by Alex Kimmell
Hidden in the lower register of the sound, she can make out words. She fights against losing consciousness. Still not able to look away, she vomits over the front of herself while the hand on her back pushes her even closer to the wall. The words resolve with clarity through the static now. They come from the pictures in front of her. They come from the hand at her back.
She blinks and it stops. The boys are laughing and swinging once again. The water is about to fall on Auden and Emily, and the silhouette is poised in front of the full moon. Her t-shirt is clean, and her heart is pounding so hard she can see it vibrate though the fabric.
Emily hangs down her head and cries. She lifts her hand to cover her eyes when she realizes she is holding a brown leather-covered book. At first she doesn’t recognize it, but after a moment she sees the book she found on the ground outside when she was first looking for Auden. Strange. She doesn’t remember picking it up off the mantel.
She turns around to get herself a drink, and Jason is standing on the stairs in his pajamas.
“Seven, Mommy…seven.”
-11-
Auden: The Flattening
So close.
So tight here.
Pressure closing in from the front and back.
Dark.
One slim, straight line of light off in the distance.
A musty damp smell.
Can’t move.
Pushing so hard, muscles should be straining, screaming.
Nothing.
Darkness, pressure line of light taunts with release.
Where am I?
PART TWO
Other Boy Two
alone
silent
patient
time
beyond days
beyond hours
beyond seconds
beyond time
coming
stand stillstanding
still
alone
silent
patient
waiting
patient patient patientpatientpatientpatietpatientpatient
standstill
-12-
Jabez: The Wall
Jabez hobbled along close to the side of the river, shallow breaths fogging out from between his chapped lips. Deep down inside, he laughed at the irony. All this snow around, a thrush of water swimming past, unreachable beneath a foot of ice, and he was probably going to die of thirst. If they didn’t catch up to him first.
His leg was fractured in the crash. Every step sent knife blades of pain through the entire right side of his body. He was still able to walk. For how long remained uncertain.
Taking this route through the sharp rocks was more difficult, but much less snow meant less of a trail. They set charges in the road. They knew he was here and were most certainly searching for him. Three members of the team were ripped to pieces back there, but Sgt. Harmon could still be alive. In his condition, there’s not much chance he could hold out and stay quiet.
If he stopped to rest now, Jabez knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand up again. A hundred yards ahead, the river took a sharp turn north. He could risk taking a look back once he made his way around. There might be some cover and hopefully a place to dig in until morning.
Cresting the turn, there were two large piles of debris and the crumbling remains of a wall with a window about four feet above the ground. No roof remained on the structure, yet the door hung in its frame, waiting to be opened for a welcome guest. White curtains closed across in the window, with little pink hand-stitched flowers casting an inappropriately happy shine over an otherwise desolate scene.
On the other side of the window, a chair and table sat coated with thin layers of snow, adding to the surreal quality of the surroundings. This was as good a last stand as any to await his pursuers. The chair was comfortable, if not a little hard, and the table lent itself well enough to keeping his rifle steady while aiming through the broken window.
The night was shockingly cold. Looking at the course of the river from where he sat, there didn’t seem to be any obvious traces of his trail. It was a wise choice after all. His leg hurt like a bitch, so he fished another pain pill out of his meds pack. Knowing that the sun was coming in a couple of hours, he didn’t feel any urgency in rationing. It would all be over soon, one way or the other.
Jabez took out his journal and opened it to the next blank page. It had been a while since he had been able to write on a flat surface. Mostly he rested the notebook on his thigh or kept it pressed against the inside of the HV while bouncing along unpaved roads. The dim but passable light provided by a half-moon and the steady flat table made for a nice change of pace. He would find some small bits of enjoyment in recalling the events of the past two days, even though they claimed the lives of most of the team.
He wrote down all their names, what they looked like, how their laughs sounded, even how their sweat smelled. He wrote how none of them could hold their liquor like he did. His pencil scratched out their blood in grey lead. It detailed everything he loved and hated about these men who had protected him and had become his family over the last seven long years.
The sun appeared full circle over the mountains by the time he woke. He grabbed the rifle tighter and took a look through the scope. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Lucky no one was there. All he heard was the wind and the muffled sound of river water rushing beneath the ice.
He tried to stand and immediately fell down onto the chair. His leg was definitely fucked. It seemed like it might be passable before. But after spending a few hours sitting still in the freezing cold, it seized up. Now the throbbing was growing stronger, and he could feel things shifting around inside every time he adjusted his weight. Looking around at the ruins of the old structure, he saw a few things that might make for a good splint and possibly a crutch. Grimacing at the thought of standing, let alone walking over the rubble to get to them, he decided to wait a little while longer.
