by Ben Archer
Chapter 9: Run (away)
After this, ALL THIS, and it ends like THAT?!?!
I can’t even.
I MEAN, REALLY???
Words escape me. My level of disbelief is so great that my mind can’t even comprehend what my eyes have shown me. Honestly, I’m too stunned to move.
It takes an uncomfortably long amount of time to get moving again. And even then, the rugged landscape makes it hard to hobble across the mountainside quickly. While the broken body is indeed challenging, what’s really holding me back is the fear of what’s waiting for me over that edge.
The anxious butterflies multiply with each step toward the steep cliff. Eventually, the ground runs out and leaves me standing alone at the end of the world. There’s a sharp line at my feet that divides life into two things: mountain and sky with nothing in between. I have to force my apprehensive toes up to the unsettling edge. My mind is desperately searching for any excuse not to look over into the abyss. Surely there’s something to delay this inevitable meeting with the truth?
Sadly, no.
It’s time.
Past time.
My eyes begin on the rolling horizon and slowly work their way down. I purposely start at the furthest mountain so my eyes can cross the range slowly. My neck turns so gradually that it’s hardly moving at all. Needless to say, it takes a very, very long time to finally reach the bottom of the steep cliff. But what I find there is easily the last thing I ever expected.
Of all the possibilities my panicked mind had invented, this actual, unbelievable reality was not one of them. Thunderous laughter rolls down the valley from my shocking discovery. Their echoes make it sound as if a chorus of angels are singing along with me. My girl is, somehow, only a few feet below the sharp cliff face, lying face down in a soft sand pit! Her arms and legs are spread wide as if I’ve interrupted her in the middle of making snow angels!
My deep belly chuckles quickly draw the wrath of the dusty girl. She rolls over to look, and by look, I mean stare daggers through me. "Stop... *spit*…why...*spit*… why are you laughing at me?" she pauses occasionally to wipe clumps of sand away from her mouth.
As terrible as it sounds, not even her scolding look or hateful attitude can hold back my uncontrollable amusement. I really can’t help it! I want to, but physically can’t! All this extreme relief is just coming out as irrepressible laughter! In my defense though, I fully expected to find her at the bottom of a jagged ravine! And now she’s going to walk away from this with nothing worse than a scraped knee!
"Stop it!”
“Damn you, stop it!" She cries in a grief-stricken voice.
"I'm sorry! Whew… I mean, I really am sorry, but the way your arms flew up in the air was just so funny! They were all WHA WHA WHA and then you were gone!" My arms reenact the cartoonish way she disappeared over the cliff. Her bottomless scowl makes it clear she doesn’t appreciate the visual aids as much as I do. “See, it's funny now that you’re not all splat!” This crude explanation only makes it worse.
I’m the first to admit my sense of humor suffered arrested development around the ripe old age of thirteen. No matter how old I get, it always seems to keep failing the 7th grade. In fact, it takes several more minutes of letting the laughter out before even making another attempt to collect myself.
And when I do, I feel like an absolute dick. The petrified girl is folded into a tiny ball in the pit, utterly consumed by fear, and crying so hard that she doesn’t make a sound. While I’ve been laughing, she’s been spiraling down an emotional hole. Why wouldn’t she be??? Who knows what kind of torture she’s been through? The parts I know are bad enough; waking up in a cave with a complete stranger, being chased by giant man-bats, sharp claws snapping out of the dark in her face, and when she finally escapes, a bat bursts into flames on top of her! No matter how well intended my self-serving laughter was, all she sees is an asshole.
If I had a tail it would be tucked between my legs. Since there’s no possible justification for this amount of cruelty, I simply slip off the rock and slide down in the pit. My injured shoulder makes the short trip an especially difficult one. The clumsy entrance does cause her to raise up long enough to give an uneasy look, before cowering so far away that she might tip over.
I’m not totally sure where to go from here. My hands remain awkwardly frozen until ―after a lengthy internal debate― the decision is made to gently lay one over her exposed shoulder.
