Surviving The Perils

by Roman Shepp

  Usually he looked anywhere rather than straight at Tara, as though she had some force field that deflected his vision. He only ever looked at her from the corner of his eyes, but this time he caught her fully and knew that he could not turn her away. It was not her fault. She had suffered too in this world, and it was selfish of Saeed to put the burden of his suffering upon her. With great difficulty he smiled and welcomed her beside him.

  “I am sometimes,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Did Jane not tell you?”

  “She said that you lost your family.”

  “That's right.”

  “Where are they?” Saeed was a little taken aback by the question, surprised at the literal innocence of her response.

  “They're in a better place now, in heaven.”

  “So are my parents,” Tara said, bowing her head. Saeed made room for her on the log, and she took a seat beside him. “Maybe they've met.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you miss your family? I miss my parents. I wish they still were here. Daddy told me that I had to be brave, though, and I couldn't be scared. Sometimes it's difficult, and I really miss them.”

  “I miss mine too. My daughter was named Aaminah.”

  “That's a really pretty name. What was she like?”

  “She was...she was like you. She was very smart.”

  “We could have been friends, if she was here.”

  “Yes...yes, I suppose you could have,” Saeed said. Tears started to well up in his eyes as he spoke about Aaminah. Tara reminded him so much of his daughter, and he imagined in another world it so easily could have been Aaminah standing here with another man who had lost his family, and she would be offering him comfort.

  “I'm sure your daughter misses you like I miss my daddy,” she said.

  “I'm sure she does, and I'm sure your parents miss you like I miss my Aaminah.”

  She smiled at Saeed. It was the sweetest thing, and Saeed smiled back, wiping his eyes surreptitiously. The two of them both had lost something precious. All this time Saeed felt as though he was alone, that nobody would understand, and yet he had been pushing away the one person who understood better than anyone else. Tara had lost her family, Saeed had lost his, and perhaps both of them could help each other. Saeed felt like a fool for pushing her away when he needed her the most. Jane came over and quickly pulled Tara away, not roughly, but with enough force that Tara knew who was in charge.

  “I'm sorry, Saeed,” Jane said, with an apologetic look on her face.

  “No, no, it's alright. We were actually having quite a nice chat, weren't we?” he said, liquid eyes gleaming. Tara nodded.

  “Thank you,” he said, and held out his hand for Tara to take.

  The little girl looked at his hand for a few moments, tilting her head with curiosity, and then pushed it out of the way, flinging her arms around Saeed's neck. The instinct to push her away still was there because the pain was so powerful. Yet, Saeed resisted with all his might and the pain eventually shattered. A warmth flooded through his mind and soul, his cold heart melted as he closed his eyes and breathed in Tara's scent, and for a moment it was as though he had Aaminah in his arms again.

  When he released her the tears were beginning to flood down his cheeks. He turned away from Jane and Tara, his body shuddering and shaking as the pain and anguish broke through and flooded out. For so long he had been holding onto his pain as though it had been the only thing that mattered in this world, but now he knew that was false. Tara mattered. She had lost her parents, just as he had lost his little girl. Maybe Allah had brought them together for that reason. Maybe he had been left alive so he could help Tara. Maybe this was part of the task that Nadya had set out for him.

  Yes, my love, believe in yourself again. Open your heart again. Life is long, and there is still much for you to do.

  For the first time since his family had died, Saeed felt as though he had a greater purpose in life once again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pain flashed through Quentin's mind. Anger boiled inside him. Although he was deep in the forest where the world was green and brown, he saw only red. Through the night he curled up on the ground like an animal, through the day he stalked the forest like a predator, his beady eyes searching for his next target. He would make this environment his domain and stop all the people from being happy before he moved on to the city, where more happy people lived. All that laughter. Those smiles. How dare they be happy when there was so much suffering.

  The woods were a far cry from the desert, but the feelings were the same. He was alone. There were enemies all around him. He'd been betrayed by the only thing he trusted. People were undeserving of life. If they couldn't do something such as kill Quentin, then they shouldn't be allowed to continue living. None of the people he had encountered so far had been able to fight for their life properly. They gave up too quickly. They were all weak. Life was only for the strong to survive. Quentin was strong. Quentin could face anything.

  Except then there was a flash of an image in his mind, and a stab of pain in his heart when Carol's face appeared. He clamped his eyes shut, trying to force her away. Pain. No. She can't be here. Her mouth moved as though she was trying to tell him something, but Quentin slammed his hands over his ears and shook his head, trying to force the image out. So beautiful, she appeared as he had seen her for the first time. Her hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her smile lit up the world. Her lilting laugh threatened to melt the walls in which he had encased his heart. The sparkling eyes chased him, but he couldn't stare back. He couldn't let himself feel again. Couldn't make himself weak.