A quiet rustling sound, and the rifle was instantly aimed back through the window. The glass gave a less obstructed view than the spaces around the collapsing wall with all of the broken pipes and frayed wire. Slowing his breath and trying to quiet the howling blood in his ears, he sat silent and still. He left his fingers wrapped loosely around the rifle’s handle, ready to squeeze. Camouflaged by snow and dust, the soldier would have all but vanished into the shadows behind the wall if anyone stood more than a few yards away.
Brown and white, the small squirrel lighted upon a mound of snow, then flashed beneath a rotting old branch fallen from a long-forgotten tree. Twitching fast, its black nose sniffed at the air, searching for food and hidden predators. The squirrel moved from the protection of the log and crawled toward Jabez’s hiding spot behind the window.
The scope brought out beautiful patterns hidden in the small animal’s coat. The squirrel stood up on its hind legs, and Jabez made out a thin swirl of lighter tan tracing a labyrinthine maze across its belly. Jabez took his eye from the scope. He shook his head and blinked a few times. He must be exhausted, but he could swear the squirrel was looking right at him.
Resting his eye back down to the rifle sight, he saw the tiny black eyes beaming straight back. A blast of thunder exploded off to the west, and Jabez felt his body twitch. The squirrel remained still, unfazed by the concussion. The sky opened up, and rain came pouring down so fast and so thick that it washed out everything but the end of the table in front of him.
Jabez pulled a thin poncho out of his backpack and slid it on over the rifle and his head like a small tent. It might help provide some more camouflage, if not protection from the elements. He wiped some of the moisture from his eyes and looked back through the scope. The brown shape of the squirrel remained motionless in the downpour. A small part of him felt better to have some company.
The squirrel lifted its right arm and appeared to be pointing straight at Jabez. Through the rain and the water dripping down the glass of the window, he couldn’t be su
re at first. What stopped his heart cold was watching its tiny claws form into the shape of a small gun, cock its head to the side and pull an imaginary trigger before it disappeared back into the snow.
-13-
Jabez: Entrance
The rain stopped after a few hours. Leaving the poncho over him helped Jabez feel more hidden and secure, although the fingers crawling up the back of his spine persisted. Though whoever planted the explosives that destroyed his convoy might not have found his trail, he couldn’t shake the creeping dread that something was indeed coming for him.
He needed to move. He began to mentally prepare himself for the pain and checked his remaining ammunition and supplies. He funneled the rainwater that pooled on top of his poncho into his canteen and took a small drink. He drew the cold liquid down into his throat and felt every inch of its chill slide down his esophagus to his belly.
Using the butt of his rifle, he pushed himself to his feet. The first step wasn’t as bad as he expected. He moved forward on his good leg and quickly pushed off with the bad. The true test would come when he cleared the table and couldn’t lean on it for support anymore. The door looked like it was only three or four steps away, so he figured to try for it quickly.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerve and stepped forward. Letting go of the table, he hopped on his good leg, almost falling immediately. The weight of the pack threw off his center of balance. About to go down, he lunged for the doorknob. If it was unlocked, it would have turned in his grip and he wouldn’t have been able to hold himself up. Fortunately, it remained motionless in his hand.
Fashioning a splint out of a few broken pieces of the building would take longer than he wanted. The white clouds were outlined as the sky grew dark again. He braced his back on the door and took another pain pill. He swallowed it dry and allowed his head to slump forward onto his chest.
Sticking out from underneath the tip of his boot was a bright light. Gritting his teeth, he slid the leg to the side to get a better look. What he could see sticking up from the mud at first glance appeared to be a coin reflecting the little sunlight that broke through. It was rounded at the edge and had the rubbed-down remains of an engraving on its face. Bending over to get it would be next to impossible now that his leg was braced, so he let it be and reached for the long piece of wood he wanted to use as his crutch.
The squirrel appeared silently. Jabez didn’t notice it at first. A shadow slipped over the bricks on the ground in front of him, prodding him to look over. It sat on the chair, sniffing at the air and looking right at him again. Its claws made a scraping sound against the wood as it hopped up onto the table.
Jabez reached for his rifle, took aim and then thought better of the situation. Gunfire would only call attention to his location if there were someone nearby. He needed something to throw instead. As he leaned down, his good leg lost traction on the slippery ground. Trying to support his weight by pushing his rifle in between the bricks at his feet, his back slid slowly down the door until he landed in the mud.
The squirrel watched with an unchanging yet interested expression. Jabez grabbed at some loose gravel and threw it at the small animal. While most of the pebbles missed their intended target, the oddly observant rodent’s tiny hand reached out and caught the only one that came close and immediately threw it back, hitting Jabez between the eyes.
They both remained still for a time, eyes locked in a strange embrace. In all his years being a soldier, Jabez had learned quite well how to judge his enemy by their eyes. He could tell a vicious killer from a scared little boy costuming himself in a tough guy’s uniform with one glance. But these…these were eyes he had never seen before. These were the first eyes that had shown him what death actually looked like.