She snaps, “Leave me alone” the moment my fingers touch her sweaty skin.
“Please know I didn’t mean to be so cruel. I was just so overwhelmed with relief that it came out in a really odd way. You see, I really thought you were a goner when you went over that cliff.”
“I should be…” she sounds hollow inside.
“You don’t mean that. It’s alright now, you’re safe.”
In the saddest possible way she responds, “I know.”
Her bulging neck muscles begin to relax a little bit. She’s also not leaning quite as far away as before. I take the fleeting opportunity to give another heartfelt apology. “I really am sorry for laughing at you. I never meant any harm.” This display of genuine sincerity finally brings us face to face.
There’s an undeniable vulnerability in her flushed cheeks. Never-ending tears have washed long canyons beneath her eyes clean. Hidden underneath the thick layer of dust is a patch of honey-colored skin that’s as flawless as still water. I try sweeping the wild curls away from her drawn face, but it takes several more attempts before they finally agree to stay away. The unfortunate result is a much better look at the fear locked in her eyes. They appear heavy and sunken, as if they could carry the weight of the world behind the shiny emerald disks.
After this comes an unexpected calmness like a wide valley between two rising waves. There’s a wonderful serenity that comes from sitting side by side, while not expecting anything more than silent understanding from one other. Time passes and we don’t say another word.
We don’t have to.
She’s noticeably anxious at first. Her feet begin tapping at a frantic pace, before settling in to a steady, clock-like rhythm. We stare down the mountain, listening to the hypnotic beat for what seems like a lifetime. And while I know time is not all that relative (it’s a rigid set of defined points that pass by at the same rate), when your only source of stimulation is a comfortable melodic beat… I end up drifting off into some strange place where minutes refuse to move along the way they should.
I’m free to bounce from one incomplete thought to the next. My brain is desperately searching for a solid place to land, eventually settling on her. I try to imagine her story; what terrible things has she been through? In the single hour before I found her, what could have possibly happened??? How did she get all the way up here without a single scratch? That’s a question I intend to ask, just not right now.
She’s shaking due to the drizzling rain and merciless wind. The only help I can offer is by wrapping my thin jacket over her exposed shoulders. I do my best to keep the bloodiest parts out of sight. She snuggles into the warm coat and, consequently, me. Without body heat of my own, she warms my skin like a campfire on a crisp fall night. The most surprising part of all this, is that it’s not surprising at all.
The gentle heat melts my worries away for a moment of much needed relief. Gone are the fears of monsters trapped only a couple hundred feet away. My throbbing body, with aches and pain pretty much everywhere, goes numb. Best of all, the horror show still playing in my head, simply dissolves. Everything is wiped away by an unspoken moment with a complete stranger.
She comes up briefly to scan the valley, before strong winds force her back under the jacket. Looking at the emotional girl is even more heartbreaking now. Her lost expression becomes a moral dilemma I must solve. Was she searching for something? Home maybe? It’s not hard to imagine she could even be from the Points. Honestly, I know maybe three people in the whole damn Colony.
My imag
ination is eventually forced back into the dark cave. Its particular brand of torture is something I’ll never be able to wash off completely. They say there are things you can never un-see… well, today I’ve had my fill of them. The most unbelievable would have to be the tiny fanged infant. Could it really have been a pure blood? It’s been over a thousand years since one of those walked among us, and he’s become a legend for all the wrong reasons. Sure, the books had most of it wrong, but he definitely had an insatiable lust for power and a superiority complex that’s been passed down the bloodline ever since.
The girl’s cough breaks me from my contemplative mood. I’m not sure if I fell asleep or simply floated off into a hazy limbo. Judging from her glazed over appearance, and jacket wrinkles pressed into her cheek, we must have fallen asleep. "You ok, tiger?" It's a pretty generic question that should be good enough to break the ice. She timidly explains while gazing at the ground, "I shouldn’t have yelled at you."
