Red Sky: Rising

by Ben Archer

  Why am I not at Shepherd’s place still clueless to all this?!?!

  Her.

  Why am I out here?

  Her.

  Why are people trying to kill me?

  Her.

  Why am I cooking in this oven?

  Her.

  And LEFT? Why did we go left???

  Her.

  Why risk our lives on the words of a lunatic?!?! That psycho gave her a necklace, yet couldn’t manage to tell us how he got here?! He didn’t drop out of the damn sky so where’s his car? Not even the owl had the good sense to fly away! To top it off, she’s fiddling with that damn locket every time I look over at her!

  I’m really struggling to remain silent. I try shoving a large protein bar in my mouth to force it to stay shut. And yes, I can feel every grain of salt between the glacier-sized cracks in my lips. The thirst has gotten so powerful that it feels as if it’s trying to pull the moisture from my very eyeballs. I’m also pretty convinced that if I tried hard enough, I could shed my entire skin like a molting snake. And the bleak horizon isn’t doing anything to cheer me up either. It’s nothing but one giant view of depressing nothingness. There’s one spot of color and it’s only a tall, lanky green cactus.

  The dumb thing has two branches spread out in the shape of a hitchhiker with his thumb up. There’s a plump flower in middle of one of his “hands” that appears to have a million tiny orange petals. My delusional mind quickly begins to transform the prickly plant into something that challenges me with its very existence. Mostly because his one arm is pointing off to the left. To the #@$&!*% LEFT!

  Something inside me snaps. The anger that was buried just beneath my thin, hard-baked surface, comes boiling over in a fit of unhinged madness. My shaking hands snatch up the tormenting green arm. I watch as the long thorns sink deep into the palms of my fists. The numbing hatred prevents me from feeling any of it. I feverishly smile as my fingers dig into the hideous creature’s flesh. Maniacal laughter erupts as stringy chunks of meat pour from the wide holes they make.

  I rip the tormenting arm off, and heave it across the barren desert floor. “There was nothing to the left asshole!” Not much is left of my voice. Then my attention returns to the soulless flower in the other hand. How could this lovely orange thing thrive in this God forsaken place? That kind of beauty is nothing but a cruel mockery in a valley of death.

  Nothing has the right to live out here.

  I remove the delicate antagonist before desperately choking the life from its colorful petals. “It’s just like us Quinn!” I don’t even have to turn around to sense her mocking gaze. “We were never supposed to make it out of here alive! I’ve never been anything more than a cog in a machine! Why did I think I could ever be anything more than that??? That kid was the answer! They took everything from me! It didn’t have to be like this! I never even got to say goodbye!” My scattered thoughts are starting to fly out in random order now.

  Experiencing your sanity crumbling away is both terrifying and liberating. Everything binding you to society’s rules: manners, kindness, compassion, giving a shit, melts away. I turn to the little tyrant that threw our lives away, “Don’t you see Quinn? That water was our life and you threw it away! You took my life! We’re going to die out here!!!” She stands in a slumped curve, hiding behind a wall of blonde bangs, guarding herself by staring only at her feet. She can’t even look at me!

  “You don’t have anything to say? I need a reason! A simple explanation for you wanting to kill me!” Her hands are glued to the straps of our empty pack. The wind pulls back the curtain of hair far enough to catch a tiny glimpse of her melted, pouty face. When the shielded eyes refuse me, I twist her trembling chin around so she has to face the man she’s murdered. Tears splash my arm as she fights to turn away. There’s enough of me left to know this is wrong, but not enough to care, or stop. Using all the evil from the darkest part of my soul, I say something I’ll never forgive myself for.

  “Your parents weren’t enough? You had to kill me too???”

  The last echoes of the wicked words are still poisoning my mouth as her fist destroys the entire left side of my face. It seals both eyes shut, numbs my legs, and hurls me through a galaxy of stars. My feet lose touch with the ground, and it’s not until my shoulders collide with something rock hard, that I assume I’ve landed again.

