The Divide

by Jeremy Robinson

  Shoba scowls at her uncle. “You made her do all the fighting?”

  Shua shrugs. “My theory is that she smelled more like food.”

  “Come,” Shoba says, leading us around the wall, giving me a moment to ponder the girl’s affection. It wasn’t really the hug that caught me off guard, it was that I enjoyed it. That I welcomed it. Felt buoyed by it. Just days previous I would have killed these people, and now…I’m starting to feel like I’ve always been one of them.

  The paranoid part of me says that’s their plan, to woo me with affection and turn me against the New Inglan counties. But why? We have left that place behind and move further away with each mile we walk. The Golyats have already discovered and eaten some of the Modernists. If they were smart enough to figure out where the modernists came from, and I’m not convinced they are, then the damage has already been done.

  Shoba’s affection is real, and my appreciation for it, is too.

  We circle the wall and enter what remains of the foundation. While one wall has mostly crumbled and been overgrown, three still stand nearly eight feet tall. The floor is covered in earth, leaves, and pine cones, indistinguishable from the surrounding forest.

  “Ahh!” Plistim says, arms open, smiling wide. “The hunters return victorious.” He claps Shua’s shoulder with one hand and leaves the other extended for me.

  I stop short, happy to accept Shoba’s affection, but not quite ready to receive Plistim’s. He smiles at me and lowers his hand to Shua’s other shoulder.

  “Victorious is a gross exaggeration,” Shua says.

  “You are alive,” Plistim says. “Is that not a victory?”

  “Victory would have been killing the beast.” I note the small campsite erected in what’s left of a building’s foundation. Shoba and Plistim were planning to spend the night here. A collection of mushrooms sits between their discarded backpacks.

  “How did you escape it?” Plistim asks.

  I crouch beside their small camp, inspecting the mushrooms. “I put a spear down its throat, your son put a second through its back, severing its spine and pinning it to a tree, which then fell atop it.”

  When I glance back, Plistim and Shoba stare down at me with wide eyes.

  “And it still lives?” Shoba asks.

  “We left it under the tree, but it was alive,” Shua says.

  “Then the danger was addressed?”

  “Temporarily,” Shua says, and Plistim’s eyes widen further.

  “The Golyats can…” I pause for a moment, thinking of how best to explain it. “…digest anything. The spear stabbed into its throat was dissolved in seconds and evacuated from both mouth and ass. The metal had been melted.”

  “The digestive fluids turned everything they struck into steaming sludge,” Shua adds. “It’s what felled the tree, and when we left, was already working its way through the Golyat’s prison.”

  “We should assume it survived,” I say, “But we took steps to make sure we weren’t tracked by scent.” I motion at my scantily clad and bandaged body.

  Shoba seems to notice my lack of clothing for the first time and digs into her backpack. She removes a folded lump of dark green fabric as loose and flowing as Shua’s. “It’s not much,” she says, holding the clothing out to me, “but it will help with the insects, and won’t overheat you.”

  I unfurl the fabric to reveal what looks like a seamless, hooded winter garment, but the fabric is so thin it’s nearly transparent. I slide into the odd clothing and let the fabric fall around me. It almost feels like I’m wearing nothing, but the color will help camouflage me, and the fabric will keep out the mosquitoes and black flies, so, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Embarrassed by my own gratitude, I turn my attention back to the mushrooms. “Now, three of these species are edible. The fourth will have you seeing rainbow-eyed, dancing Golyats where there are none.” I pick through the mushrooms, separating food from hallucinogen. I leave the food on the ground and stow the inedible mushrooms in a pouch on my belt.

  “Why did you keep them?” Shoba asks.

  “They cannot be eaten,” I tell her, “but that doesn’t mean they are without use.”

  Shua chuckles. “I’m sure.”

