Forgotten Liberty

by Alessio Cala

Frank was at a loss for words and he wondered whether Javier’s whisper even deemed a response. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to endure the embarrassment of asking the man to repeat himself, Frank simply nodded along, staring down at his own feet. Javier Paraíso held both hands on Frank's shoulders and took one last look at him before his departure. Javier smiled and nodded. Frank wasn't sure whether it was sincere or an alluring charismatic smokescreen. The group walked out of the gates of Elkford and set off on their journey east. The crowd of people waved their goodbyes, Javier among them. As he listened to the settler’s chants of gratitude, Frank couldn't help but feel played. This was a task for soldiers, for fighters, not a farmer. He knew the risks after experiencing what the raiders were capable of. He feared for Annie, for Tracy and Max. He also feared for the life of the boy, an innocent being whose talent or gift, or whatever it was, had led them on a path that would put their lives in grave danger.

  EIGHT

  The first day was spent pushing deep into the depths of the forest. They had abandoned the roads, veering from any sign of civilisation to better their chances of concealment. The rural environment was harsh, the ground uneven. November's rain showered the forest floor. A collection of puddles flooded downhill to form scattered ponds in the lower regions of the valleys.

  Their goal was to locate a solitary huntsman, a man who supposedly knew the eastern side of the island like the back of his hand.

  “The guy is bat-shit crazy. Nice enough fella, but a fucking loony,” Derek had described him.

  The group debated how long it would take to reach their contact. Derek thought a week, Carlos only a few days. Frank and Derek exchanged a few intolerable glances along their journey. Something about the larger man rubbed Frank the wrong way. They had managed to steer clear of the major raider convoy heading north to Elkford but the thought of running into reinforcements travelling from the east was his greatest fear.

  The wind droned endlessly through the cold nights. They had managed to secure shelter in the valley from a natural overhang. Derek, John and Frank took watch in the night. Shifts were split into roughly three hours each but there was no way in keeping such a precise check on time. Having Max close by through those slow hours of the night eased Frank’s mind ever so slightly. He hadn’t made much time to speak with the others that day. Getting too close for comfort was always something he chose to avoid but Annie convinced him otherwise. She spoke to him that night after his watch. He had swapped over with Derek and she waited for the oaf to reach his post outside the camp. With the others fast asleep, together they lay, their bedrolls huddled close together in the cold dark night. Annie leaned in closer and pushed her cool lips against Frank’s frozen earlobes.

  “Not sure about that one,” she whispered. “I spoke a bit with her today though.”

  “And?” he whispered back softly. From then on they conversed in hushed utterances.

  “She seems alright.”

  “I wasn’t sure at first, but I think she’s okay.”

  “You should speak to the others, find out more about them.”

  “Yeah…”

  The surrounding area was far more open the second night. Carlos and John built noise traps around the perimeter of the camp. They tied rope between trees and hung discarded cans from previous meals. Kara gathered twigs and branches and laid them at the feet of the traps in the hope that they would increase their chances of hearing an intruder. They were going to be together for some time and Frank was slowly beginning to see a routine form over the course of their travels.

  Carlos was not just a scout for Paraíso. He was a frontiersman and fur trapper for the people of Elkford. He knew the surrounding woodland of the north-western part of the island better than anyone. He was very economically driven, the man hunted for trade, not necessity, and pelts were very costly and proved a rather profitable business. On their first night in the forest, Carlos had shown Frank a handcrafted map he had built over his years in the wild. It was inscribed with ink and contained greater detail than the generic map that Javier had provided him with back in Elkford. In the mornings, Carlos would set out ahead about an hour earlier than the others. This gave him a chance to check the route ahead as well as hunt if the opportunity were to occur. The others would follow his tracks and regroup around midday.

  Around noon on the third day of their journey, they had yet to see a raider or any other living soul. Derek took point, stomping his boots rhythmically ahead of the others like an elephant. Frank walked alongside Tracy and watched Annie feed Sam a pear, wiping the juices that dribbled down his chin with a handkerchief.