As if the animal sensed his fear, he watched its snout form a hellish shape resembling a twisted smile. Exposing sharp teeth too long for its head, it issued an uncharacteristically deep growl from its small body. Jabez blinked, and the squirrel’s head twisted to the right at an impossible angle that should have broken every bone in its neck. Its mouth stretched open wider still, tearing and ripping at the edges of the dark black lips.
Jabez screamed and pushed against the door, straining hard with every muscle he could access. Looking around for an escape route in the debris, he realized that even though he sat in a virtually wide-open space, he was completely trapped. He couldn’t make it to the side of the wall with his leg in this condition. Scrambling for purchase, his hand knocked the rifle. The squirrel flew off the table, grabbed the gun, and threw it backward over its shoulder, as if it weighed no more than an acorn.
With its head still bent over at that obscene angle, it made a noise like a child’s laughter, sending chills through Jabez’s entire body. He kicked at the squirrel with his good leg and missed. He screamed, tearing at the inside of his throat, and kicked again. This time he connected with the creature, sending it tumbling away in a hideous mass of fur and spit.
Digging at the ground to find anything solid, his fingers scraped across something hard and sharp. He squeezed it, piercing the skin of his palm with the cold wet metal. He quickly glanced down to see if it could be used as some sort of weapon. It was an old and rusted brass key, oddly shaped, with a strange engraving. He knew the wall was broken, but if he could get himself on the other side of the door, it might give him the break he needed to create some defenses from whatever this thing was.
His blood dripped down from the sharp edges of the key’s teeth breaking through his skin. A deep, unnatural laughter carried in the wind, from over the rubble and just beyond his line of sight. Jabez felt every vertebra rattle in his spine. He lifted the key up over his head just as the squirrel scrambled back over the loose bricks and mounds of snow. The key was slippery with blood and melting snow. He gripped it tightly and tried to slide it home into the lock without taking his eyes from his small attacker.
Rocks and jagged chunks of broken bricks hit him and the wood of the door behind him. As the squirrel ran, it picked up whatever it could and threw it at him with a fierce accuracy. A sharp stone hit his neck, causing him to choke for a moment, and he almost dropped the key. Another rock, this one quite heavy, smashed into his stomach, almost doubling him over in pain.
It was getting closer. Each impact struck with more force than the last. Welts rose and skin tore. Ribs cracked. The laughter grew deeper and louder. The ground shook. Glass in the window began to crack and split. Only a few more feet and it would be on top of him, tearing him to pieces.
The key slid home, and the doorknob turned.
Jabez shoved the door open and kicked out at the terror racing toward him. He missed his target but was able to pull himself across the doorway. Scrambling through, he watched the horrible black mouth filled with terrible sharp teeth launching through the air .
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
White.
Everything was a pristine, warm white.
A soft feather bed with a hand-quilted white comforter against the wall. In the center of the room, a writing desk. A blank stack of paper with seven white sharpened pencils rest on top. On the wall across from him, an ornately sculpted white frame enveloping nothing but black space.
Completely illuminated, Jabez looked around the small room for a window or some other light source. Other than the dark void surrounded by the gilded frame, he saw nothing but the empty, painful white. So brilliant he squinted against the glare. Then he noticed the real problem. There was no door.
-14-
Jabez: The Room
The second hand on his watch stopped working during the team’s ambush, so there was no way to gauge the passing of time. He spent a while tracing his hands over the walls, looking for some hidden seal or sign of a trap door. Trying to find anything that might grant him a way out.
Even standing on the bed, the ceiling was too high to reach. He thought about sliding the desk over and putting it on top of the bed, but even that woul
dn’t lift him enough. Hopping down to the floor, he took one of the pencils off the stack of empty pages and started drumming the eraser on his knuckles. It was something he always did in school when he was a kid. It calmed his nerves during a test or when he actually built up the nerve to talk to one of the cute girls in his class.
He measured the length of the room by counting his steps. He wore size 12 boots and, stepping heel to toe, counted off ten feet from wall to wall. The room felt a lot bigger than ten by ten, and the echoes reverberating around him took a noticeably long time to come back to his ears. In this imaginary or dream room, why should the laws of physics apply?
Dragging the eraser against the wall across from the bed, his peripheral vision saw the desk moving away from him. He turned and walked back to the center of the room, coming to the surprising revelation that he no longer felt any pain in his leg. The brace he had made was gone, and he wasn’t limping anymore. His uniform was gone as well. The soft white pants were drawstring-tied at the waist, and the loose-fitting shirt hung down to just above his knees with long, flowing sleeves. Between the crazy, fucked-up squirrel and this place, he was starting to think there was a misprint on the label of his pain pills.
Things were a bit too ass-up right now to get any real sleep, but that bed was starting to look pretty damn good. He fought against the urge to lie down and threw his pencil as hard as he could. It hit lead point first, leaving a dark grey crumble that stood out from the white background, then fell to the ground and settled perfectly into the corner where the floor met the wall.