Inside the tunnel he started to feel surer. He remembered the light from the station disappearing as he walked away from it and the rumble that seemed to come from every side of him with an oncoming carriage. The only thing that had changed was the breath of the carriage as it passed. At seven years of age, Callen was a good deal smaller than he was now. Given the wind that had just whistled by with the carriages, he could tell the clearance they now allowed him was far tighter than it had been all those years ago.
Callen looked around as the carriage rattled away. He waited for a while, knowing the sound of the first could easily mask a second. Once silence joined him he began to walk further into the belly of the underground tunnel. He was getting quite nervous, feeling he should be approaching the doorway to descend below the tracks. His torch flickered. It’s small round ball of light jumped and bounced with each step he took. Then he saw it. A door ahead. Quickly he was on the entrance to the stairs. He stopped at the threshold to mark the moment. Looking around he took a deep breath, knowing that once before he’d left this point, only to find danger below. This time, it was not danger that propelled him, but curiosity. He brought his hand to the scar on his side in an unconscious gesture that seemed to give him courage to continue. He stepped into the stairwell and began his decent, guided only by the small torch waving its spot of light ahead of him. The stairs were deeper than he remembered and the floor below far more ragged with loose rock. He shone his spot to the walls. The last time he’d been past this way he’d had almost no light at all. This time was different and he was able to marvel at the natural stone walls of the chamber. It was one of the few times in his life he hadn’t been surrounded by plastic.
Twenty minutes of hard walking later Callen was growing extremely concerned. As a young boy he remembered this walk both in and out. First he had the old man as his guide and then, on his way home he had the thought of his lucky escape to keep him occupied. He didn’t remember it being such a long way. Another ten minutes of equally worrying travel and he stopped. Convinced he’d passed the opening to the old man’s cave. He slowed his walk, very carefully studying the rock to each side of him. When he found a hair pin bend in his path, not five minutes further on, he knew he’d gone too far. Such a signpost, even in this darkened tunnel, he would certainly have remembered. He fought a very depressing thought. Could the memories of his first journey into this place have been a dream, as so many of the experts in the city argued? They’d spent years trying to convince him that the fight with the boy had left him unconscious and the rest was merely imagined. Callen was a long way from accepting this, but the thought had presented itself and its presence only made him more determined to continue on and retrace his original steps. He turned back in search of the old man’s cave.
Around a small bend, to slight to be called a corner, Callen’s torch fell on a darker section of the surrounding walls. He hardly gave it notice and kept walking until he passed on by. And there it was. He snapped his head to the wall only to have it sit there as it had done with the torch upon it. Callen turned front again and focussed on the peripheral vision that occasionally saw more than was there to be seen. The wall was hollow. He swung his torch to it and marvelled at how well it hid itself to a front on examination. The darkened wall was an illusion of space. It was not so much dark in comparison to the wall around it, as distant. An entrance to a cave - the old man’s cave! Callen’s heart began to beat hard as he inched towards the room of rock. His torchlight showed the way as he entered, but the question of the absence of light that had once appeared on its own from within the room, was still to be answered.
Callen shone the torch through every inch of the space, resting it upon a number of old pieces of furniture that sported food containers and odd paraphernalia. A dusty plastic curtain still hung in front of the old bed which Callen had used to hide from his own fears, until he felt it safe to return home, over ten years before. It was like greeting an old friend who had shared exploits and now wanted to reminisce.
Callen spent time exploring the fireplace, clearing it of its last uneaten meal of wood. The ash flew with the settled dust that had overrun it since his last visit. His feet stumbled across loose uneven rubble on the ground, causing him to fall and join it. He landed on the very top of his posterior and arched his back in pain. His torch was set free on the ground and it completed a semi circle, coming to rest against the impediment that had caused Callen’s fall. White bones lay in the centre of the floor, bones that had not been disturbed in ten years of waiting. Still in their foetal position, with one hand raised to the chest, the old man’s bones rested in their shroud of rags.