  “Would you stop that kid from slurping so loudly?” Derek grumbled back over his shoulder.

  “Kids gotta eat,” said John. “We’re running low on food as it is and Carlos says he’s gonna rustle up a buck or something.”

  Derek tilted his head back. Frank only saw the back of his head but the motion was enough to assume he was rolling his eyes.

  “You really believe that? Guy wakes up early, tells us he wants a head-start so he can go hunt. Anyone even seen him aim that rifle of his since we’ve been out in this shit?”

  “Enough, Derek,” Kara said. “We haven’t been in a situation where we’ve had to use our weapons yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  They reached an area of the forest that was seemingly untouched. Moss covered the earth and scaled the trees. It blended with the ivy that spiraled up the rotting pines, sucking the life from its natural host. Brambles and thorns scattered their path, forcing them to weave in and around the prickly obstacles. Frank and Derek went to work with the machetes, hacking and slashing at nature’s burden. For a while they only heard the swishing of the blade whip across the foliage and rustle limply to the ground. Broad stems and holly crunched beneath their boots as they pressed on. The distance between the trees narrowed up ahead. Branches intertwined and blocked out the sun, casting sinister shadows that played tricks on the mind. The dampness of the roots and lack of sunshine caused them to give off a clammy aroma. Derek leaned back against an enormous fallen oak, both hands on his hips. The oak had been there for decades, completely hollow and rotten from the inside out. The damp trunk’s thick dusty roots raised outwards into the air. Derek’s cheeks puffed with every gasping breath.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Tracy asked. She made a meagre attempt to cover Sam’s ears but the damage was already done.

  “What? You think he hasn’t heard anything like that where he’s been? Boys come from the shit pit.”

  “What is your problem?” Annie added. Derek grumbled dismissively. He was too out of breath to give them the time of day. Kara exchanged a brief apologetic smile with the ladies.

  The rustling of leaves amplified. Frank stopped hacking away at the brambles and listened. It wasn’t him. It was just ahead of them and approaching fast.

  “They’re coming!” a voice hissed from within the brush. Carlos burst through the shrubbery. His tunic snagged on the thorns; he ripped it away with one hand and the others flushed with panic.

  “How close?” Frank asked firmly.

  Carlos frantically staggered over to the fallen oak. “No time, come on.”

  Kara snatched Annie’s hand. She steered her and the boy towards an opening in the ancient tree. Frank heard the muffled voices heading their way. He called Max over and joined the others. Together they hunkered down in the darkness of the fallen oak. The inside was swarming with insects that claimed it as their own. They lay still amongst the dirt and the rot. Carlos gathered the freshly cut brambles and was the last one in, shoving the plants between the roots to conceal the large opening in the base of the tree.

  They remained still, listening to the voices that grew louder with every passing second. Frank could hear the altercations between Spanish and English. He lay upright against the inside of the tree and held Max tightly in his arms. He begged for the dog to stay quiet. His face was only inch
es away from Annie and the boy. Their expression’s mirrored that of Franks; fear dominated every muscle in their complexion. He could feel the tickling legs of the millipede crawling over his arm. Twigs snapped just a few feet away. He tried to control his breathing but his nerves got the better of him. He exhaled in staccato spurts. Soil smeared the side of his face, the pressure of the soft bark pushed against his aching body. He felt Carlos’ back huddled up against his own in the darkness. Deep grizzly voices spoke where they had previously been standing. The ongoing conversation was muffled through the bark of the oak.

  Frank noticed dirt brushing away only inches away from his head. A scuffling sound that spread outward. The foot-long millipede tunneled through the gap in the bark and crawled into the aging oak. Frank’s eyes were drawn to it but slowly drifted back over to the hole it had left in the bark. A beam of light shone through the surrounding darkness. He shuffled up and craned his neck to peek through the microscopic hole. Obscure shadows passed by, the hole was far too narrow to decode any details. He listened to what sounded like the trickling of water. A dark shadow obstructed his view. Heavy grunts and breaths ensued only inches away. Frank gently slid back down and curled up, clamping one hand tightly around Max’s mouth. He shut his eyes tight and wished them all away. All they could do was wait.

