Forgotten Liberty

by Alessio Cala

  Javier believed that Autark was their land, the people who travelled to start a new life or play a part in the government-funded study. In Frank's eyes, Javier was naive. To him, there was a difference between claiming ownership over a property and claiming ownership over a nation. It was a difficult argument to uphold, seeing as there was no evidence to suggest that people once did live on this undiscovered land. He had heard rumours in the past, fluttering from the mouths of the merchants of Merribank Market, but he chose to believe those as they were, rumours.

  Later that afternoon, they followed the river upstream and by evening they pitched a camp along the riverbank beneath a curtain of hanging willow branches. It was too dim and gloomy to progress through the night. The darkness of the forest was always something to be wary of. Raiders aside, the chances of getting lost or running into a natural predator were at a dangerous high. Bears and wolves were known to reside in Autark's forests, especially on the eastern front. It was best to wait until first light and continue with the clear aid of daylight. Carlos made some alterations to the shift patterns. They would be taken in pairs, hundred metres along the riverbank at either end of the camp. Carlos and Derek did exactly that, sitting opposite ends of the camp by the tree line. They found spots which gave them a clear view along river. Following the river was safer than the open fields and valleys surrounding the northern road to the military base. In the meantime, the Grand River would also provide some sense of direction.

  Back at the camp, the group had built multiple fires to give the impression that their numbers were larger. It was an otherwise clever ploy, tarnished by the fact that the raiders enslaved hundreds to be at their disposal. Raiders didn't care about their soldiers. Their soldiers were slaves, bands of pirates and brainwashed children forced to believe that what they were doing was for the greater good. They would strike without hesitation, regardless of how many people there were in the group. Frank wanted to speak with Barry about what happened to his home. He had overheard Tracy speak with him back at the cabin and knew that there was no apology that would suffice. Nothing he said could wind back the clock. He watched his old friend, sitting alone in the dancing shadows of a campfire.

  Frank listened in on John and Mike talking around the campfire.

  “...I studied at the University of Eastern Colorado before enlisting in the marines," Mike explained.

  “You were a marine?”

  “Yes sir, two tours in Afghanistan.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “No sir,” Mike replied. John didn’t respond. He stared intently into the enticing flames of the campfire.

  “What about yourself, what did you do?” Mike asked.

  “Well nothing as eventful as yourself. I did different things, different places. Spent some time up in Wyoming as a national forest fire marshal.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Was boring as hell...”

  John continued to prod the burning fire with a stick. The burning light highlighted his brash moustache, his features more eccentric under the fire’s luminescence. Mike laughed quietly at the old man’s lack of enthusiasm. He was about to speak until John lifted his head for the first time.

  “Why you out here, boy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, look at you — you’re still young — still got all your teeth and then some. Just trying to figure you out is all.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out.”

  “No? Then why are you fighting here? Thought you said you was a marine?”

  “I was, but not anymore. After my last tour they allowed me to retire due to… unexpected circumstances.”

  “Unexpected circumstances,” John mumbled to himself, his attention back on the hypnotic flames between them. “What happened?”

  “John,” said Annie. She had also been eavesdropping but was more understanding toward Mike's privacy and lack of detail.

  “No, it’s alright,” Mike insisted. He hesitated for a moment. John could see the cogs rotating in his mind to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

  “I was on the last week of a six month tour. I'd received word that my wife and daughter had been in an accident. Wasn’t her fault, other driver pulled out without looking, sent them both into hospital.”

  Annie and Kara sat up straight, all attention on Mike.

  “I was immediately granted leave and got the first flight back home. By the time I got to the hospital, they were already gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Annie.

  “It’s okay. Was a long time ago.” He waved it off but she sensed the unwanted burden of his past. He stammered briefly, refusing to look either her or John in the eye as he continued.

  “I wasn’t happy back home anymore, and fighting was the only thing I was good at. Thought this would be the perfect opportunity to start fresh, clean slate.”

  “Well we appreciate your help,” said Annie.

  “That we do,” John awkwardly trailed off. A wave of guilt showered over him for asking the man to dig up his past. “Hell, if you hadn’t shown up back there, we probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

  They nodded. Kara turned back over and tucked herself into her bedroll. The crackling of burning twigs was all that remained to fill the lingering silence.

  John’s last statement stuck with Frank. His mind conjured up repulsive examples of what the raiders might have done to them had Mike not been there. The rest of the group spoke very little that night. They hadn't eaten throughout the day and Frank felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness. The temptation of the fire's warmth lured him into a false sense of security. They were never safe.

