by Dan Thompson
What the labyrinthine layout of the city did do was shelter them from any sudden breezes. The mega building blocks acted as buffers to the elements, evident by their eroded outer layers and battered appearance. Spongy moss-like growth had infiltrated some of the smaller, disused objects in the streets. Nature was no longer a pretty thing from within the abundant textbooks back at the school. Without any natural light, only the nocturnal loving fungus dared to make a living out in the open.
“Are we anywhere near the market?” Ryan asked, breaking the silence.
“No, I don’t recognise where we are to be honest. The market is outlined by the white lines on the buildings. Have you never seen them? I gave up following the lines ages ago though. When you make the same run over and over again, it’s easy to memorise.”
“I’m sorry if you feel like you do most of that stuff. Well, all of that stuff really. You are so much more level headed and capable with tokens and all that than I am. I would mess it up.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Tristan replied quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Ryan suddenly stopped. “Look, are we going in circles? I’m feeling like we’re not getting anywhere.”
“I know what you mean,” Tristan said in a defeated, monotonous tone. “I’ve no idea where we are. I’m actually rather grateful we haven’t run into anybody else. I’m in no mood for a fight or argument.”
“Yeah, why is that? I mean, you’d have thought we would have seen another person by now, wouldn’t yer? This is a city after all, yet it’s like the rest of the human population have died out.”
Tristan stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “Probably got to do with us being so far away from the market. People tend to stay around there. Easy access and all that.”
Ryan nodded, but more through politeness, Tristan thought. The alcohol they had consumed earlier had left them feeling thirsty and dry-mouthed, their heads a little too heavy as well. Not the best condition to be out searching for a girl that could so easily be on the opposite side of the city.
“You know, Tristan,” Ryan said, approaching him and placing an elbow on his shoulder, “I’m not giving up, but maybe we should try heading back. We’re clearly not getting anywhere. And yer never know, maybe she’s seen sense and returned to the school. She could be feeling guilty at leaving us stranded in our room.”
Tristan knew Ryan was right, they really weren’t making any progress. He made a good case. Despite his carefree nature and ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude, Ryan had always been loyal.
“I know,” he said, deflated.
Ryan squeezed Tristan’s shoulder and smiled apologetically. Tristan returned the not-so-happy smile, put his arm around his best friend and started the long walk back.
“You’re a good friend, you know.”
“Just a good friend?” Ryan jeered.
“OK, the best. You know what I mean.”
Ryan chuckled. “You ain’t so bad yourself.”
“I mean it,” Tristan said, jabbing Ryan in the ribs. “I love you, mate.”
“That’s because I’m so irresistible. I work what I’ve got pretty well, don’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah. If you were a girl, I’d have had you by now. Putty in my hands.”
Ryan threw his arm around Tristan’s head, jumped up and pulled him into a headlock. He giggled stupidly over Tristan’s protests and scrubbed his knuckles over Tristan’s scalp. Tristan growled and twisted, desperately trying to pull himself free. The heat in his cheeks made him thrash about more aggressively. Ryan pushed him loose and sprinted off down the road.
“Catch me if you can!”
Tristan tittered to himself and gave chase, relishing the rush of air as it cooled his face. “Yeah, you better run.”
Suddenly, Ryan stopped at the far end of the road, his hands planted on his hips. When Tristan caught him up, he coughed. “What’s up? What you seen?”
“Look at this,” Ryan said, nodding towards a green-grey sign mounted on one of the old lampposts that used to light the city at night.
“It’s a sign,” Tristan answered, disinterested.
“Yeah, but it got me thinking. I overheard you two talking when I was in bed, recovering from my epileptic fit.”
“What of it?” Tristan had a stitch in his abdomen, his thoughts trailing off, trying to remember what Abbey and he had spoken about.
“Don’t you remember? She said she had originally lived by the sea, with her dad.”
“And.”
“Tristan, don’t be soft in the head. Maybe she’s on her way back home?”
“How would she know which way to go?”
“Well, which one of these places is by the sea?”