  It took twenty minutes for the raiders to move on. They had listened to them chat, smoke, eat, piss and shit before they finally moved on. The group clambered out of the decrepit oak. Frank felt the cramp in his lower back and arched backwards, both hands compressing the aching pain. The floor was littered with discarded bones and half-eaten fruit. Max picked at the scraps of meat left on a dirty chicken bone before realising that the group were moving on.

  They continued east, their pace slower than before. It had been a close call, a stern warning to keep their guard up from there on out. Tracy and Annie took turns holding Sam. Although he could walk, he tired easily and struggled to keep up with the others. Frank studied the surrounding woodland carefully.

  “We’ve been walking for days now. You sure we haven’t passed it?”

  “We didn’t pass it,” said Derek.

  “Are you sure?”

  Derek spun around. He dug both hands firmly into Frank’s shirt and pushed him back into a tree. Frank’s shotgun fell to the ground, his hands clamped onto Derek’s forearms.

  “Derek!” Kara shouted.

  “You listen to me, old man,” Derek barked. “You don't know shit. You're only here because that shy little prick won't move without you.”

  Kara yanked the oaf back by his shoulder. Frank’s grip eased off and John wedged himself between them.

  “Listen fellas. I don’t know what your problem is, but we’re here for one job: to protect that kid."

  “Spare me the bloody lecture, cowboy,” said Derek, waving it off. He stomped ahead, cursing beneath his breath.

  Before his relocation to Autark, Derek was a fisherman who worked mostly along the English Channel. His mother passed when he was just a boy and he decided to make the move shortly after the passing of his father. Derek had spent most of his life out at sea; he never married or started a family of his own. He was married to the ocean. With the haul of a recessive economy threatening his livelihood, there was soon nothing left for Derek. He sought change and set sail for Autark, however, it was not the simplest of tasks. The deadline for the Autark project had long gone, four years beforehand to be exact. Autark was no longer accepting candidates, but that didn't stop people finding their way to its thriving shores.

  By owning his own boat; Derek saw a rather profitable opportunity and decided to snatch it with both hands. The coast of England and France was littered with gold just waiting for someone to take it, and that's just what Derek did. He landed a deal that he knew would reward him handsomely. Hundreds of eastern migrants desperately sought transport to the utopia that was Autark. Derek agreed to transport those most desperate and they would forever be in his debt. One Malaysian family took him in as an undying token of gratitude. They fed him, clothed him and even gave him a place to sleep.

  Working non-stop for thirty years eventually took its toll on the fisherman. He arrived on the island with the intention of using his skills as a fisherman to trade, but first there were desires that had been bottled up for a very long time. Deep in the backstreets of Wolvendale — the eastern industrial centre of Autark — lurked a discreet and distasteful establishment.

  Prostitution was inescapable, even in Autark; it would always be seen as a form of service, a service that required payment. The Wolvendale Brothel was where Derek spent his early months. The oaf's new lifestyle had made him lazy, demanding and violent. He ate, drank and fucked to his heart's content. He was completely taken care of, but soon the magic began to wear off. Derek's newfound lust for harlots led him to abuse the kindness of his Malaysian hosts. He stole grain from their harvest, rare sentimental valuables and priceless family heirlooms in order to pay for his affairs. When he ran out of things to steal, the tables soon turned and he quickly owed the brothel a large outstanding debt.

  When the Malaysians found out they tried to throw him out and he responded with clenched fists. He saw red that night and strangled the father with his own fishing line. He then beat the wife and children and forced them into slavery. Fortunately for the family, things didn't stay that way for too long. One night the five heads of the Wolvendale Brothel came knocking. When Derek answered the door, they dragged him out into the street and beat him with thick metal chains. The settlers of Wolvendale rallied up but Derek fled before they could drive him out themselves. The brothel returned the stolen heirlooms to the family as a gesture of peace and goodwill for the lost father.