  Sam hadn't put the book down since they left the cabin. He was sat on a log near Annie and scribbled away. The blunt pencil in his hand was engraved with tiny teeth marks that caused the wood to peel at the top.

  “Can I see?” Annie asked. She moved closer to Sam to sneak a quick peek but the boy resisted.

  "It's not finished."

  "That's okay," she insisted, leaning in for a closer look.

  "No!" Sam cried. He snatched the book away. He stuck out his lower lip and his eyes drew deep with sadness. Annie held up her hands and scooted back over a foot or two. It was the first time she had seen him behave this way. He spoke more openly around her now. She dismissed his outburst and allowed him to return to his drawing. Silence hung over them for some time and soon enough, Annie's curiosity got the better of her.

  "Sam?" Annie said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  The boy looked up and nodded. He shut the book and placed it beside him.

  "How do you come up with your drawings?"

  "I don't come up with them by myself."

  "No? Where do they come from?"

  "I don't know."

  "But you said you don't come up with them by yourself. Where else do they come from?"

  "They said I can't tell you."

  "Who did?"

  Sam didn't answer her. He lowered his head sheepishly, eyes darting from side to side as if to check nobody was listening around them.

  "Who told you not to tell me, Sam?" Annie persisted. She noticed the palm of his hand gently stroke the surface of the book. He turned away, hopped off the log and wandered over to Tracy with the book clamped in his grasp. As he approached her, he stared back over his shoulder at Annie with bold eyes. She let him be. They had only known each other for a couple of weeks and she didn't want to jeopardise his trust. She found his behaviour most peculiar and had never encountered a child quite like him before. She thought about the scars on his back, the experiences he must have endured during his captivity at the military base. The children were scarred. That audacious glare in his eyes exemplified the deprivation from his past. His life before the raiders was most likely a short one at that. This was all he knew. Whatever there was before, if anything at all, he had most certainly forgotten now. The raiders had drained his mind, only to fill it with their sadistic
ideology.

  Annie felt sick just thinking about it. She could hear the river about a hundred yards from the camp. The rushing flow of the current only worsened her feeling of nausea. She looked beside herself and noticed Frank; eyelids drifting down and shooting back open in a repetitive cycle. He looked exhausted. The hairs of his beard had grown longer and scruffier. The bags under his eyes had formed multiple layers, his skin far paler than she once recognised. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. His head jolted up, startled.

  "Let's get some rest," she said. He nodded in agreement and the couple slipped into their bedrolls, lying side by side next to the dying fire. They listened to the river, and the distant hysteria of a wild coyote that howled through the night. Annie took one last look up at the starry spectacle in the sky before drifting off into a soundless slumber.

  The following morning Frank was woken by the prodding of a blunt object into his gut. He opened his eyes and saw Kara kneeling over him. She held Frank’s shotgun and nudged him with the stock. “Time to move.”

  She extended her arm and pushed the shotgun into Frank’s grasp. Frank was suddenly aware of the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. He felt it rumble and churn as he rose. The lack of food was straining the group and draining morale. He noticed the others beginning to become short tempered over the littlest things. The previous night he briefly overheard Kara and Derek have a small altercation about the schedule. Derek felt they were way behind whereas Kara took the hindrances into consideration. Frank was too tired to get involved, but the real truth was that he just didn't want to.

  He packed his bedroll along with his knapsack. They had already boiled water that morning to take with them for the day. Derek stamped his heavy boot into the last burning embers. The ball of his foot pivoted from side to side and the burnt firewood crunched and flattened down into the cold ash.

  Barry and Tracy led the way at the front of the group. Derek took it upon himself to watch the rear, keeping his distance from the others. He took every opportunity he could to avoid Frank and Annie.

  Meanwhile, Frank questioned his own actions back at the cabin. For a long time he felt uncomfortable with what he had done, knowing that in that moment he was not in full control of his actions; but as time passed, he couldn’t help but feel what he did was justified. He was protecting his wife, at least that’s how he saw it. He separated the man he saw as a threat from the woman he loved. He could have killed the man, but he didn’t. Was that only because Carlos had stopped him? Only now did he understand the perils of his impulsive actions that day. He was haunted by the possibilities of what he might be capable of doing. Had it been somebody else that stood between them, somebody he cared about? He could never live with himself.

  A single burst of gunfire rang out through the woodland. It sounded far off and reverberated out across the pines in static layers. The group stopped and looked at one another for reassurance.

  "Could be Carlos," said John.

  "Better fucking hope its Carlos," said Derek.