  After a meal of dried meat, berries, and mushrooms, night falls and we settle in, lying against the tallest wall, where concrete meets the floor. Shoba lies beneath a dark skin, and the rest of us are mostly covered in leaves. I suggested sleeping in the trees, but only Shua had done so before, and Plistim pointed out that given the first Golyat’s height, the ground might be safer than the tree tops. Having survived two monsters of different sizes, I’m confident that nowhere this side of the Divide is safe.

  I’ve spent a good portion of my life sleeping in discomfort, surrounded by danger, so I settle in with no complaints. I’ve always thought that being killed in my sleep would be preferable. Were it sudden enough, I might never be aware of the pain or terror that comes with life’s end.

  While Shoba whispers concerns to Shua and Plistim, I drift away.

  When I open my eyes again, the great ring is visible in the sky, framed by countless stars, their ambient light filtering down to the forest. I listen to a breeze move through the trees, leaves scratching, trunks creaking. Night insects chirp a tune, joining the chorus.

  It’s peaceful, and nearly lulls me back to sleep.

  When the insects stop, my eyes open wide.

  Aside from the silence, the night remains unchanged. Silhouetted trees shift direction with the wind, and that’s when I smell it.

  A Golyat.

  Its offensive odor, of living decay, makes it easy to identify. But is it the bear, or the giant?

  The ground shivers. It’s not violent, or loud.

  A gentle shush of leaves draws my attention to Shua. I see his open eyes, and when he sees me, I give my head a slow shake. Our best strategy is concealment. Shua ducks beneath his dark fur, fully concealed. Plistim and Shoba remain asleep, which is good, as neither of them is breathing loudly, or worse, snoring.

  Dust falls onto my face as another vibration moves through the foundation. It tickles my nose, threatening a sneeze. I hold my breath, preventing the dust from irritating me further.

  Four black fingers slide over the top of the wall above me. One by one, they close, gripping old concrete, dropping more dust into my face and eyes. Blinking tears to remove the grit without the use of my hands, I watch as a dark shape looms over me. Though it’s dark, I can make out the form of a gaunt man, perhaps fifteen feet tall. His limbs look long and frail, but I sense power emanating from the thing.

  It leans out over the wall, sniffing.

  Nobody move, I will the others. Nobody breathe.

  And then, it’s me who makes a noise, instinct driving me to push a short breath through my nose, fighting off the urge to sneeze.

  The creature’s head snaps down. I can’t see its black eyes, but I’m sure it’s looking straight at me.

  The creature’s teeth chatter gently, and I cringe, not just because of the sound’s effect on me, but because it could wake up the others. If Shoba opened her eyes now, I have little doubt she would scream. And that would likely lead to all of our deaths. Right now, it’s just me in danger.

  The beast leans a little closer. I can smell its tangy breath, and I feel the warmth of it on my face, tasting it in my mouth.

  When its jaws grind open, I close my eyes and wish I were asleep for what happens next.

  25

  A scream tears through the night. At first, I fear it’s mine, but my lips are still pursed, clamped down by my teeth, drawing blood from the force. Then my fear moves to Shoba, but the sound isn’t loud enough to be her. Heart pounding, breath held, my entire body seizes with tension.

  The Golyat’s attention snaps up. Its slender body rises into the moonlight, exposing a human silhouette, deformed by emaciation with bones that seem to have grown out of proportion. Its arms and fingers are long, its shoulders jutting
out.

  Human, but not.

  Orange light flares in its stomach when the scream repeats, its hunger igniting—perhaps literally. A twisting, high-pitched gurgle roils from the creature’s gut. And then it rises up another five feet and steps over the wall and into the foundation. The Golyat’s long, slender legs carry it across the leafy floor and past the crumbled wall in two long steps.

  My eyes strain in the darkness, trying to discern details beyond its general shape. The creature slips into the total darkness of the forest and disappears. Well, not completely. Catching my breath, I watch the still spreading brightness of its gut slide through the dark like an apparition.

  “Hey,” Shua whispers.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Thank God.”

  His genuine concern is appreciated, but mine lies with the woman whose scream pulled its attention away. The Golyat was following our trail, of that, I have no doubt. Covered in leaves, my muted scent must have just seemed like a continuation of the trail that had led it to us.