"Trust me, I deserved it. I tend to have that effect on women." The lame attempt at a joke doesn’t make her react in any discernable way. Her eyes are still permanently glued to the colorful pebbles by her feet.
Even though moving is the last thing I want to do, we can’t afford to go another round with those bats. We need to be safely behind big steel walls by the time the sun goes down. I stumble to my feet, "You probably already know this, but it's time we get off this mountain. I’m sure you’re just as anxious as I am to put this place behind us. What you think, ready to get out of here?" She reaches her hand up, so I’ll assume that’s a yes.
The shivering girl is still wrapped in the coat that’s two sizes too big, and her knees knock like a baby deer while helping her up. Between her wobbly legs and my wrecked shoulder, it may be easier for us to roll down this mountain.
"My name's Hayden," I offer as we set off down the trail. After a few silent minutes continuing, "So what's your name?" She digs her tiny hands way down inside the coat pockets to answer softly, "Quinn.”
Chapter 10: Back from Hell
The monolithic Colony walls have never looked so good. Sure, they’re still the same crappy old metal, but they now shine with an almost angelic glow. All the patchwork panels, over protective guards, lingering smell of freshly caught salmon being prepared over a cedar plank fire, absolutely everything is perfect!
The proof is in my huge smile as we round the last set of pine trees. I can already hear the bells ringing in Tin Pan Alley. Everyone going about their daily routine helps me get some mental distance from the cave and all its horrors. While the warm evening sun won’t make those memories disappear forever, it does help me see the brighter side of life. Like the fact that we made it here. That is definitely something I didn’t believe possible several times today. Also, the walk home has been much easier than I thought it would be.
So that’s something, I guess.
She’s barely spoke two words since we left. Truth be told, she hasn’t spoken one. I have a feeling that a large piece of her has been left up on the mountain. It certainly kept a lot of me (and my shoulder) as well. The worst part is that we aren’t even far enough away to know how just big those scars will be yet. Time has a way of revealing even the most well-hidden wounds. See, another advantage to living a hundred years is that hindsight doesn’t reveal single mistakes, it shows long trends. One I’ve noticed repeatedly is that my deepest scars never come from where I think they will. All the real damage will always come from an angle I didn’t see coming.
The horrific things I’ve felt today, not just seen but experienced up close, will haunt me for life. They’re the kind of enduring terrors that I’ll catch in the stray reflection of a passing car. Maybe I’ll see them crawling around in the very darkest shadows. One thing I can guarantee is that those creatures will sneak up every now and then in nightmares, and they’ll be so terrifyingly real that I’ll wake up to check under the bed for them. While I may have physically escaped, I’ll relive this day many, many more times to come.
While my heart debates the philosophical implications of today, a more real-life problem comes in the form of two silhouettes on top of the left tower gate. They’re huddled underneath the same tattered blanket to ward off the early evening chill. In the milliseconds it takes to communicate the image to my brain, I already know who they are. It doesn’t take enhanced abilities, or even the common sense God gave a squirrel, to know what they want from me.
My throat seals at the sight of them. The air is still in there, it just can’t leave, and nothing new is allowed in either… They believe I’ve brought their daughter back to them.
I would actually welcome the delay of the guards right now. Where are the long searches and extensive exams when I actually want them? Instead, the rusty old gates swing immediately open. My heart wants to beg for forgiveness, while my head says to run back into the woods screaming. My body splits the difference by doing absolutely nothing. The excited couple rushes through the doors and all I can do is stand there.
Speechless.
Useless.
There’s already high-pitched squeals of joy coming from the woman. I would gladly take the banshee wails of the demon bats over these unnerving cries of delight. At least they could only hurt my brain. Her happiness rips the heart from my chest, stomps on it, slathers it in humiliation, and shoves it back in upside down. The man, on the other hand, is stuck in the kind of wide-eyed amazement usually saved for the best moments in life. Both hurt in equally terrible ways.
