Stephen guessed he was maybe halfway back to the city when he began recognizing certain trees and areas he had passed on the way in. Stephen was somewhat relieved to be reassured that he was, at least, on the right path.
The sound of something crashing through the woods directly behind him forced Stephen to pick up his pace even more, pushing his body to the extreme. He screamed in fear, unwilling to look back at what might be following him. But then, a brief hope entered his mind. What if it was just Mandel catching up to him? As he ran, Stephen turned his head slightly to the right and was again horrified to catch a brief glimpse of a huge, twisted figure lumbering behind him.
Stephen screamed in terror and began taking a shortcut, cutting directly through the woods, back to the city. He guessed that he couldn’t be more than fifty meters away from the edge of the trees, and then another thirty meters away from the city gate. Concentrating all his hopes on reaching the grassy boundary of the forest, Stephen pressed on, grunting and panting as he went - forced on by the sound of certain death ripping through the woods in his wake.
Some relief and hope found Stephen when he saw the grassy, sun-blotched plain of the forest edge up ahead. That hope was kept in check by the angry sound of the pursuing creature gaining its speed. Stephen spit out sweat and fury as the sight of safety drove his will to run beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He wanted to live. He wanted to see people and daylight once more... just once more…
With a final burst of energy, Stephen leapt into the air over a fallen tree trunk, and landed in the grassy warmth of the open field in front of the city. He was overcome with relief. At last, he had broken free from the clutches of the shadow-filled forest behind him. Stephen maintained his pace though, unwilling to let his guard down against the pursuing creature behind him.
As he neared the city, Stephen began to notice a strange serenity - eerily calm and quiet for such a disruptive pursuit in the forest. He could no longer hear the lumbering strides of the thing behind him. All Stephen could hear were the birds and insects, chirping softly, and the gentle sound of the flowing breeze in his ears.
When he was only a dozen or so steps away from the city gate, Stephen finally slowed his pace and began to catch his breath. Still moving forward, he turned slowly around to see that there was nothing behind him at all. His gaze then fell directly on the darkness of the forest, and he again pictured the horror it held within. Stephen turned around to enter the city and was surprised to bump into a young couple holding water buckets in their hands.
“Oh, excuse us,” said the woman politely, beginning to walk past him.
Still out of breath Stephen grabbed her harshly on the arm spinning both her and the man around.
“Hey, now...!” the man started, but he was quickly interrupted.
“Don’t...go... in there!” Stephen gasped frantically. “Whatever you do...don’t go in there!”
The man and woman stared strangely at the frantic young man.
“I have to speak to the Governor,” he uttered.
Governor Hedrick sat at his desk fidgeting with worried hands.
“Where is my son?” he asked.
Stephen stood in front of the Governor with his head hung low.
“I honestly can’t tell you. I heard a scream in the distance and was then chased back to the city. By what, I don’t know. He may have been taken captive by some native creatures here.” Stephen offered up this last theory in order to give the Governor some hope that his son could still be living, although somehow, Stephen did not expect him to be.
The Governor looked up at Stephen with a grim expression. “Or he could be dead.”
Stephen said nothing and turned his head, recoiling from the Governor’s view.
“No one has been to the stream since this happened?” Hedrick asked.
Michael nodded his head. “Me and two of my men went back to the brook but we didn’t find any trace of him. I have men posted at the gate tonight keeping everyone in. The people can share one another’s water for now at least.”
Governor Hedrick nodded. “I want a search party assembled tonight and ready to leave at dawn.” He then looked to Michael with pleading eyes. “Michael, I want you to lead the search. Take whatever men, provisions and weapons you need.” He paused to swallow. “Bring back my son?”
Michael nodded and glanced at the men standing with him in the doorway. “Dylan, I want you and Jackson with me.”
“Yes, sir,” both men replied.
Michael now felt a genuine pity for Governor Hedrick. He had been proven wrong in the most horrible manner. He had lost his own child. Michael also felt sorry for the boy who was his son’s friend. He did not like Stephen, but he was still a fellow human, and he was under Michael’s protection.
“I would like to go too,” Stephen spoke up with his eyes fixed on the ground. “Please, sir. I’ll hold my own.”
Dylan’s eyes bulged, and he straightened his back.
Michael shuffled uneasily. He did not like the thought of this boy tagging along on such an important search. But then, he thought, Mandel was almost this young man’s only family. Michael looked to Hedrick’s desk and the Governor nodded with approval.
“Alright, son,” Michael replied. “Just you be sure you can.”
Dylan turned on his heels and marched away.
The moon was only half showing behind the planet’s shadow. It’s normally bright gaze was now softened and distant as a result of the semi-eclipse. But even the diminished glory of the moon was still sufficient to groom the landscape with luminance and partially fill the city streets. A sparse fog mottled the light that reached Stephen’s window and cast waving shadows on his floor.