Callen sat still. He felt no pain in his back any longer as he looked at the remains of one of the heroes of his early life. The white skull, still with its teeth in place, looked terrifying and yet Callen felt warmed by its presence. He got to his feet, took his torch and ferreted around, collecting half a dozen candle stubs with a good hours worth of light left in each.
A short time later the cave was as bright as any shrine. Candles flickered and popped, as they lit up the room and Callen, using one of the old man’s implements, began to dig in the very centre of the room. It was the least he could do to repay the old man who had waited without complaint all these years for a respectful end. Finally he would get one.
Callen patted down the last of the dirt back into the floor. The old man lay below the ground he once called home and below the place where he’d died trying to protect a young boy who meant nothing to him. Callen said a few words which sounded out of place, but resounded with far more intensity than his shaky memory of the past would ever allow him to understand.
“I’m really sorry about what happened,” he said, before looking around the room for a suitable head stone to mark the grave. The candles were coming to an end, a couple were already dark. Callen looked to one side of the room and saw a large flat rock against a wall. It would make a perfect headstone. With some effort he took it with the intention of placing it in the centre of the floor over the freshly dug grave. What he found behind the large rock stopped him in his tracks. It was a passage. It seemed very small and he wondered for a moment if it was the same one he’d remembered. He was sure it was, but given the amount he’d grown there was a real possibility he wouldn’t fit through. He quickly finished the task of marking the old man’s resting place with the rock, then crouched down to take a better look at the passageway. The entire length of tunnel was filled with large heavy rocks. This puzzled him. The room had not been touched since he last left, but the passage had been tampered with, sealed - from the outside.
Callen began the task of excavating as the last of the candles gave out. The work was slow and by the time he moved the first three rocks from the passage, he’d been reduced to entering with a long rope. Onto the end of the rope he tied a slip knot which he placed over the next rock to be removed. He’d then crawl out of the passage backwards on his hands and knees in order to get enough leverage to pull the rock clear. Within the passage Callen could not move his arms from his side as the space was so cramped. His shoulders and upper arms were scratched and bruised and he’d only removed half the rocks needed to re-open the tunnel. It was a difficult, tedious and uncomfortable job, but it was a job that continued.
Finally, a flicker of outside light broke through to the tunnel and spilt into the cave. It revealed a floor littered with so many removed stones that the ground resembled a cemetery. Callen inched his body further towards the light to peer past the last few rocks. What he saw reminded him of his terror the first time he’d exited the same passageway. This time he would not give himself up so easily. He backed his way out of the tunnel and sat in the room to wait for night.
Chapter 8.
The rope lay with its tail out of the passageway and its head securely wrapped around the largest of the remaining rocks. It was well past sunset. Callen knew his most vulnerable moment was his exit from the tunnel into the Outlocked world. Should the
y see him, he’d be left little option but to repeat his desperate escape of ten years earlier.
He’d dressed himself in rags from the bed. His own clothes stayed secure to his skin, but over them, the rags made him look more like he belonged to the Outlocked world than to the city. There was no point in waiting any longer. Slowly the rope was drawn to his chest one handful at a time. The grinding sound within the passage told of a deep path being ploughed by another large rock. It emerged into the cave. Callen moved it from the entrance then dropped to his belly and entered the tunnel. The clear sky was easily seen through the window into the Outlocked world.
Callen inched his way to the opening and peered beyond. The moon was quartered and dulled by the drift of pollution that blanketed the air. There was no movement outside, something he was thankful for. The removal of the last large rock would be enough to let him pass. He wrapped the rope around the boulder and then slithered back into the cave. Again he pulled on the rope until the rock appeared. The passage was clear and he was ready.
Callen gave the moment little thought. It was possibly something he should have done, being the last chance he had to turn around and go home without causing himself or anyone else any concern. With his pack tied to the end of the rope, he dropped to his belly one last time and began to shimmy his way through the passage. At the opening to the night sky, he paused. Slowly he inched himself out of the tight passage, head first, born into the Outlocked world. He dug his heels into the shale that coated the steep cliffs. Dragging the rope from the passage, he recovered his back pack, removed the rope and placed it within, severing his last tie to the world of the city.
