with those petrified glassy eyes.

  "You best keep that boy quiet," she hissed. "I don't want to hurt you, and I won't if you don't make me." Frank nodded without looking back, it wasn’t worth the risk. He held the boy closely and shushed him softly as they delved deeper into the woodlands.

  As they departed from the forest, she made them wait by the roadside. Knowing she stood behind him with a loaded gun made him nervous.

  "Have you seen my wife?" he asked. His voice was desperate and frightened.

  "You're not allowed to talk till we get to where we're going, understand?"

  He didn't respond.

  "You're a fast learner," she said. He didn't fear her but rather feared for the safety of those he sought. She noticed his hunched stature. His dread flushed her with guilt, she could have continued with the facade but it wasn't necessary.

  "Listen, I know where your wife is."

  Frank turned to face her. "Is she okay? Where is she?"

  "Calm down. I'm going to take you to her but for this to work I need you to trust me. It isn't safe out here anymore. All you need to know is that you're safer in my hands than the hands of those bastards back there."

  Frank nodded again.

  "You're Frank, right?"

  "She tell you that?"

  "No, I guessed." She grinned smugly and he realised just how ridiculous his question was. She overtook him.

  "I'm Kara," she said without looking back. "Your wife said you were out here so I came looking."

  "You came all the way out here just for me?"

  "Hey don't be fooled, I'm no good Samaritan. I'm getting something out of this wild goose chase."

  "From my wife?"

  "No. Now enough with all the questions already. You're starting to give me a headache."

  Frank didn't know how to react. He wasn't sure about the whole ordeal, but what he did know was that this woman could lead him back to his wife.

  Kara looked both ways before stepping out into the deserted road. Frank waited patiently at the roadside, holding the young boy up in one arm. He watched Kara kneel down in the middle of the road. She ran her fingertips through faint markings in the dirt.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  “Tyre tracks. Fresh."

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not really, it means they’ve just done a round. They’ll do another in an hour so we’d best get a move on.”

  "Where are we going?"

  "Elkford."

  SIX

  Not a word was spoken between Frank and Kara on their journey up to Elkford, nor was another soul to be seen. He had only seen Elkford once before during the early years of the island's development. It had changed immensely since and was now surrounded by a vast wooden fortress. Tall tree trunks towered in unison around the perimeter. As they approached the gates, Frank saw the guards armed with wooden bows and rifles posted high on the walls. They recognised Kara and yelled something out to the other side of the wall. Two guards opened the gated archway. Kara led Frank and Sam inside and the guards stared intently as they passed. Frank speculated their unusual gaze, he couldn't tell if it was himself or the boy that they observed so studiously. Kara slung the shotgun over her shoulder and strolled on into the village of Elkford.

  "If this is your first time here, welcome to Elkford. If it’s not, then sorry I brought you here."

  Frank's initial thought when laying eyes on the village was how eroded it had become. Wilting fruit trees lined in rows either side of the main strip. Where children once played in the streets now adults stacked boxes of supplies to be rationed. The rain stopped but the grey sky left a gloomy residue over Elkford in this time of oppressi
on.

  "What happened here?" Frank asked.

  Kara ignored his question and led them into the village tavern. Evening was approaching and the tavern was full of diverse groups sitting together in mild chatter. Frank felt the stare of a dozen men and the room quickly fell to near silence. An old dusty piano sat in the corner of the room with nobody to play it. Kara ignored the stairs and sat them down on a vacant picnic table in the corner of the room.

  "Sit here and wait for me."

  Frank did as he was told. He sat down and propped the boy up beside him, watching Kara as she spoke to the bar tender. They exchanged words for a while and every now and then they would look back over to Frank and the boy. A few moments later she returned with a burlap sack and a glass of rum.

  "Where's my wife?" Frank asked abruptly. He was exhausted, famished and most of all, impatient. Kara took a sip of her rum before replying.

  "She's talking to my boss at the barracks. We'll go there when I finish this."