  The lengthy air time also knocks some sense back into me. I consider myself extremely lucky when I wake up on top of the ground, instead of under it. She somehow stopped at only one, admittedly solid, punch. I don’t know if I could have done the same.

  The landing stirs up a thick cloud of dust that leads to repeatedly coughing out of a (most likely) broken jaw. Just one blurry eye is brave enough to open and see what’s coming next. Among the thousands of blue sparkles is a dark silhouette moving in overtop of me. The recognizable shadow yanks me up by the throat to finish what my mouth started.

  With only one working eye, all I can see are quick flashes of screaming lips or threatening extended fangs. Occasionally a nose will come into focus, but mostly there’s just the impact of large, rage-filled spittle splattering my face.

  “You know why I gave him the water Hayden? Because he needed it! It was the right thing to do! Isn’t that the bullshit you’re always spewing? All those dumbass stories are all about how YOU want to do the RIGHT THING! Isn’t that why we’re even out here? So YOU can do the RIGHT THING? Well, how was leaving him to die the RIGHT THING? You don’t get to pick and choose who lives! That’s what THEY do!”

  Her words strip away the last shred of my self-worth. I’m now guilty of doing the exact things Shepherd and his people do. I judged that man and decided he wasn’t worthy of life. She collapses in the sand whispering, “I’m fighting to keep some part of me alive. These aren’t my thoughts anymore! Every waking moment is filled with the most vile hatred imaginable! The only thing I can think of is eating! Killing!”

  There are a million things to say, but the only words that come out are, “You’re right.” The resulting silence threatens to burst my wanting eardrums. Even though my heart begs me to find the words to make this pain go away, all I’m good at is running. I’m never strong when people need me to be. That’s what I admired about Shepherd, he was never afraid.

  I still don’t have the words, let alone know how to say them, but the silence is killing us both. “I… I can’t take it back Quinn. It were purposefully evil and only meant to hurt you.” The shame tries to draw my eyes away from having to look at her. This time I don’t let them. I don’t let myself run.

  Quinn Chapter 3: Say Something

  I hate crying.

  Always have, always will.

  It leaves me feeling so naked inside.

  His words still play on a constant loop in my head. Each new time around they hurt a little more. My guilt wants to accept them as truth, even though I did my part! I tried to die!

  My role in this thing was clear long ago. Still, the moment he pulled me off that mountain, we were all dead. Maybe it is my fault. I’m the one who couldn’t even throw myself off a cliff right… So when I let him take me back to that town, I became responsible for everything that happened after that. The only part I didn’t ask for was being made into a monster. Besides that, every minute of suffering, every drop of blood, is on me. All of it.

  I can’t be here anymore. Just looking at him makes me want to shove my finger through his brain. Before that happens, I need to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here with him.

  That’s when I turn my back defiantly and just start walking.

  To the left.

  Hayden did say one thing that’s undeniably true, and oddly it’s the one thing that doesn’t bother me at all. “We won’t make it through the rest of the day.” That’s true. I know it should bother me, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve already lived a week too long.

  He says something behind me.

  He doesn’t want me to go.

  He didn’
t mean it.

  I don’t care.

  When he makes the mistake of touching me, I sling him over my shoulder like a squealing pig. His sudden flight, and face-down plunge into the dust, releases an extended grin that remains on my face long after it’s finished. I walk on without giving him another thought, until the pitter patter of a desperate man eventually creeps up from behind me again. I pause to warn, “You still have one good eye, so don’t touch me again.”

  “Fair enough Quinn. I just want you to know…” and the crap begins again. I move in, ready to shut his mouth with both fists, and he doesn’t skip a beat. Lucky for him my desire to break his cheek bone fades. Sadly, this results in a one-sided conversation that lasts for twenty minutes straight.