Callen took his time descending from his perch on the mountain side. If he stepped quickly rocks slipped underfoot, while the slower he moved the less he disturbed the loose surface. At such a pace it took him a full ten minutes to reach level ground where he was thankful to be able to walk again at a reasonable speed.
The night was the perfect companion to go unnoticed. He walked over rolling hills, one after the other. He continued for a number of hours without seeing a sign of any living thing. Then, at the top of a hill he saw smoke. A small fire flickered in the darkness and some movement could be seen by two Outlocked standing nearby. Callen skirted what looked to be a camp. He spent the rest of the night walking a large arc to find him a better vantage point. From this new position he had a clear view of a walled enclosure. There were animals and a number of primitive shelters within the surround. It seemed a very clear and distinct communal boundary. The pairings of guards stood around watching the barren land.
The sunrise was magnificent and Callen enjoyed the sight of the yellow brown rays cutting through the heavily coated atmosphere above. With every moments additional light, he was able to make out more people. He took his binoculars from his bag and began a detailed inspection of these people. They seemed a long way from nomadic barbarians. Within the walls of what could only be described as a small fort, people were waking and performing chores.
From a great distance, dust could be seen rising. It signified a rider on horseback coming towards the camp at a gallop. The first guards to meet the rider exchanged a few words, before the main gates to the enclosure were opened and the horseman ushered in. There was great movement as others gathered around. Then the rider disappeared into the ground as those he’d spoken to waited. There was a lull and Callen made a mental note of the clothes the rider had worn. They were the clothes worn by those attacking him in his dreams.
It wasn’t long before the rider re-emerged with a number of others alongside him. There was a short conference in the courtyard of the camp, before one of those listening began to run for the far side where he took a rope and began to pull at it. A large resonating clang could be heard as a bell pealed. Within moments there were a great many men and women standing in lines. A lone figure on a platform made an address before the group split and headed towards the gate. Something of major concern had obviously happened and most of those within the camp were now on their way out. Callen was delighted by this new development. If they had their own emergency to take care of, he’d be free to go about his business unimpeded. This momentary relief was short lived as those leaving the camp split into groups of four and headed in every direction. Two groups were heading straight towards him and it occurred to Callen, the emergency the Outlocked were currently facing, could very easily be him.
He loaded his binoculars back into his pack before setting off at a brisk pace. At the summit of a large hill, he stopped and retrieved his binoculars to check on the progress of those from the camp. He couldn’t see any sign of them and felt a wave of relief wash over him. Once off the hill and with some cover between himself and anyone coming from behind he relaxed enough to break out some food and a bottle of water.
He began his walk again, carefully checking his surroundings from each high point, before continuing on. It was a slow and steady journey that lasted hours. Around him the land began a slow change. First a stringy looking shrub stood out on the barren land. Callen dismissed it as an aberration. But as he walked on the same type of bush could be seen in greater numbers. The ground itself was less sand and more earth and flowers and weeds were starting to be common place. Atop one of the largest hills he’d yet climbed he looked out onto a distant forest of green. In places it was still sparse, but it was a far cry from the desolate wasteland he’d learnt about in school.