  "No I think you'll take me there right now. You can finish your drink later." Frank's posture tightened up. He leaned, his index finger perched demandingly on the table. Kara set her drink down and examined Frank for some time, unravelling him with her eyes.

  "How long have you known this boy?"

  "What’s it to you?"

  "Just curious. How long you been out there, Frank?"

  "I don’t know, two days?"

  "You haven't seen your wife in two days?"

  "Well, no. I lost contact with her earlier this morning."

  "So you get this worked up when you haven't seen your wife for less than a day? Sounds a little obsessive to me, Frank." She raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her drink. Frank paused for a second. His patience was wearing thin and he didn't take kindly to her straight-forward spin on things.

  "I want you to cut through all the bullshit and tell me what the hell is going on here; but first of all, for the last time, take me to my wife!"

  His voice rose uncontrollably. More heads turned inside the tavern. Kara downed the rest of her rum. She stood up, wiped her mouth with her forearm and threw the burlap sack over her shoulder.

  "All right. I've finished my drink. Let's go see your wife."

  Frank snatched Sam up by his wrist and followed her towards the door. As they got halfway across the tavern, he felt something quickly clamp his arm. He looked back at the podgy hand holding a wad of his jacket and followed the tattooed arm up to see that of a larger man, a gristly oaf in a black beanie.

  The oaf's gaze never left Frank as he spoke. "There a problem here, Kara?" Frank could see it in those deadpan mackerel eyes, the type of man just itching for an excuse to cause trouble.

  "Let go of him, Derek, this has nothing to do with you," said Kara.

  Frank held Sam away from the oaf. "You want to listen to the lady and ease up there, friend?"

  Derek stared at Kara, then back at Frank and finally down at the boy. He grumbled like a wild bear and released his grip before lowering back down into his seat. Kara led Frank back outside and shut the tavern door behind them.

  She escorted him through the strip and down some steps that lead to a stone lodge. The sky was already far greyer than it was when they had entered the tavern and it would soon be night. Frank wondered if he could really trust the woman. She seemed to know almost too much, but her blunt honesty and reasoning was enough for him to continue to follow her. They passed a stone archway and entered a courtyard where a few guards sat, smoking and playing cards around a small wooden table. They exchanged brief greetings with Kara as she passed before noticing the boy. One man was left stunned; his cigarette dropped from his mouth and rolled straight off the table. It was only then that Frank truly understood why they reacted this way. It had only just occurred to him in that moment. He had not seen a single child in the village of Elkford.

  They walked through the courtyard, flourished in weeds and limestone sculptures that were in dire need of amends, decayed and discoloured from the exposure to acid rain. A sculptured Elk stood gracefully; one of its antlers had chipped away and lay in a messy clump of rubble on the ground beside it.

  A booming set of barks echoed through the courtyard.

  Frank turned and saw the beloved dog jump up at him. He struggled to juggle the boy and contain Max's excitement all at the same time. He settled Sam down and ruffled the dog’s cheeks and patted him on the head.

  “Sorry, he can’t come inside,” Kara said, holding another door open for them.

  "Sorry boy," said Frank.

  The dog yawned and wheezed as his master and the boy followed Kara inside. Kara shut the door behind them. She strutted ahead through the hallway and pushed past a set of fabric drapes that led them into yet another room.

  The room was filled with various items of a logistical nature. In the centre was a flat stone platform with a large situation map of Autark sprawled across its surface. The map was littered in markings and small wooden units dotted around each major settlement. There was a chalk board mounted to another wall, plastered in various statements, drawings and arrow points crossing each other in all directions. It was some kind of planning and management room. Several men and women stood around discussing amongst each other. Another wall displayed a weapons rack, ranging from knives to bows to rifles and handguns and finally; sitting to one side on a bench, was Annie.