Tristan stared hard at the sign, processing what Ryan was saying. Maybe she had started to go home? To the sea? It was certainly plausible, and the only lead they had right now.
“Ryan, you are a genius!” he announced, lunging at him and planting a kiss on his gritty head. “Come on, this way.”
Tristan’s shins ached even after a few paces, exhausted by the wild goose chase they had been on, but this newly formed idea gave him a vigour deep enough to push forward. His spirits had been raised and renewed and even the clop-clop sounds from Ryan’s steps not too far behind made him smile.
As he rounded a corner however, Tristan immediately came to a sudden halt. He froze, not daring to breathe. His arms were stuck out in front of him, glued to the very air itself. Tristan knew he should gently tiptoe backwards, slip back around the corner, before hastily legging it down the street.
Mere yards in front of him, snarling at one another, stripping, tearing and hacking away at some poor carcass, were three wolves. They hadn’t spotted Tristan’s intrusion yet, so he took a step back only to be barged by Ryan’s loud appearance.
“I don’t get why we are even leggin’ it. I mean, how long is it goin’ to take us to get to the coast?”
Tristan closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the wolves’ shaggy necks were arched in their direction. Ryan was silent, his hands on Tristan’s shoulders, tightening by the second. Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, he let Ryan guide him rearwards, turn the corner and retreat.
“We should run,” Ryan whispered, but both boys continued to pace cautiously, their movements timid and shaky.
A dread washed over Tristan’s stomach and down his legs when the silvery-grey head of one of the wolves loomed around the crook, followed by its small pack. Their patchy fur hung off their emaciated bodies and their legs were clearly afflicted with atrophy. Tristan knew these wolves would seize this opportunity, probably never knowing when they would eat again.
Their claws were curved and black, scratching the concrete pavement as they pressed forwards towards them. They snarled, which gave a morbid view of their broken and jagged teeth.
Tristan quickly darted his eyes sideways in search of a weapon of some kind. There was no way both he and Ryan could outrun one beast, never mind three of them. His lip quivered as he couldn’t find a single thing. The city was usually laden with rusty metal pipes and old glass bottles.
“Tristan, what should we do?” Ryan stuttered.
“I don’t know.”
Saliva dribbled from one wolf’s mouth, all stringy and grotesque. Tristan’s throat choked at the sight and his body became rigid, petrifying him in earnest of what prospect lay ahead.
Ryan backed into one of the old lampposts, which caused him to stumble, the loud thuds amplifying along the deathly undisturbed street. Tristan longed for another person to appear as a distraction. The wolves lunged forwards without warning, with yaps and guttural growls, seeing the open chance for a meal.
“Run!” Tristan screamed with all the force he could, the exclamation burning his throat.
There was no particular destination he could aim for, so Tristan just sprinted off in the opposite direction with all the power he coul
d muster. The burn was immense, but he refused to surrender. Moments later however, the worst sound he had ever heard stung his eardrums and imploded his head, and with it, broke his heart.
Ryan had fallen. Or was pulled to the ground, but it didn’t matter.
Tristan spun around only to witness his friend writhing and rolling on the floor, his screams and calls for help lost somewhere within the cacophony of howls and snorts which erupted from the wolves. He ran towards them, shouting and threatening and cursing, trying in vain to scare the hungry pack off, but it didn’t do anything. They were tearing into Ryan’s legs, his flesh and blood an awful, tangled mess. Ryan himself had managed to turn over onto his front, his face and eyes pleading with Tristan to save him, to do something to free him from the butchery. Tristan thought he heard the faintest ‘please’ ushered from Ryan’s mouth, but almost instantly, Ryan started to convulse.
Tristan charged towards the nearest wolf and slammed his foot into its wasted ribs. The wolf yelped and staggered back, only seconds later, raising its heckles and bearing its red stained teeth at him.