The hour was late, but Stephen remained in the corner of his apartment, sitting upright with a blank expression on his face. For several hours, he had debated with himself as to what had happened to his only friend. But he had come to the conclusion that he could no longer ponder this, lest he lose his grip on sanity. After a moment, Stephen pulled a blanket up to his shoulders and slept rather uneasily. The image of his pursuer’s distorted figure remained prevalent behind his closed eyes.
2
Stephen glanced around at the quiet scene. He stood in the open city gate, facing the buildings with the warm morning sun bathing him from behind. Sparkling dew was visible on the ground outside where it clung to the grass. Inside the city walls lay streets spotted with moisture in the dirt, like a sporadic rash among otherwise consistent skin. The only sounds nearby were those of Michael and his security team preparing to disembark on the search for Mandel.
They slung rifle packs onto their backs and strapped long serrated knives to their already cluttered utility belts, for a sense of security as much as for expected use. Stephen alone was already geared up and waiting for the sleepy men around him to finish preparing. It was then, watching the men work, that Stephen made note of how none of them spoke to each other at all as normal friends would. Yet he sensed they were a closeknit team by the way they operated together.
All of the men took time to make careful checks of one another’s gear. Once a soldier was ready, he waited quietly for the rest of his comrades to finish. Michael made no strong motions and barked no orders to his men as they worked, but he somehow made it obvious that he was in complete charge of every action that would take place. No one ever questioned him when he did give an order, and all of his commands were followed out with implicit care and effort.
Stephen quickly put aside these random thoughts and concentrated on his task at hand. He yearned for and clung to a hope that Mandel had somehow gotten away from their attacker and spent the night in the woods, or had at least been captured and was still alive. He dared not think of the worst-case scenario, and thus held back any tears or vulnerable emotions.
Stephen instead transformed any worried thoughts he possessed into visions of strength and rage: imagining himself being chased again, only this time with the rifle pack on his
back. And this time, instead of fleeing he would turn to face the villain, obliterating it with a burst of fire. Although Stephen realized well the juvenility of this fantasy, it was enough to encourage him to join this party and do a service in the effort to save a fellow man…to him, an only friend.
Michael stood up straight and watched Stephen - silently evaluating him. He guessed the boy was twenty or so, with an average, good-sized build. He was particularly interested by the intensity of the boy’s gaze as he simply watched the men prepare their gear. Michael knew this young man to be a keen observer, but not the kind who would arrogantly make a statement of his observations. Rather, Michael was aware of just how smart this overlooked young man was. In the boy’s demeanor, he saw a man of constant planning and awareness.
Michael felt a sense of familiarity as he remembered the days when he too wore the same grim face of burden beyond his years. He felt a twinge of remorse for the innocent youth bearing unfair labor, and he remembered how alone he felt when he was the same. But now in life, Michael had come to feel at peace with himself: not that his burdens had gotten lighter, but that his years had caught up to them.
Michael concluded to himself that Stephen was an acceptable young man - perhaps one well suited for a military career under his tutelage. But at these distant wonderings, Michael shrugged and stepped out in front of the group of men. He grabbed the straps of his pack and pulled them tightly in to his shoulders as he addressed the group.
“Men, you may or may not be totally aware that this is a search and rescue situation. The Governor’s son disappeared yesterday near the stream, and there is a high probability that he was attacked by some animal.” Michael paused a moment to look at Stephen, who was listening while staring at the ground. “He may or may not be alive. Now, I know you men have never really been exposed to any extreme… gore. But don’t lose your heads if we come across something disturbing.”
At this, the men began shifting their stances and glancing nervously at each other. Only Dylan kept his gaze fixed on Michael.
“Let’s just hope we don’t,” Michael continued. “Alright, I’ll take point. Dylan, you take up the rear. Space yourselves about five meters apart, with every other man facing an opposite direction into the woods while we’re on the path. Keep your weapons drawn as well, for the time being.”
He turned into the morning sun and was comforted to see that it had begun to chase away the shadows in the woods. He felt a sudden chill wave over him, and he shivered nervously once; but he quickly shook his arms, as if he had meant to do it, and sniffed loudly at the morning air. It was time to go to work.
“Let’s move out!” Michael yelled.
The ancient stream, unchanged in its winding course for millennia, was flowing just as it had the day before. The small caravan of twelve men looked cautiously about the eerie scene: eerie not so much from the atmosphere itself, but from the creatures of their imaginations which lurked in the forest nearby.
Michael saw no immediate evidence of any life, and thus proceeded to step onto the stream-shore where Stephen was crouched, examining something in the water. The rest of the men were spread out, some on each side of the stream, searching for any clues as to Mandel’s whereabouts. Michael stood behind Stephen.
“What have you got there?” Michael asked.
Stephen turned and looked up to the towering figure.
“The canteens we were filling yesterday. They haven’t moved an inch.” He shook his head, removed the canteen straps from the branches of the log they were draped around, and stood. He strapped one of the canisters to his pack, leaving the other on the ground. “He’s not here.”
Michael nodded in agreement. He looked to the woods across the stream. Each of the men would look back to him occasionally and shake their heads, solemnly - no one knowing what to think. Michael frowned.