  "Frank," she stammered. She shot up from her seat and ran into his arms. He felt her tender embrace and the scent of her hair flourished the inside of his nostrils. He hugged her tightly and then placed both hands on her shoulders.

  "Are you okay? What happened?" Frank asked, flustered with questions.

  "Am I okay? What about you, I've been worried sick," she replied. "Kara heard us hollering for you, she brought us here to safety."

  Frank turned back to Kara, no longer anxious of her motivations.

  "Thank you," he whispered.

  "Don't mention it."

  Frank paused, scanning the room around them. "Where's Tracy?"

  "She had a brief tumble in the woods," said one man over by the map. "Our medical assistant has tended to her and she is resting in one of the guest quarters across the yard."

  The man strolled over to them. The spurs of his boots jangled with every step. His dark brown hair was combed back and a thin moustache sat across his upper lip. He sported a welcoming grin and held out his hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Javier Paraíso.” His voice was both clear and articulate with a South American flare. Frank shook the man's hand hesitantly, exhausted and overwhelmed with everything that had happened over the past two days.

  "Frank."

  "Frank, your wife has spoken of nothing but you since she arrived here in Elkford."

  "All good I hope."

  Javier chuckled in amusement. There was a charming manner about him but it almost seemed too apparent, too forced. Javier's attention drew lower to the boy by his side. He took a moment to ingest what he was seeing, surprised by the sight of the child.

  "My goodness. Is this your grandson?" said Javier.

  "No, he's not ours," Annie piped up.

  Javier's charm soon faded. After hearing Annie's words, four guards stepped forward in unison and snatched the boy from Frank's grasp.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Frank hollered.

  He wanted to pull Sam back but it all happened so fast. He was caught off guard, the boy was already in possession of the guards. Frank and Annie did their best to push past the towering guardsmen but was no match for their youthful age and strength. Frank heard the boy crying out over the broad shoulders in his way. Javier yanked him away from them and led him into the circle of guards on the other side of the room.

  "Check his back," he ordered.

  Frank's arms were held together, locked behind his back, Annie's too. They watched as Kara lifted the boy's rags to expose his bare back. Frank stopped resisting for a moment. He stared, mesmerised
at the sight that would remain with all who laid eyes on it. Tormented scars ran parallel across the child's back. They were fragile, a rubbery texture of sagging tissue that grazed in diagonal motions. Even lower at the base of his back was a burning imprint, the surrounding skin red raw as it read, '027.'

  "He's a raider boy," yelled one of the guards. Kara noticed the black book tucked into his rags and ripped it free. Sam jumped up, desperate to retrieve it but Kara held him back. She tossed it up to Javier for closer examination.

  "He's harmless. Please, leave him be," cried Annie. Frank struggled against the guard but a swift rifle stock to the gut knocked him back down to his battered knees.

  "Stop this violence!" Javier demanded. "If this boy really is a spy for the raiders, he would not have allowed these two to live for so long."

  "Could've led the raiders to us, left a trail for them to follow?" said Kara.

  "For Christ sakes, he's just a child," Frank croaked under the throbbing pain in his stomach. He struggled to breathe, his head low as he gasped for air. Javier opened the book. He skimmed through each page, his eyes scanning them as though deciphering an ancient relic. He flipped the page again, and again, until he reached the most recent of sketches. His eyes widened, he stared at the image and the room waited in anticipated silence.

  "Impossible..."

  "What? What is it?" Kara asked. She stared up at Javier, holding the boy steady beside her. Javier held the book out to Kara, she took it carefully to inspect and after some time her face soon mirrored that of Javier's. Frank and Annie shared an unsettling glance.

  "Release them," Javier ordered.

  The guards hesitated, looking at one another for reassurance.

  "I said let go of them," he repeated sternly. They released their grasp and so did Kara. Sam ran back into Annie's arms, tears streaming down his face. Javier snatched the book back from Kara and approached Frank. He squatted down and held the book up for the couple to see. There on the page was a sketch that Frank struggled to fathom.