  The image shifted, like a blurred mirage, then changed. The pale, freckled skin turned dark, the eyes closed, the hair splayed out, and the mouth cried out in horror as flames engulfed her. Quentin's knees sagged. He fell against a tree and slammed his fist against the trunk, crying out in anguish before he sank to his knees and sobbed. He thought he had stripped away all vestiges of humanity from his soul, but there still was residue left inside him. Carol was not done with him yet, even though he was done with Carol. Done with his old life. He had tried his best to live and live well, but it wasn't possible. That chance had been taken away from him a long time ago.

  What would his life have been like if things had gone slightly differently? If he never had signed up to defend his country and fight for liberty and justice in a foreign land far from home? Somehow the same thing would have happened. Fate had decreed that he be this way. This was his destiny, as ugly and inhuman as it was. Pressing his fist against the trunk, he rose and continued, ignoring the stinging tears that ran under his mask, over the mottled flesh. The pain had subsided now, although there still was a deep throb, but he had become used to that. Carol kept trying to get inside his mind. Quentin wasn't going to let her. That was the weak part of him.

  The strong part was silent, always moving forward, driving him on to be better, to be stronger, and soon everyone else would see it. There were still people from the convention to hunt down. The woods should have been teeming with them, but he only had seen a few of them so far. Soon he would find them all. He would clean this world of scum and leave it to nature. Yes, that's exactly what he needed to do. Humanity was a plague. They all carried the disease. Why could no one else see it? He had to rid the world of the danger, and then, when he was the last man standing, he finally could end his life knowing he had done something worthy.

  You need-

  No!

  Quentin seethed with anger, forcing himself to ignore the voice inside his head. A bird flew above, startled by his outburst. There was some other soft rustling as well as animals scurried about. Quentin surveyed the area, watching for any threats. Nature was a formidable enemy, almost as dangerous as man. He had to be careful, and wary of any predators. Quentin had to be the most dangerous thing in the woods.

  Sticks cracked under his feet. He didn't much care about being stealthy at the moment as he didn't h
ave anything he was hunting. Occasionally, there were noises and fragments of mutterings carried on the air, but they were not enough for him to pursue. He would come across more soon, of that he was sure. Fate had entrusted him with this task, and he was not going to fail.

  Quentin walked aimlessly through the forest, not taking heed of where he was going. He walked alone, this way and that, waiting for the next moment when he would burst to life. Quieting his mind, he made it blank and sought a void within himself, a void he had been taught when he joined the army. He lived in this void, pushing all extraneous thought and emotion away so he could focus on his true purpose.

  Eventually, he came across the remnants of a camp. The fire had long died out. Quentin strained his ears and searched the area with his gaze, trying to see if anyone remained. A foul stench hung in the air, one that almost made him gag, and one that reminded him of that fateful night when hundreds of people had burned to death.

  Quentin was circling the area, examining the campsite, when he heard something flapping. Curious, he followed the sound and came across a tarp hung over some branches. The stench was even worse here, and Quentin had to struggle to stand, such was the force of the stagnant smell. Looking inside the tarp, he was faced with a horror the likes of which he never had seen before, and he had seen a lot of gruesome things in his tortured life. Men and women lay strewn around, all missing parts of their bodies, all dead. Whoever did such a thing was sadistic and twisted. Looking at them more closely, Quentin saw that many of them had died from a bullet wound. It was a sad thing, for them all to be maimed and tortured, only to have their pain ended with a gun. The world had turned on a dime and now everyone was indulging their sick desires. These must have been people from the convention, probably killed by others. Others they trusted in some sick game. That's the way the world worked. People you trusted betrayed you.

  Except Carol had betrayed him.

  Quentin bit down on his tongue, hard. Pain flooded his mouth and the taste of blood slid across his tongue. It helped keep those stupid, weak thoughts at bay.

  The people who did this still must be out there, ready to hurt others. Ready to hurt him. Quentin had to find them. This wasn't right. Justice had been served before he could get here, but it was a terrible sort of justice. Killing was something that no man should derive pleasure from. Every time he killed a man a piece of Quentin's soul was torn away. Soon there would be nothing but a thread left.

  Standing there, he made sure to look at each of their faces. Some he thought he recognized. Others were strangers to him. There were so many strangers, though. The world was mostly made up of them. Strangers who would be dead, who he would kill before knowing. Except he didn't need to know them individually. He knew them already. Knew how they thought, how they acted, how they were undeserving and stupid, how they needed to die and be cleansed from this world.

  Quentin stepped away from the pile of bodies. Eventually, they would rot and degrade. Their flesh would sink into the ground. Only bones would be left.

  Such was true of anyone.

  Continuing the search, he found a couple of other bodies nearby, ones that had been killed but not maimed. Perhaps these were people who had tried stopping the atrocities. Men who had tried to be heroes. More like fools who had tried to be heroes. That never did anyone any good. They got what they deserved too. Everyone was going to get what they deserved. Nobody was a hero. Everyone had done bad things, even Quentin. Especially Quentin, and he wasn't naive enough to think otherwise. He was just as much a part of the plague as other people, only he was aware of the true nature of man, and he was doing something about it.