  But it had looked right at me.

  “They can’t see well,” I say, and then add, “In the dark.”

  “Should we travel at night?” Plistim’s voice catches me off guard. Has he been awake for the whole encounter?

  “Well, we can’t see very well at night, either,” I point out. “We’d have a hard time following Salem’s trail, and would make too much noise, like whoever that was out there.”

  “Do you think it was Penn?” Shoba asks, revealing that she, too, is awake. Since she’s not asking questions about what happened, it’s safe to assume she was awake for that, as well. She’s tougher than I thought. “It sounded like Penn.”

  “Could have been a fox,” I say. “Or a goat.” Having seen neither species, not to mention anything larger than a squirrel this side of the Divide, it sounds like the bullshit it is.

  “There’s no way to know who it was,” Plistim says, “or how they are faring. What it means is that the others are nearby and closing in. They’ll find Salem’s trail. Some of them likely already have. Our priority is reaching them alive.”

  “Is there a plan in there,” I say, “or just a declaration of intent?”

  I see Shua smile in the ring-light. I can’t see Plistim.

  “We’ll leave at first light and won’t stop until we reach Salem, or the night returns.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, but I don’t feel it. Between the balloons, the fires, the screaming, the death, and falling trees, the return of humanity to this side of the Divide has not been quiet. And as we congregate to a single location, each group potentially being tracked or outright hunted by a Golyat—or two, or three—the forest is going to grow more and more dangerous with every passing hour.

  A true survivor would head in the opposite direction.

  But I can’t leave Salem any more than they can leave their family, which also includes Salem. If we can reach him, and they can reunite with the members of their still living extended family, perhaps the best we can hope for is to die together.

  There are no more screams during the night.

  No more Golyat callers.

  I know because I did not sleep.

  When the sky shifts from black to purple, I nudge Shoba awake and roll from my bed of leaves. We pack in silence as Plistim hands out sticks of meat. Three minutes after rising, we locate Salem’s symbol, spot a second fifty feet away, and then strike out west.

  Where are you leading us, Salem?

  I’ve considered the possibility that Salem is simply running in a straight line, doing his best to assemble the Modernists, but lacking a destination. If this is true, his attempt to help could simply turn his new-found family into a Golyat buffet.

  “Is there a better word for you?” I ask, after two hours of hiking. “All of you? Than Modernists.”

  Plistim laughs. “Your husband coined that term, long before he was an elder, but shortly after he set his eyes on the prize. He conjured an enemy for people to fear, exaggerated and distorted what we believed.”

  “I’m not trying to argue the point,” I say, and then motion to the forest around us. “But…”

  “An educated risk,” Plistim says. “Everything you believe about our ancestors and what lies on this side of the Divide was filtered through elders whose primary goal was to maintain control through fear.”

  “So far, everything I’ve been taught seems pretty accurate.”

  “The Golyat is not a single all-powerful deity. There are many of them—”

  “Not an improvement,” I say.

  “—and they are far from intelligent, or perfect hunters. Last night, we escaped certain death simply by staying still in the dark. Do you really think creatures such as these, would see our balloons, and the people in them, and come to the conclusion that there were many more people on the Divide’s far side? That takes intelligence and reasoning, two qualities which the Golyats do not possess.”

  He’s not wrong, but his reasoning is flawed. “How could you have known that before? It was a foolish risk, and not your decision to make alone.”

  “I didn’t make it alone,” he says. “I made it with my family. With your son. And with your father.”

  He lets that sink in for a bit, and then says, “The Golyats were present at the Divide’s creation. Humanity was already in ruins. You don’t think they would have noticed the fracture in the Earth and understood that their prey had hidden on the far side? Even a creature of instinct would understand such a thing until distracted. And yet, there are no Golyats in New Inglan.”

  He pauses to look me in the eyes. “But there were.

  “Our ancestors created the Divide, and then cleared the land. Our ancestors were warriors, who fought for humanity, who believed in freedom.”