  Derek fled west to Elkford, a village where he was known as nothing more than a stranger, and offered his services as a fisherman to none other than Javier Paraíso. After proving himself as a sustainable source of income, Paraíso helped Derek set up his own fishmongers by the docks on the outskirts of Elkford. He and his new crew spent their days either out fishing at sea or bartering at the mongers. From then on, Derek found himself in the eternal gratitude and debt of Javier Paraíso.

  The rain had stopped but the clouds remained. The sun was at its highest point — concealed by clouds — the sky as pale as a blank canvas. Annie felt Sam slipping and hoisted him up. He sat in her arms, facing back over her shoulder and ogled John’s bold facial hair. He nearly dozed off at the rocking rhythm of Annie’s pace. His head slowly sank down into her shoulder before jolting back up in the fight to stay awake.

  Something behind John caught the boy’s attention. He trained his eyes on the approaching silhouette and a flash of light reflected a glass lens. John’s ears were burning. He recognised the metallic slide of a rifle's bolt clicking into place. He span round, his duster flapping in the wind as he pulled the single-action army from his holster and slammed back on the hammer. Legs apart, he held the revolver by the hip and aimed dead ahead. Annie stopped and turned around to face the commotion. Sam's neck whirled rapidly in her arms; he didn’t want to miss a single second. The others caught on fast and watched in silence. The figure stood in the shade of a shallow pine. The light of the sky reflected a white beard and shimmered off the surface of round spectacle lenses. The brim of a hat concealed the figure's facial features but his plump build was one that could not be veiled. The plump figure aimed the hunting rifle directly at John, locked in a stand-off. Frank reached out slowly and edged Annie and Sam behind him, shielding their bodies with his own. Kara raised her hands in surrender, but before she could even take one step forward the rifle's barrel landed square onto her.

  "D-d-d-don't even try it," the figure shouted.

  Frank recognised the voice. That stutter... He was so confident that he knew the plump figure that he stepped forward without even realising. The rifle panned to him faster than it did to Kara.

  "I'll shoot your b-b-b-bloody head off!" cried the man.

  Frank pe
ered into the shade to gauge a better look.

  "Barry?"

  The plump figure hesitated for a moment before lowering the rifle. "Frank?" he mumbled back. Two dark green wellington boots stepped out from the shade to reveal the plump man, somewhere in his mid-fifties. His mouth gaped open.

  "You know this fella?" John asked Frank back over his shoulder, eyes still locked on the plump man. His voice was tough and authentic, a beaten up voice that sounded as though it'd been through thick and thin. Frank let out a sigh of relief. He stared at the man who he had not seen for over four years. Max lunged forward and jumped up at Barry. Frank’s first instinct was to stop him but he quickly realised there was no aggression in Max's actions. Max hopped up and licked Barry’s podgy cheeks and his tail wagged wildly.

  John holstered his piece and the others stood idly by, still cautious of the stranger. Frank and Barry shared a welcoming and long overdue embrace. He smelt of mothballs and raw flesh, a God-awful blend that was enough to put anyone off their next meal. Frank felt Max's light paws claw across his jeans. He hadn’t seen Max so full of energy since he was a pup. Barry looked at the others and caught sight of Tracy standing behind her sister. His cheeks flushed red and he pushed his falling glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

  "H-h-hello Tracy."

  "Hi Barry," Tracy replied as they exchanged timid smiles.

  Carlos overtook the others and approached with haste.

  “We’ve been sent by Javier Paraíso of Elkford. Are you the huntsman?”

  “Th-that what they call me up there? I suppose that would be me. Although I have to say, I-I-I wasn’t expecting so many of you,” Barry replied. He shook Carlos’ hand and addressed Annie and Tracy. Frank sensed Carlos’ agitation. The scout scanned the wet woodland grounds around them, eyes twitching in all directions. “Pardon my interrupting, but it is not safe out here and we are losing daylight fast.”