  He trails along like a lost puppy through the wide open desert. I may not be able to stop him from following me, but if he gets too close, I’ll swing at him. If he’s close enough to get hit, that’s not my problem.

  He stops talking for almost a whole minute after an hour or so. I make the mistake of checking to see if he’s still back there, which of course he is, so this starts the repeating record over again. The verbal assault continues during the slowest, most miserable chase in human history. It’s not just the blistering sun either. The worst part is the endless heat boiling my lungs. Every breath pulls in fresh steam so it’s a never ending cycle.

  He eventually runs out of useless words. The rest of the time we’re left with only our heavy breathing as a soundtrack. Trudging under the cloudless sky makes it easy to tell what time it is simply by what body part hurts the most. Morning roasts my face, midday moves to the neck and shoulders, evening takes its toll on the slit between my t-shirt and jeans.

  To make matters worse, the last water bottle has been gone for hours now. My lips hurt too much to even open anymore. The skin snaps instead of stretching the way it should. I try keeping enough hair over my face to block out the worst parts of the blistering sun, but nothing really helps. It’s made worse by the fact there’s nothing to keep me going anymore. There’s no finish line. I’ll eventually just surrender to the inferno and who will care? Seriously, who will even know?

  My head stays trapped in the darkest places possible. Scanning the bleak horizon only confirms all those hopeless feelings. The only thing pushing me forward is not wanting to deal with Hayden. I don’t want to even look at him.

  Occasionally a random object will spring up, although it always turns out to be another mocking cactus or rock. But they’re enough to keep my emotions riding an exhausting rollercoaster of exhilarating highs and devastating lows. Sometimes I’ll build them up to be another Mr. Templeton, and by the time I get there… it’s a plant.

  Since it’s physically impossible for the day to never end, the sky is forced to finally fade back into a lovely shade of pink that doesn’t scorch my skin. It’s an extended moment of needed relief, right until it hits that shade of heartbreaking red that comes just before nightfall.

  FML.

  The final nail in the coffin comes from a surprising “THUD” hitting the ground right behind me. My reaction time isn’t quite as swift as it once was. It takes genuine effort to turn around and find Hayden face down in the sand. I try saving myself from having to bend over by gently nudging him with my foot. I’m not lazy, it sincerely does kill to move in any other direction than straight ahead.

  But when my toes sink deep into the lifeless body, it becomes apparent our real problems are beginning now. He doesn’t move a single muscle. Lifting his face shows that the un-punched eye is completely rolled back in his head. It seems his clogged nose is barely taking in enough air to keep him alive, although for now, he’s just mostly dead.

  The raspy voice of a 90 year old man finds its way out of my mouth while shaking him back and forth. “Wake up Hayden. We’ve got to keep moving.” I’m grasping for else what to do. It doesn’t take long to realize that if I couldn’t walk away from a stranger, I certainly can’t walk away from him.

  The idea of being needed actually gives me a burst of energy. He suddenly becomes my missing reason to keep going. A few minutes ago I didn’t care if he died, but now he’s actually on the verge of it, I’m hoisting his limp remains up to drag out of here.

  While my ego might have a renewed sense of purpose, my body is still running on empty. Hauling the extra weight really starts taking its toll after a few hours. Concentrating on one step at a time helps a little. I shut down every part of my brain not related to moving steadfastly forward. We realistically won’t make it through another day, so either we’re going to escape tonight, or find a nice place to die.

  The morbid deadline allows me to rediscover my long lost step. Although it doesn’t help much with the discomfort of hauling Hayden’s dead weight around. One positive is that the moon is shining with the same intensity as the sun did during the day. If there is anything out here, I’ll be able to see it coming.

  These are the first true emotions I’ve had since becoming this… thing. I’m genuinely pushing forward with everything left in my withering body. Before, I simply pretended to feel the way I used to. I went through the motions without any real desire to actually be doing them. Faking it because that’s what I thought I should be feeling.

