rise of the saviors

by Stella Samiotou Fitzsimons

  Clouds drift by right above our heads. Too much information all at once and so little oxygen. Less than I’m used to, anyway. I let my backpack fall to the ground. “I could stay here forever,” I mutter.

  “You couldn’t and we have to get to the camp.”

  “Great,” I say. “Is everyone there as friendly as you?”

  “No. Most would have killed you.”

  I guess that makes Stranger a real softy. He leads me down a descending path to the mouth of a cave. As we walk into the dark cavern I realize a tunnel has been dug that is almost completely dark until a glimmer of light becomes visible far ahead.

  When we reach the light a few minutes later, the cave ends and we come upon an open air camp. It consists of five two-person tents, a larger tent in the back, and a giant campfire under an open metallic shed. There are no humans or animals in sight but I can see signs of life. Clothes hang out to dry, pots and pans are lined up near the fire and a big jar of a clear, brownish liquid sits on a homemade chair.

  “You’ve lost your tongue,” Stranger says.

  “Didn’t know you were a fan of my voice.”

  “The voice is fine. You just need different words,” he says, trying to be nice, I think. I begin to regret not showing enthusiasm for his home.

  “How many of you are there? You’ve hidden yourselves well.”

  I notice a hint of satisfaction on his face as he hands me a long, thick coat which I wrap around my shoulders immediately. It’s cold. Damn cold.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” he says but his tone is benign and, for this place, might even be friendly. He doesn’t view me as an enemy or he would have tried to kill me. That would not have gone well for him.

  “Where is everybody?” I say, defying the rules he’s been trying to set.

  I get a partial answer when a young woman steps out of a nearby tent. Her eyes are heavy and she stretches her arms out as if just waking. She stops stretching quickly when she spots me.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” Stranger offers.

  “What is this?” the woman says unable to take her eyes off me.

  “I found her lost outside the Grain Village,” he says.

  The Grain Village? I’ve never heard of that name for my village before. I never even knew there was a name for it or any other village.

  “She doesn’t look right,” the woman says.

  “She’s not. I didn’t say she was from the village.”

  “It’s a risk to bring her,” the woman advises.

  “She’s no risk,” he says. I feel for the first time his trust in me.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say, but I don’t think they get the joke. Instead, the woman looks even more worried.

  “Her talk is not always useful,” he explains to the woman. “Go find the others and bring them.”

  “How many of you are there?” I repeat my previous question.

  “Your talking is not helping you,” Stranger tells me.

  “I need no help,” I say and then bite my lip to keep from saying more.

  The woman remains still, uncertain of whether she should go or not. My brutish escort nods encouragingly and she sets off toward the tunnel. Then he turns to me. “No need for fear,” he says. “We’re not savages.”

  “That’s a matter of perspective, I suppose.”

  My rudeness gets his attention. I have made him curious, I think, because I am not afraid. I hear the sound of running water behind the main tent and walk to it. Stranger shadows me, making no attempt to intervene.

  I find a small stream racing over colorful rocks. I squat down next to it. The icy water chills my fingers.

  “We follow the water,” he says. “Water is necessary.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to the obvious survival lesson. I could, in turn, tell him that life also needs weapons and a willingness to risk life itself. There are many people better suited to be ambassadors than me. We all have our strengths. Mine just happens to be destruction.

  The rest of the water followers show up soon afterwards. There are nine of them, dressed in heavy coats, hats and gloves to withstand the mountain temperatures. Four men, three women, one teenage boy and one teenage girl. Stranger would be the tenth member of the group and, by the looks of it, the best and brightest.

  I look at their red noses and the way the younger girl shivers. It becomes obvious they haven’t spent their whole lives on this mountain. Their doubting eyes scrutinize me without any attempt to hide their curiosity.

  These people are nomads, trying to survive in the shadows of the apocalypse. I have nothing but respect for them.

  “Dear God,” says a woman who seems to be in her mid-forties. I’m not good at guessing ages, but the other two must be in their early to mid-twenties, with the one I saw first being the youngest.

  The men look a bit older on average although not by much. My guess is the oldest one is in his early fifties and the youngest in his late twenties.

  Stranger is somewhere in between, probably mid-thirties. He reaches out to me now with one hand while the other points to the campfire. “Please,” he says, “come sit with us.”

  Some things feel right for reasons you can’t explain and this is one of them. The ground around the fire feels warm and as everyone settles down, I start to relax. I want to learn whatever can be learned about them. I want to help them if they need it.

  “Eric says he found you outside the Grain Village,” says the oldest woman.

  “Eric?” I say and stare into the eyes of the one I have known as Stranger.

  “Do you have a name?” the woman goes on.

  “My name is Freya. I escaped from a plantation when I was fourteen. What about you? Were you born free?”

  A collective sigh of disbelief escapes their mouths.

  Eric furrows his brow. “You escaped?”

  I nod. “I’m not the only one.”

  “These words are useful,” he says, relieved somehow.

