by Z. M. Wilmot
~Jakken Servidos, in his Philosophical Musings
Everyone stopped talking and looked at me. I continued. “After Allon was executed, I went exploring. I found a place where the roots of the trees were exposed, and the path between them sunken. We could go underground, beneath the trees.” I hesitated. “But… the plants are carnivorous, and the roots attack you if you go too far in.”
“Why didn’t you report this?” Michaela asked. She sounded angry.
I flinched at the tone of her voice. “Some… things happened there that I don’t want to think about.” It was a half-lie. I’m not sure if she bought it.
Michaela sighed in exasperation. “Come on then, guys. Grab whatever food and water you can hold, and let’s go. We don’t know how fast these storms move.”
We couldn’t take that much water, but we combined several makeshift containers together and made lids to make it easier to carry, and then we stuffed our pockets with potatoes. Fortunately, the location of the shelter was near to where the ship had exploded, so I found the place easily. We all squeezed through the gap in the trees, the others with almost as much apprehension as me. I don’t know what had possessed me to go into the trees the first time; it was a rather terrifying place.
I led them down to the place where the ground dropped, and we stepped just into the roots, not going far. We found a small clearing with no roots nearby, and sat in a circle there, facing outwards, to make sure no roots got near.
After a moment, I ventured a question. “How will we know when the storm’s over?”
Michaela shrugged. “With those kind of winds, we’ll probably hear it when it starts. When the loud noises go away, we wait a few minutes, then come out.” I nodded. It sounded good to me.
We sat in silence for a good while, straining our ears, listening for the sound of howling winds. Eventually, it came, but not in the gradual way I had been expecting. One minute there was silence, and the next all I could hear was the howling wind and the deafening cracks of thunder. I covered my ears with my hands, pressing hard, but it did nothing to stop the noise. Every time the thunder reached my ears, my entire body shook with the sound of it. I didn’t remember it being so loud on the ship.
It was a long time before the storm died away. On the ship, they had lasted usually four or five hours, but this one felt like nine or ten. It was gone as suddenly as it had come. We had felt none of the effects of the storm. Once all was silent again (of course, we might have just been deafened by the sound), we waited for another while, then Michaela slowly stood and crept to the hole leading back outside. She carefully stuck her head out into the open and peered up at the sky. She stepped out all the way and turned around. “We’re good. It’s over!”
Relieved, we all piled out. I never wanted to do that again – though I knew I probably would have to.
“We’re going to have to rebuild the shelter,” Michaela said once we were all out and had stretched.
“Why?” asked Stephen. We could just use this area as our shelter. We won’t ever have to rebuild it, and it actually protects us from the storms!”
My eyes went wide. “We can’t do that! They’ll eat us as we sleep!”
Michaela sighed. “He does have a point, Jak. It would be perfect. And none of us saw the roots move, like you claim they had before. Did you see them move this time?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “But they did before – they almost killed me! I can’t sleep in there.”
“Fine. We won’t. We’ll sleep out here.” Her proposed compromise didn’t make me feel much better.
“What if the roots move out into the path? They could kill us anyway!”
She sighed again. “We’ll have a watch. Besides, it’s not safe to sleep anywhere else when a storm might come at any moment. We have a choice between certain death at the hands of a killer storm that could come at any moment, or possible death at the hands of carnivorous trees. I’m going to place my bet for survival on the trees.”
I started to speak, then realized that I had nothing to say. She was right.
“On the matter of flesh-eating trees,” said Adam, “how did you get away from them in the first place? You said they almost killed you, but that you managed to escape?”
I couldn’t tell them about the strange man who kept saving me, so I pleaded amnesia. “I don’t remember – I just struggled a lot, and I think I eventually broke them.” He raised an eyebrow at me and said nothing.
“So, all in favor of camping here say aye,” Michaela said.
We all responded, “Aye” – even me, though reluctantly.
She nodded. “Good. We’ll give Jak the benefit of the doubt regarding the killer trees, and stay out here, except when a storm sets upon us. Then we go under for shelter. We’ll always have someone here to watch the food and water.”
We moved all of the food out from under the trees, and placed it in the middle of the path-like area. Then, all of us tired, we all settled down to sleep – or rather, most of us did. I had the first watch.
An hour or so into it, I discovered that I really needed to relieve myself. I walked back up the trail (I was afraid of going further down it), walked out of the woods, and did what I needed to do. As I started to slide through the crack again, I heard a groan, then a thud, coming from somewhere nearby. I scrambled back out, and ran in the direction of the noise.
I found a man, lying at the base of one of the trees. I hurried over to him, and knelt by his head. It was Methuselah. He didn’t appear to be conscious. I put my head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat. It was faint, but it was there. I jumped to my feet and rushed back down to the camp. I shook Michaela awake. She sat up groggily, waking Adam, who she was sleeping beside. “Jak? What is it?”
“I found Methuselah,” I replied breathlessly. “He’s unconscious and needs help.”
Michaela was on her feet in an instant. Adam followed suit shortly after. She grabbed a cup of water and a potato. “Quick! Where is he?” I motioned for her to follow.
I led both of them to Methuselah. He hadn’t moved. She put down the water and potato as she knelt down by his side, placing her head to his chest. “He still lives…” She raised her head, grasped her right hand with her left, and began to pushing on his chest rhythmically. “How… ever… he… is… not… breathing… right…” She stopped pushing and put her mouth on his. Adam flinched and looked away. Despite myself, I had to smirk. My suspicions about what they might have been doing while they were alone were all but confirmed.
Michaela repeated the cycle three more times before Methuselah’s eyelids opened and he sat up violently, throwing Michaela back a bit. He coughed, and a mass of blood and phlegm shot out of his mouth, landing on his stomach.
“Are you all right?” Michaela asked, her eyes full of concern.
Methuselah coughed again. No blood came out this time. “What d’ye think, lass? Do I look alright t’ye?” He coughed up a smaller ball of blood and phlegm. “I’m dyin’ – no point in savin’ me now.”
She glared at him. “You’re dying over my dead body!” She picked up the cup of water and held it to his lips. “Now, drink. And no arguing!”
He complied. As soon as the first drops of water entered his mouth, he choked and spat it out. He laughed sadly, then burst into coughing again, shooting more bodily fluids from his mouth and nose. “I can’t drink nothin’. My body don’ want it… no use. I’m old ‘nuff, jus’ let me die.” He closed his eyes and mouth as he lay back down.
“No, damn you! We’re a crew, we stick together!” She tried to open its mouth, but it did not open. Her head fell down onto his chest, and her body shook as she cried silently.
“We lost him.” There was more desolation in her voice than I had ever heard before. I didn’t understand why she, a veteran crewmember and soldier, was so broken up about the death of a cranky old engineer. Adam gave me a meaningful look, and I nodded and trudged back to camp as Adam knelt beside Michaela, putting his arm
around her. Stephen and Mikhail were still asleep. I sat down in the middle of the path and watched the roots around us, making sure they weren’t up to anything.
29
“Scurvy was the plague of ancient seafarers, and is oftentimes also the plague of modern starfarers, especially on low-budget missions with under-qualified chefs. A good diet is essential to the health of any starfarer, and for them to have a good diet, they need a good cook. In this light, the nation of Lithestatvia is proud to offer its award-winning cook, Joseph Antiochus, to the crew of the Ambassador.”