Callen walked for another three hours before he found himself lost in growth from every side. He trod upon rich brown soil that crumbled to the touch and he looked at healthy trees and bushes growing in abundance all around him. As he walked further he could hear the echo of water and assumed it to be a sewerage outlet from the city. The sound grew thunderous as he continued on. From a small clearing he spotted a high solid rock wall that cupped the white rapids of a river below. He stood in awe of the sight. It was something he’d never dreamt he’d see in a lifetime. He slid and hopped his way down a steep shoulder that was littered with pine needles. The slope made for the most uncertain footing. He slipped and fell back, landing on his back pack. The pack broke his fall but didn’t help him find any traction. Peering over his shoes, flat on his back with his pack raising his head to see the path ahead, he slid almost one hundred metres. It was as if nature had designed the hill and the covering of slippery pine needles for the exact purpose. As he put his hands down to slow himself, the needles found his flesh and bit hard into the skin as he passed over them. The one thing they failed to do was slow his decent down the steep slope. Eventually, the end of his ride appeared below him. The trees thinned and an outcrop of rock, smoothed over a lifetime exposed to the elements, stuck out and dropped away to nothing. Callen screamed as he grew closer to the rocky outcrop. The scream did nothing but provide acoustics to his ride. Over the rock he slid and his last opportunity to save himself from the final drop disappeared as his fingers clawed desperately but failed to find a hold. With a final yell he was airborne and plunged deep into the waters below. He disappeared under the surface, resurfacing a moment later with a gasp.
His back pack gave him a raft as he lay on it in the current. Rapids of white water had him in their hold. Callen used his arms to try and steer himself from the centre of the flow towards the few rocks that were sticking above the savage force of the river. He reached one of the rocks that seemed magnified as the cool water raced across it giving a clear window to its surface. The rock itself was smooth and felt slick to the touch, something Callen wasn’t expecting and it was this that caused him to miss the opportunity to grab hold of the boulder. His hands brushed the surface as he tried to hold himself against the current. He couldn’t. The river won the battle easily and again Callen was on his journey with the mountain waters taking him downstream. The rapids showed little concern for his well being and he struggled for air, desperately trying to keep his head away from the submerged rocks that gave the surface of the white water its shape. His body was bruised and battered
by the time the river returned to a quieter flow, the only sign of the rapids passed were the suds that still lingered, waiting to be reduced back to the clear waters they had once been.
Further on, the river took a bend and the flow carried Callen to the shoreline. Still in water he felt the smooth river rocks beneath him as he struggled to crawl to the shore. He flipped himself around so he was now lying on his back. Again his pack made a perfect rest, allowing his head to stay propped up. He caught his breath. The ride on the river had delivered him deep into the forest that he’d earlier marvelled at. But all he could do at this point was suck in deep lungfuls of air and be thankful he could.
He closed his eyes and lay panting until his breath came to rest. Each side of the river sported steep slopes, like a natural amphitheatre. Everything about it was awe inspiring and beautiful and Callen was pleased he’d seen it.
On the hill opposite, a football sized rock began a tumbling journey towards the river. Callen heard the movement before he saw it. His eyes quickly picked up the swivelling rock as it danced and leapt through the matting of pine, hitting a tree with a thud and changing direction with a slide, before again cart-wheeling down the slope. With a loud click it kissed the clearing of rock and propelled itself into the air, diving into the waters with a low and pleasurable plop, drowned in a great depth of water. Callen looked to the stone’s origin and followed a cloud of dust up the side of the mountain. He couldn’t pin point where it had begun, as the first faint puff of dust was now travelling upwards through the trees on the other side of the river. Somewhere above him, something had set the rock in motion. He stayed looking intently for some time. As he watched for movement in the trees, he felt around in his pack for his binoculars. Bringing them to his eyes, he began to search in earnest, tree by tree. The rippled bark became an ocean to him. He was the only spotter looking for something without any identifiable characteristics. He didn’t know what he was looking for and had no idea if he’d already passed over whatever it was that set the rock in motion. On the ground lay large tree branches that could have, moments before, dropped from high above. Any of these could have landed on the rock, encouraging it to begin its journey to the river. Twenty minutes passed and Callen brought the binoculars away from his eyes. The sun was falling low in the sky and he was tired, his eyes strained. He didn’t like the idea of being surrounded by higher ground, but the weariness he’d been ignoring for the best part of two days was taking its toll. He moved away from the river rocks and found himself a reasonably flat piece of ground. He laid out his sleeping bag and put his head on his pack.
Inner City Page 7