  “Are you speaking the legends or telling us the truth?” the youngest woman asks with wonder on her face.

  Eric has dropped his head. I’ve noticed that’s what he does when he thinks. Something about my story bothers him. “It must be true, Marisa,” he tells her as he grabs and tosses a log onto the fire.

  The flames welcome the new energy provided by fresh wood and rise higher. The crackle and pop of fire fills up the long silence.

  “Unless…” one of the men finally says.

  “Unless what?” Eric says.

  “What if she’s been sent?”

  “She’s not a spy,” Eric declares. “She is too easily killed.”

  They all nod in immediate agreement. A chuckle escapes my lips.

  “She laughs like a fool,” the oldest man says.

  They all agree to that, too. I’m harmless, perhaps even a bit nuts.

  “Your village poses little threat,” I say. “Why would they send a spy?”

  Eric stretches out his arms. “What did I tell you?’” he says winking to his companions. It’s their turn to laugh and at my expense.

  “I’m happy to amuse you,” I say. “Now it’s my turn. How have you avoided detection and survived so long in the wild?”

  “We keep moving,” Eric answers. That’s a first. “And we’re not the only ones, either.”

  Free people roaming the Earth so close to the villages and the plantations? Is it possible the aliens don’t know about them?

  An even better question would be if the good people of Exodus are aware of their existence. And if they are, why haven’t they ever brought it up? Maybe it’s better to believe they don’t know anything.

  “Were you or your parents or their parents before them born in the villages and escaped like me? Or have your people always been free?”

  No one seems willing to give a simple yes or no answer. Then one of the men turns to look into my eyes. “I am David,” he says. “We are survivors of the first invasion. Born to the free people of the Earth.�
�

  Even though I have asked the question, his words manage to stun me. It’s one thing to suspect something like that and quite another to know it’s true.

  The free people enjoy my shock. Grins are formed on their lips. Eyes shine brighter with amusement.

  “That’s incredible. It’s the best news I’ve ever heard,” I say, looking to please them even more.

  They introduce themselves one by one.

  There’s Eric and Marisa and David, who seems the youngest of the men. Jacob is the oldest and then there’s Scott and Patrick. The oldest woman is Jeanine. The other woman is Sophie. The youngsters are Olivia and Jonathan. They’re both fourteen they tell me. It’s a good thing I’ve had plenty of practice at learning new names in Spring Town.

  After the introductions are over, Eric asks me to go for a walk with him. It’s the last thing I want to do. It’s getting dark, my legs are sore, my feet are blistering and I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my life, but something on his face tells me this is an order and a plea at the same time.

  “My people,” he says once we’re out of earshot, “might not be ready to hear all that you have to say.”

  “And yet you are?”

  “I don’t know. I suspect you have bad news for us.”

  I look him in the eye. “It depends what you mean by bad.”

  “We haven’t been on this mountain long,” he says. “There is unrest in the air. I can feel it.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Somewhere. Places don’t have names anymore.”

  I nod. “You said there are others like you.”

  “We have come across groups in hiding, yes. They are all striving to maintain a false sense of stability. They start to have children and form families and then something happens. Many of them die.”

  “Your group doesn’t believe in family?”

  “We don’t see the point. This is not the world for it. If we come across a lost soul who thinks like us, we invite them to join us.”

  I consider his words. “If you don’t find a point to things, do you not become pointless?”

  We’ve come to a ridge. Eric points at the green land way below us. “This Earth is not ours anymore.”

  “It could be, Eric. There will be war. All can be won or lost.”

  He keeps his eyes focused on the lands below. “All is lost.”

  “That attitude guarantees it.”

  “If you plan a war you must have people.”

  “Many. There’s even a space station that managed to survive in the same manner you did down here.”

  His eyes burn bright lit by the rising moon. “A space station?”

  “Let’s return to the fire,” I say. “My bones are not used to the cold and I have much more to tell you.”

  12

  We gather around the fire to eat and swap stories. Humans have always done this. The Saviors did the same thing when we lived in the forest. I take out the last of my food supplies to share with my hosts.

  Questions pile up in my head. I wonder how hungry Kroll must be. His appetite is as beastly as the rest of him. At least I don’t have to worry about him freezing to death. His thick skin helps against extreme temperatures.

  My hosts tell me that they have survived by never staying in one place for more than four seasons. They have spotted aliens and Sliman on very few occasions and have always managed to walk away without being noticed.

  I’m not sure that last part is true. I believe they are simply of little interest to the aliens until that time when the Shadow Empire can be replenished through host bodies and they take over the planet for good.

  Mentioning alien brides and babies would do nothing but frighten them so I decide to change the subject. “Have you heard anything about what’s happened overseas?”

  “I first breathed overseas,” Jacob, the oldest among them, says. “My parents wanted me to have a better life. A group planned a crossing for years and when I was one year they made the journey.”

  “It was no different over there?” I ask.

  “Seems not,” Jacob says. “Of course I was too young to remember.”