“Get lost!” Tristan wailed, clutching at Ryan’s arms. He pulled and heaved his friend away from the baying wolves, leaving Ryan’s blood to streak across the ground. Tristan didn’t get far before one had trotted with ease back up to them and bit down onto Ryan’s foot. The beast’s hold was strong, despite its weak appearance. The more Tristan hauled, the less grip he had. By now, all three wolves had clamped down on Ryan’s foot, or leg or torso. Tristan could feel the tears running down his face, and although he strained to not give up, their grip didn’t attenuate.
Ryan was coughing and spluttering, but seemingly out of it too. His face was smeared with blood and grit. Tristan longed to hold on, to save his friend from the gruesome damnation. Repeating his name over and over again gave him courage and as he pleaded aloud, he looked up into the sky and saw a bright star beaming down upon them. Distracted by its sudden presence, one of the wolves pounced at him. His connection with Ryan broke and he fell to the hard ground with such force, it left him dazed.
Tristan sat up and found himself staring at his attacker. Ryan was being dragged back and forth behind it. Tristan turned his attention back to the snarling wolf. Its face was gaunt, its snout elongated with patches of white. Its eyes were menacing and cold, a sliver of black outlining its yellow-brown stare. Tristan knew the fight was over. The time had come to accept defeat.
But as Tristan waited for the wolf to strike, he was shocked to see the wolf turn away and return to its already felled victim. It was a raw, monstrous sight. Tristan glowered, unblinking at the pieces of his friend strewn over the street like mere leftovers from a previous meal. It was confusing, baffling even that there he was, sat upon the floor, perfect prey for them.
“Eat me,” he sobbed, “please.”
The wolves didn’t even acknowledge his plea, instead, stood and licked their snouts and paws, savouring the taste of man.
Tristan was empty and vacant, apart from the traumatic image of his best friend’s scared eyes seeking him out for salvation. It was a memory that scorched itself upon his mind, and with it, welcomed guilt to spread its vicious stench too.
Chapter Twelve. The Journey Home
The circle of trees that surrounded the city were dark and spiky; a crown of thorns. Their diminutive and many arms cut at the blue haze, which was reduced to but a smear in the air. Visibility within the forest was limited, but with no discernable path that weaved in and out, it seemed as if it was a road to nowhere; a neverwhere of sorts and once it swallowed you, it was incredibly easy to become lost and trapped. Bearing became muddled. Even looking to the skies was useless. Many of trees, although skinny, grew tall, humongous to any trespasser along their trail, as if they were giants that reached and stretched and twisted to suck in any of the waning moonlight.
Abbey was disinterested. The old Abbey could possibly have been a little scared at being enveloped by nature’s ancient children, but ever since she had left the city behind, only one purpose had driven her.
The death of her father.
Abbey knew she was capable of following her threat through; she had killed Stefan, murdered him cold. It wouldn’t matter that this time it would be family. She had cast aside all attachment to him. Blood wasn’t thicker than water. He was responsible for her bleak existence, and her revenge would be luscious and satisfying.
She paced now in a daze, but concentrated and determined. It wouldn’t matter if something came in her way. The obstacle would be removed, by force if necessary, and once laid aside, her journey home would continue. A still image of her dirty, washed-out lighthouse was implanted in her mind. It was a destination, a target to reach; the corrupt lair of a man who had cast her into a hell hole. The lighthouse may once have been her home, but she realised that it wasn’t any longer.
A home wasn’t somewhere you laid your head at night, no, it was a safety net, a warm and comfy embodiment of love and family and memory. Abbey no longer belonged there. Perhaps it ceased being her home when her gran passed. She would need a new place she could truly call home. It didn’t exist yet, but given time, after her father was dead, she would find the perfect place.
Meandering through the city, trying to dig deep and pick out any recognisable buildings or structures when Stefan had brought her into it, she had pondered hard, asking herself if there was any other way. Her father was kin after all, and maybe he was duped by Stefan’s false yarn of grief as she had been. Maybe her father had benign motives for her departure. Stefan could easily have lied. Why had she believed his cursed words so readily? But then again, what did he gain from lying when he revealed the true intentions of things back in his grounds as he had thrown her into the soiled cage, to become his slave?