“Alright men, regroup over here,” he commanded.
As the men ambled across the stream, Michael turned to Stephen.
“If he was captured and taken somewhere, it’s most likely a civilization of some sort, agreed?”
Stephen nodded. “Agreed.”
Michael thought for a moment, and then continued.
“The shuttle makes daily runs straight west from the city, moving a few degrees away from the shore every day, for about five hundred kilometers, straight over the land. If the shuttle hasn’t found any signs of civilization west of the city, maybe we should try looking east for the boy.” Michael then turned aside to look in the direction the stream was flowing from. “Upstream,” he concluded.
Stephen nodded as the search party began to gather around. “Good plan,” he said.
Michael glared at Stephen, making it obvious that he had not been asking for approval. Stephen looked down in understanding. After a moment, Michael turned and looked at the rest of his search party.
“Alright men, we’re going to head northeast, upstream, to look for the boy. Form a straight line, spaced about thirty or so meters apart, and turn on your transmitters. Stay in touch, and check in to me every five minutes or so by your number in line. One…two…three…and so forth. If you come across anything unusual or suspicious, inform me immediately. Understood?”
All the men, including Stephen, confirmed with, “Yes, sir.”
The search party trekked on through the dense trees and shrubs. The sounds of the forest - the wind in the leaves, the chirping insects and the yelping vermin - echoed between valleys, dips and even individual trees. The midday air was hot and damp underneath the treetops, but the leaves on the ground were dry, and they crackled under the impact of thick hiking boots.
For Stephen, the first few hours had passed by tensely. He kept his weapon drawn at all times, while walking thirty meters to the right of a soldier whose name he did not know, and another thirty meters to the left of the second-in-command soldier he knew as Dylan Hamish. He could not see the men very clearly through the closely spaced tree trunks, but he was constantly aware of their presence and positions due to the noise of their gait, as well as the tottering motion of bushes and saplings in their wakes.
Stephen risked a prolonged look to the left, but he still could not see Dylan’s face clearly. He noticed that Dylan had not made any attempts to avenge his dignity. For this, Stephen was grateful, and he was very willing to let bygones be bygones.
Dylan kept a silent vigil over Stephen as they hiked. He was not willing to make any rash moves while under Michael’s command. Moreover, Dylan knew that Mandel was very close to Stephen. However miniscule, the sympathy he felt was just enough to stay his wrath, for the time being.
Michael was on the end of the chain of men, deepest within the woods. Every now and then, he would begin to sound off with, “One!” Then, each of the men gave a progressively higher number until it came to the last man, number twelve, walking close to the shore of the stream. Occasionally, some of the men would call Mandel’s name in hopes of a reply, but none ever came.
With the hot sun beating down sporadically through the leaves, and the green canopy retaining all heat that came through, Stephen had grown tired and nauseous along with every other man in the party. He decided it would be acceptable for him to sling his rifle into its holster, as each of the other men had done an hour ago. With sweat dripping into the leaves under his feet, Stephen loosened the straps of his heavy pack and leaned forward as he marched. He had begun to lose sight of the hope that Mandel would suddenly appear from behind the next tree, with a joyous face at seeing Stephen. While keeping in step, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest around him.
The search party stopped for a rest, atop a high ridge that looked down into an area of sparsely wooded forest. The men sat around in a circle, some drinking from their canteens, others just resting with their eyes closed and breathing heavily. Only Michael remained watchful - crouched on a rock that faced away from the circle of men. He stared into the dense trees with his rifle nestled safely in his lap - ready at an
y moment to defend what he knew was a vulnerable position.
Stephen stood up from the tree he was leaning on and stretched his back muscles. His rifle-pack was turned off and sitting on the ground next to him. He began to walk over the edge of the ridge and down the less-than gradual slope beyond.
Michael sensed the movement and turned around.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Stephen turned. “Just to depressurize, I’ll be right back.”
Michael pointed to the backpack lying on the ground. “Take your weapon with you.”
Stephen sighed and walked back to the top of the ridge. He picked up his rifle-pack and descended down the hill again. When he was out of sight, Stephen dropped the heavy package onto the ground next to a tree. He winced from his sore muscles.
Dylan stood up and stretched his arms. He too began to walk over the hill in Stephen’s direction.
“Hamish!” Michael called.
“Yes, sir,” Dylan replied.
“If you need to drain too, do it over there,” Michael said, motioning to the bushes on up the hill.
Dylan gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
Stephen was tired and hot, but he reminded himself why he was there in the first place. Remembering the sound of his friend’s scream, Stephen shook his head and looked down the hillside. He could not allow himself to imagine what had happened, lest he lose control of himself to the guilt he felt.
As he watched the trees in front of him, Stephen’s attention was attracted by a drop-off at the bottom of the hill. It was a visual peculiarity. The canyon it led to was so small that the tops of the trees in its bottom were almost at ground level, creating a sort of lush, leafy carpet in the middle of the brown forest floor.
Haven Page 10