They believe I’m the answer to their prayers.
They believe in me.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts, breathing is only a distant memory, my silent mouth has gone bone dry, so now what? What words could possibly explain their little girl is gone! Her lifeless body will be trapped with those monsters forever! How can I possibly say that??? My lips part to spit out some meaningless words, something, anything; yet nothing but gut-wrenching silence comes out. Although, like I said, the truth always finds a way out, even in this excruciating moment.
The man is the first to realize, and he melts like a candle. I don’t know if he meant to stop running or if his legs simply quit working, either way, he staggers to a hobbled stop. Decorating his face is a look of disbelief that will enter my personal hall of shame as one of its biggest trophies.
The heart-broken man reaches out to grab the lady without ever turning away from Quinn. He’s twice her size, but can barely contain the much smaller lady’s hysteria. She shouts frantically, “What are you doing!?! What’s wrong with you??” while pushing harder than his trembling arms can handle.
What's wrong with him? That’s a question with a very simple answer. His only failure, was me.
She continues to plead even when he won't let go. He can't let go. He’s eventually able to reel her close enough to listen to his broken words. They’re too soft for me to hear, and that mercy will, easily, go down as the best thing to happen today.
He’s turned a ghostly shade of pale that exaggerates his swelling eyes even more. Despite his best efforts to hold them back, large tears have forced their way through his blockade. They tumble down and collide with her outstretched arm. That’s when the runaway train finally strikes mom. It begins by freezing her frantic fingers, then quickly sweeps through the rest. All her agonizing screams cut off so abruptly that only a haunting echo remains. Her hands eventually release his crinkled shirt to turn and see the awful truth for herself. This time without the hopeful eyes.
The bone-dry dirt crunches underfoot as she pivots. I hear the spit gently pop from her mouth falling open. Despite the man attempting to hold her up, the broken woman collapses in front of us. All she does is sit there staring at Quinn as if her eyes will eventually show her something different.
Quinn turns to me for some kind of guidance. She’s obviously shocked by this unknown (to her) turn of events. I hadn’t said anything about the other girl. The one whose parents are lying in a puddle at our feet.
The o
ne whose name I will never know.
The one that...
Ughhhhh! STOP IT! STOP IT! DAMMIT STOP IT!!
Quinn scoots behind me to shield herself from the emotional firestorm. I still don't have the words to make the failure hurt less, so I do what I do best ─run. Race through the open gates to leave another devastated family my wake. Because that’s all I know how to do; fail, then run.
And I don’t stop until I’m far enough away to release a violent scream that will hopefully help chase away the smothering failure. Then I drop to the dirt, clutch both knees, and let the anguish really pour over me.
"What happened?" Quinn asks from above.
"They..." a huge lump prevents more words from escaping for several minutes. When they finally make it, they sound as if I’ve gargled rock salt. "They thought you were someone else." My disgrace is so obvious that she doesn't ask any more questions. She simply puts her hand on my shoulder, in the same place I did up on that bloody mountain, as I grumble almost silently, "This has been a bad day." Hopefully saying it out loud will make it better.
It doesn’t.
I allow myself to wade deep into the murky waters of failure. All the shame that had been carefully tucked away into the deepest, most forgotten parts of my soul, comes rushing back out to mix in with this fresh disaster. This dark place is one that I’m all too familiar with. It may have been a while since my last visit, but it slides back on like an old pair of shoes. The only difference is the girl with her hand on my shoulder, she still needs me. I have to put this behind until it’s all over. Then I will have the rest of this endless life to swim in the gloomy failure.
See, I told you it would be from an angle I never saw coming.
Once the difficult choice is made, I flip the switch that’s both a curse and a blessing. On the outside I’ll smile as if nothing happened, but inside I’ll pick at the scabs just to feel them bleed again. So yeah, it’s time to dry my eyes, paint on a pleasant smile, and get out of the damn pool.