No, her father must die. Why should he be forgotten and continue to live, to breathe, to find a little pleasure in the world when he had brought down the gavel and in doing so, condemned her future? He had a duty to teach her right from wrong, by instead chose to commit the worst iniquities possible.
Who was worse, the man who carried out the depravity, or the man who had allowed it to happen in the first place?
The crunching of the twigs snapped Abbey from her thoughts. The ground was covered with the lost limbs of the trees as if they had become so old and fragile that they couldn’t hold onto them anymore. Patches of earth dotted the landscape, but it was dry and barren, incapable of sustaining any life or produce.
Abbey wasn’t sure of how far she had travelled, or for how long. Her self-involved stupor was responsible for that. She spun around and looked in all directions, but the city was not visible at all. Without realising it, she had reached a sudden incline. The umbriferous trees huddled closer together so as their shadows became entangled and conjoined. Abbey pushed her way upwards, feeling the burn in her thighs. It was difficult to find an easy way up, scooting through the burrs of the trees delicately, not wishing to cut or prickle herself on the way.
The blue haze was pretty much non-existent and the little intrusion it did have made the climb nearly impossible. Abbey found it so difficult to distinguish where the trees actually were, but the urge to gain height and distinguish some perspective pushed her on. Abbey braved the sciamachy of shadows. Near the top, the ground inclined steeply and so she was forced to wrap her arms around one of the trunks of the nearest tree and clambered up as quickly as she could. She was worried she may slide back down if she stopped to catch her breath, and the tree trunks felt so friable and brittle, too much pressure would break them into chunks.
Abbey grunted through each last step, each reach closer to the top. Soil dirtied her hands as she used them to steady her climb. Its overly dry, gritty texture was cold and sullied her nails, which caused her some discomfort, but it was more of an itch than anything of substance.
The rush of adrenaline whooshed inside her head when she reached the top of the bank and stood up tall. It was only now that she realised how much
her back ached. Abbey caught herself moving to pull her hands inside her sleeve. She stopped, worrying that she’d dirty her jumper beyond repair. Her chest rose powerfully, gulping in the oxygen like she had forgotten it was there, all around her. Her mouth felt dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like taffy.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, but as they began to filter through the murky haze that swam across the landscape, she picked the outline of trees and further beyond, the vista that lay out before her was breath taking. She couldn’t find the words to describe the scene.
The bank fell away again almost instantly, into a vast valley, sparsely populated with a few of the skeletal saplings behind her, but more bushes and ferns than she’d ever seen. Abbey turned around and saw the city in the distance. The height she had gained positioned her with a fantastic view. The buildings seemed enormous and mysterious, hiding more secrets and treasures than they actually were. Abbey realised that she had reached the boundary; the neglected and achromic metropolis was behind her and the wilderness loomed ahead. Yet, despite still being far from the coast, the forest of flora and shrubbery that lay ahead didn’t faze her. She had a mission to complete.
A grey shade of darkness spread out as far as the eyes could see, but on the very tip, on the wavy horizontal line, Abbey was certain her destination was there, just beyond reach, yet achievable. Her body was the obstacle. All she had to do was ignore the pains.
Kicking herself into gear, Abbey set off on her journey home.
Abbey bounced off the soles of her feet, not anxious in the slightest that she may slip or fall over, potentially hurting herself in the process. The rush of air was pleasing. She placed her arms out in front of her, picking up pace, excited by the sensation on her palms. For that very moment, the world was hers and the forest in front of her, and everything in it, belonged to Abbey.
Her fiery hair bobbed and swayed playfully, crossing her line of sight every few seconds. She had always loved how long her hair was. As a young girl, her hair had been the symbol of her femininity. Her gran had always said she’d been blessed with good, strong hair; hair of substance and creativity. As her gran’s frail voice resonated around her, Abbey couldn’t help but feel saddened by how her hair had changed. Changed in its symbolism; no longer a sign of her youthful innocence, now a carnal insignia for unwelcomed advances.