  “They created the Prime Law,” I argue.

  “They did,” he says. “But it was never intended to be permanent.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Have you read the Prime Law?” Plistim asks. “The original document?”

  I shake my head. Despite my father’s casual ramblings about the Law, I’ve never actually seen a physical copy of it.

  “During its first years, New Inglan went by a different name. Kingsland. It was one of five ‘safe zones’ meant for humanity to begin again. The Prime Law uses the word ‘reboot.’”

  I intended to hike right on past Plistim and continue on my way, but the revelation staggers me. “Wait…there are other people? Beyond the Divide?”

  He nods. “Somewhere, yes.”

  “And if you find them?” I ask.

  “We will follow in the footsteps of our ancestors, and theirs before them. We will fight for our freedom, or die in its pursuit.”

  “Live free or die,” I say, using Shua’s version of the ancient quote.

  “Precisely.”

  It’s an inspirational idea, but I’m not sure it will ever be more than that. It’s been five hundred years since the Divide’s creation. We’re armed with spears, knives, and assorted longer blades. The Golyats can eat our weapons. Whatever uprising the founders of Kingsland had hoped for, that time has surely passed. After all, what kind of person would concoct a plan that would take centuries to see through?

  A boom rolls through the forest, silencing the birds and insects.

  “That wasn’t a footstep,” Shua says. “We would have felt it. In the ground.”

  I point in the direction from which the sound came. It’s the same direction Salem’s symbols lead. “It wasn’t far.”

  A deep, resounding chatter claps through the forest from far behind us.

  A second string of higher pitched snaps follows from the north.

  The sound was heard by hungry ears, drawing very unwelcome attention straight toward us.

  When a vibration rolls through the ground, we run.

  The vibrations increase in frequency and strength.

  Despite our head start, the Golyats are closing in.


  “Hurry,” Shua says, taking the lead with longer strides. I scramble up a hillside behind him, lowering myself to all fours for a moment to tackle the steep grade. At the top we pause, overlooking a valley.

  There is a clearing below, covered in long grass. It has a curved lump in the ground so perfect and symmetrical that I know it’s not natural.

  Another boom draws my eyes to the front of the strange lump, where the ground is carved straight down, as though by a knife. From our angle, above and to the side, it looks like a cave. Then I see a door open, thick and metal.

  A person steps into view, dirty, wearing unfamiliar clothes, hair wild and out of sorts, but I recognize my son, and his voice.

  “It won’t close!” he shouts.

  “Try again,” an unseen girl replies.

  The door swings shut, but clangs once more, ringing the dinner bell.

  The ground behind us shakes, propelling us down the hill, into the valley, where my son awaits.

  On the far side of the valley, trees part.

  The first of the Golyats have arrived.

  “Faster,” I shout, sprinting down the hill toward the open door. “Don’t stop! We just need to get there first.”

  My voice catches Salem’s attention. His eyes widen upon seeing our group, and then again, when he sees me. He smiles briefly, until the Golyat at the valley’s far side chatters its teeth, and its gut flares to life.

  26

  My legs move as fast as I can manage, hindered by exhaustion and wounds, but aided by the slope. I’m hyper aware of my surroundings, of Shua ahead of me, of Shoba and Plistim behind me, of Salem waving us on, and of the Golyat stretching to its full fifty foot height.

  Like the bear, the monster’s flesh is desiccated and stretched. Layers of black skin flex and grind with each movement, ancient and living at the same time. Unlike the bear, this Golyat is more human in appearance. It stands upright, with a kind of twitchy limp, its ligaments too tight. It’s emaciated—stomach sucked in, oversized ribs nearly tearing through the skin, long, nearly exposed muscles twitching. Overgrown bones protrude from its elbows, the deformities hooking out like weapons. Its wide hips give it a distinctly feminine form, but its face, sunken and charred, is sexless. The black eyes are devoid of conscience. Despite its ravenous hunger, the creature seems like an empty vessel; a shell of what it might have once been. Or perhaps it always looked like that.