  His parents died in a minefield when Jacob was only six. He was raised by the three adults left in the group. He grew up believing love and family no longer belonged in this world.

  “I heard the explosion,” he says. “I saw their bodies lifted from the ground and thrown across the land like rocks skipping on water.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I offer to console him.

  “They did not let me go to them,” he remembers. “The invaders might have heard the explosion, they said. We have to run away, they said.”

  “There was nothing you could do,” I say.

  “You are right,” Jacob says. “That’s why we don’t start families. The world is over full with deadly surprises.”

  “I cannot argue with that.”

  “We’re also full of surprises,” Patrick says to lighten the mood.

  “You definitely surprised me,” I say. “Are there alien plantations in Europe?”

  “My father spoke of them,” Jacob says. “According to the stories, things are hard over there. Humans work in mines until they drop dead.”

  I nod. It makes sense. The search for primitive meteorites and radioactive isotopes is still going on in Europe. We’re not the only ones with the privilege of being enslaved and experimented upon.

  “How far have you traveled?” I say.

  “Very far,” Marisa says. “All the way to South America.”

  South America. I think of the bag that Damian and I found in the cave with the hot spring when I was fighting for my life. We were both stunned by the discovery of the plastic bag and didn’t know what to make of it.

  When Eric walks away from the fire, I instinctively get up and follow. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so I keep walking next to him, feeling the cold creeping up on me the further away we move from the fire.

  “Is it your first time in this district?” I ask rubbing my arms up and down with my gloved hands.

  He thinks a while before answering. “It’s their first time. For me, it’s the second.”

  A thought pops into my head. “How do you cross the mud?”

  “The mud? Why would that be an issue?”

  I realize he’s probably never heard of the supposed toxicity of the big mud crater that surrounds the plantation district.

  “The aliens in the plantations had us believe it’s deadly,” I tell him.

  “It’s not.”

  “Well, we believe some parts are. That may be a myth as well.”

  He considers my words. “You know a lot,” he says.

  “I should probably have the parts we know to be safe drained. That would make it easier for anyone out there to cross – especially groups like yours moving about.”

  “That would be useful. The mud is not a pleasant thing to see.”

  “Or smell.”

  We reach the ridge again. This time all I can see below is a swallowing darkness. The world beneath my feet has turned into an abyss.

  Eric turns back without saying a word. When we’re a few yards away from the camp, he sets his eyes on me. “When will you go back?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Do you want me to return you to the Grain Village?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” I say smiling.

  “It’s settled. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  When I make it to the tent they have offered me, I collapse onto a surprisingly comfortable primitive bedding. In the morning we'll have to descend all the way down to the village. Another seven-hour trial under the roughest conditions. I vow never to climb a mountain again.

  *

  PURE MAJESTY UNFOLDS as we descend from the highlands. Spectacular natural formations, the endless blue of the sky and the pillowy white clouds both above and below make our descent a sensory explosion.

  The crystal breath of diamon
ds whispers across the frozen land.

  Eric offers me his hand when the rocks turn slippery. He picks me up effortlessly by the waist and sets me down on a lower ledge. What a difference a day has made in our sense of unity.

  After descending for an hour, I feel Kroll’s presence even though I cannot see him. I wonder how Eric would react if I confided in him about the Dark Legion.

  I decide against it. There’s no telling how Eric would take such a revelation. If I’m never to see him again, there’s no point going into such detail about the war.

  Eric ends my contemplation when he tells me we’ll take a rest. We’ve come to a small grassy overlook. We sit and take out our water bottles.

  He pulls a pipe out of a pocket and then stuffs it with small leaves before lighting it.

  “Is there anything you don’t have in those pockets?”

  He puffs some smoke rings out before answering, “My soul.”

  I smile. The wonder of all Earth’s creations spread out below us as far as our eyes can see. “From up here our souls seem everlasting.”

  Eric, my new friend, the stranger of yesterday nods as if our thoughts have now become one. “The mind hungers such dreams.”

  It is the strangest thing he ever said.

  I imagine myself flying off with the breeze and disappearing into the quiet all around us. “Is there anyone special in your life?” I say suddenly, not quite sure why I would interrupt such a moment with a personal question.

  He produces a piece of cloth from an inside pocket and starts cleaning his pipe. “I’m pretty special,” he says.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “I never liked questions. They feel too much like commands.”

  “How about the women in your group?” I can’t help myself.

  He gets up. “Time to move on.”

  The way down becomes easier on my lungs but not very kind to my joints. After a few hours, every step hurts. I look at Eric ahead of me, unable to decide whether I should ask for one more stop or not. I don’t want him to think I’m weak and, at the same time, I don’t want to fall to my death.

  After some hesitation, I reach out to pat him on the shoulder. He spins violently on his feet and wraps his hands around my throat. He’s so fast I can’t react. His grip tightens painfully and brings me to my knees. I blackout. When my focus returns, Kroll is on Eric’s back beating him down with his powerful right hand like a hammer.