  Eventually, he found signs of a trail leading away from camp, which he followed. It would lead to more people, the people who had done this, and he would make them pay. They probably had taken delight in torturing those other people, and that was a war crime. Quentin had seen victims of torture before. Their minds and bodies had been broken, and they had been left mere shells of the men they had been before. In a way, life was torture, and although Quentin had been broken by all that he'd had to endure, he was not finished yet.

  Following the trail, he quickened his pace, eager to find these people and take their lives. His fingers were shaking with anticipation, not that he enjoyed the act of killing. Of course not. He wasn't a monster, not in that sense anyway. What he was doing was a service for the greater good.

  Is it?

  Carol's voice slipped into his mind, and before he realized it he was having a conversation with her.

  “Of course it is,” he replied.

  It is not the greater good of you. Quentin, my love, we talked about this long ago. You must let go of the anger. It is not what makes you complete.

  “It's the glue that holds me together. It's all I have left.”

  I know that's not true. I know you better than you know yourself. You have love within you, deep within your heart.

  “That's only the dregs of what's left. I have nothing else. I know what I need to do, and I am doing it. This world turned its back on me, now I'm turning my back on the world.”

  Like you did before? But you know how painful that was for you. The world is not your enemy. You are your own worst enemy. You must look within yourself for peace, and then when you look around at the world you will see that it is different.

  “I see the world as it truly is,” he said. As if to prove his point, he gazed around the area and saw the festering forest. The trees’ bark was rotting, insects crawled over the ground. It wasn't beautiful in the slightest.

  You are blinding yourself.

  “No. I'm the only one who sees things clearly. I'm not going to be tricked by you. I know what you are.”

  Yes. I'm the one who loves you. I'm the one who wants you to be the best version of yourself.

  “You're my weakness. You're my fear. You're the part of me that I should be rid of.”

  Quentin, please, look at yourself. You can be better than this.

  “How can I when I watched you die? When I held your dead body in my arms? How can you still expect me to embrace love when it has burned me far worse than any fire? I am done with this.”

  Quentin--

  “I AM DONE WITH THIS!”

  He slammed his arm against a nearby tree, making the branches sway. A few leaves were dislodged, and they floated to the ground. Quentin was breathing heavily. He stood still for a few moments, chest heaving, body bristling with tension. He had been weak and had let the voice enter his mind. He couldn't afford that mistake again. It wasn't Carol speaking. Carol was dead. He'd held her still body in his arms. Never would he forget that feeling. The only one who loved him, torn from the world.

  This voice wasn't her. Carol would support him. She would understand. She was the only one who could understand. He just wished that voice would be out of him. Clawing at his head, he tore out strands of hair. His nails scraped against his scalp as he tried piercing through the flesh and ripping out the voice inside. Pain lanced through him again. The more he felt, the more he needed. It was an intoxicating drug, and others needed to feel it too.

  Staggering forward, he followed the trail, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were sunken and hollow. All he needed was to cause pain. To save the world by cleansing it of the great plague.

  The trail led him through the woods. Nearby, he could hear the river flowing. The thought of food made his stomach rumble, but he pushed the feeling aside. It was just another human frailty that he didn't need. Another waste of time. It was a wonder that humanity ever got to the top of the food chain when there were so many weaknesses inherent in the human genetic makeup. Soon that chain would be broken, though. Humanity would be removed from the environment it was destroying.

  As Quentin continued he started hearing the sounds of other people. Slowing, treading carefully, he became stealthy. When he was on the hunt he had to remain quiet until he was ready to strike. Patience was the mark of a good hunter. He needed to
observe his prey and figure out its weaknesses.

  They were talking. They almost sounded normal. Then they laughed. Now they sounded happy. Anger and hatred twisted and churned inside Quentin's heart. He couldn't abide them sounding like that. They had to be stopped. They had to be shown that they did not deserve happiness. Soon he would strike, and then they would be shown the truth of their existence, but until then the ringing laughter and sounds of light conversation echoed around Quentin's head. Taunting him, haunting him, making him glower in the shadows. His fist curled, and he snapped a branch he had been holding, but the people he watched didn't notice. They were too enraptured with their conversation to be aware of everything around them. Just another sign of human weakness. That is why they would be killed. Quentin merely had to wait for the perfect opportunity.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tony had a strange sense that somebody was watching them as he and the others set up a campsite, but after a quick glance around him he brushed it off. It was easy to be paranoid with all he had seen. It took a tremendous effort not to give in to the fear that thrummed in his mind. The world was alive, festering with darkness and evil. It seemed that, no matter where he went, he always was surrounded by death. Even now, although the area was clear, he knew there were dead bodies nearby, probably more than he had seen.

  Saeed seemed in better spirits. Tony was glad the man actually had managed to have a conversation with Tara, rather than push her away again. Phil was doing his best to help, although there only was so much he could do with one hand. He seemed in good spirits, though. Tony envied him, not sure if he could the same outlook on life if he had suffered as Phil had suffered.