  He’s on some kind of weird moral crusade, but what am I doing? My biggest problem is how absolutely out of control I’ve become. We’ve done nothing except react to all these exploding shit storms. That’s fine with Hayden since he’s not really the planning type, but that’s not me ─at least it wasn’t.

  So how did I get here? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is what’s going to give out first: my feet, spirit, or mind?

  There’s a blip on the horizon large enough to gather my divided attention. It’s far away, so there should be plenty of time to get my hopes up before crashing them down again. Nevertheless, it’s a nothing I have to follow. At least I’ll get to enjoy unlocking the mystery of a new puzzle.

  It’s a long and low flat mound.

  It’s not natural; definitely man-made.

  It looks as if there are holes all over it.

  All these clues add up to a whole lot of nothing to me. And it’s starting to feel like getting close enough to solve this might kill actually me. Each step is getting more impossible than the last. Even blinking hurts.

  Hayden’s got it easy. He gets to ride along without a care in the world. Truthfully, it’s a surprise the floppy man is even still alive. “We’re almost there Hay.” I know this information won’t help him. It’s meant more to encourage my weary legs than comfort him. I’m also not sure why I called him Hay? Maybe it was to conserve the tiny amount of energy the last syllable would have cost me.

  The puzzle pieces finally come together and, like I thought, it’s nothing. Just an old school bus. Definitely not the salvation I had dreamed of. Honestly though, what really could’ve made much of a difference at this point? Even the pain in my head has gone silent. It’s accepted the end is here. Pure stubbornness is the only thing keeping me moving now.

  “Jack” My mother’s sweet voice echoes down the halls of my mind. She always called me Jack. It was short for Jackass. Not in a bad way though... It came from being stubborn as a mule. The name came from an old donkey named Jack. Of course calling your mule a jackass is one thing, but mom took it to eleven by using it on me. Why would I worry about this now? The meandering thoughts of a dying mind, I suppose. Maybe I just wanted to hear her call me Jack one more time.

  Almost without noticing, I’m standing in the door of the rusted out bus. Well, there isn’t a door, or windows, or anything really. It’s nothing more than a corpse that’s been picked over by the vulture of time. At least crawling inside should be pretty easy.

  I heave Hayden’s heavy ass up the stairs. The floppy man makes a not-so-graceful landing in the middle of the narrow aisle. While the frames of some seats are left, they’re pretty much just rusty springs these days. Honestly, the floor looks much m
ore comfortable than any of those torturous chairs. I wisely decide to stretch out next to Hayden on the flat floor.

  One last time, I check his weak pulse and find it slow and steady. He’s, ironically, doing better than I am at this point. Simply lying down is like fighting back full-on rigamortis. Most of my muscles are so dehydrated they simply refuse to straighten out anymore. I feel like I’m paralyzed, or maybe frozen in a solid block of ice.

  Because my eyes are the only things that don’t hurt to move, they’re free to enjoy the graffiti covered bus ceiling. They sluggishly roam around exploring the vivid messages from people I’ll never now. I really didn’t want to die under a colorful “Keith was here” drawing, but it seems like that’s how it’s going to happen. Well, Keith, I hope your life ended better than mine.

  The last bit of comfort I have is the silver locket. It soothes my brittle skin to rub its silky smooth surface. Tracing the peaks and valleys of the inscription helps steady my labored breathing. Its message is permanently engraved in my heart, “Patris amor. Amor patris,” The unknown words help me accept what my body’s known for hours; it’s dying.

  I’m dying.

  That’s when my eyes finally draw to a reluctant close. My last lingering thoughts are about all the other times I should’ve died, and this, this is how it ends? Shit.

  Quinn Chapter 4: One More Night

  My fingertips gradually grow just as numb as the rest of me. At least my encroaching death is soothing relief for these long aching muscles. They had been absolutely throbbing from the strain of pushing on for miles past their breaking point. The dry fibers felt like the brittle threads of an unraveling rope.