  Throughout the course of the morning they had been following the trail that Carlos had left behind. Although Barry needed glasses to see, he was very astute with his observations. He picked up on things Frank never even thought to consider. It wasn’t just about footprints. He picked up on everything. Muddy depressions in the trail served as a treasure trove of information. As they pushed on, he explained how tracking humans was easier than animals. Animals were unpredictable; more inclined to be influenced by their surroundings and changed their course at the first indication of danger. Humans on the other hand, walk in a deliberate and predictable fashion, they don't always pick up on everything. It wasn’t enough to just find a set of spoors. He looked at the depth of the imprint to judge the weight of the person. He observed the imprint's pattern, the distance between each spore to estimate the speed in which the person was travelling. He also looked at disturbances in nature; trampled grass, snapped branches. If he knew them, Barry would put himself in the mind of the person he was tracking. Where am I going? Why am I going this way? They could hear him mumbling his thoughts aloud. Settlers around the island had travelled to him in the past to ask for help in the event of a missing person and Barry was more than willing to offer his services.

  Max's nose was down in the mud, sniffing vigorously at a newfound discovery. Barry knelt down beside the dog and ran his fingers across the damp surface. He lifted his hand and rubbed the fresh material between two fingers. His face transcended into a puzzled expression. He leaned in closer and allowed the substance to touch his tongue.

  “Blood." He spat back over his shoulder.

  “What? Are you sure?” Tracy questioned.

  "Let's not panic. Might not be his," said Mike.

  A thick scent hit the group all at once, bitter to the nostrils. It was a musky burning smell, an abomination to the natural air of the forest. They peered ahead and saw a single pillar of charcoal grey smoke that rose above the not-too-distant pines. The more they pushed onwards, the larger the quantity of blood. Panicked thoughts rushed through Frank's mind. Was it Carlos? Late afternoon had approached and they usually caught up with him around midday. He wondered if the raiders had got to him, if the smoke was coming from a raider camp. He had never fired a gun at another human being before. He didn't know if he could step up to the plate when the time would call for it and he hoped that he would never have to.

  Max let out a low, abrasive bark. The group's attention snapped up in sync. They peered through the abundance of pine trees, squinting their eyes for a better look. Max stopped just in front of them, arms and legs spread out in anticipation. He was staring dead ahead. Within seconds he was gone, darting off into the woodland. Frank ran ahead of the others to follow him. He pushed his body through the natural obstacles in his way, ignoring the prickly pine needles that slapped across his face as he passed. He was right on Max's tail. The dog dived through the heavy undergrowth and Frank followed suit without a second thought. He felt the thorns pierce his skin and snag his waterproof poncho. They broke through to the other side and reached the gorge of the steep valley. The ground dipped low and the flourishing pines towered over it, blocking out any natural light. The smell of damp moss wafted in his general direction. Sitting in the gorge was the charred remains of a burnt out jeep. A stream of faint smoke rose from the gaps in the dented bonnet. Max's growl rumbled through the atmosphere. Frank raised the shotgun. The shady outline of a figure leaned inside the back of the jeep.

  "Don't move!" he shouted.

  The figure stopped what he was doing and took two steps back, his hand reaching out behind the jeep.

  "I said don't move!" Frank repeated firmly. He felt the adrenaline flood his veins, his finger itching the trigger. The figure raised his hands slowly, leaning in to peer through the dynamic shadows.

  "Frank?" the voice called out from the darkness. He recognised the accent.

  "Carlos?"

  The figure stepped into the light. a prominent beam of light through the trees waved over to reveal a doeskin tunic. A lifeless rabbit dangled by a noose around Carlos' waistband. Frank sighed in relief. He lowered the shotgun and closed his eyes. His hand trembled. He stuffed it into his pocket to conceal his anxiety.

  “Jesus Christ...” he muttered beneath his breath.

  Carlos wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned against the bare trunk of a wilting pine. “For a second there, I thought you were going to take my head off with that thing."

  Max sniffed the motionless animal dangling from Carlos' waist. The rest of the group piled into the gorge.

  "Where the hell have you been?" said Kara. "We thought something had happened to you."

  "Sorry, found this and got carried away," Carlos replied, inspecting the wreckage of the open-topped jeep.

  The smell of smoke had now been replaced with reeking gasoline. There was another disturbing aroma, a pungent odour that lingered the surrounding air. Carlos led them closer to the vehicle for fu
rther inspection. The ground surrounding it was doused in oil. The entire left side of the jeep was punctured with bullet holes. The engine and petrol tank had been shot up and the last remaining drops of fuel seeped out and dripped onto the forest floor. Carlos revealed the body sitting in the driver’s seat. A dented helmet concealed his face, his head dropped to one side with a disfigured neck. Frank stared, his eyes drifted lower. A single wooden arrow protruded the centre of the man’s chest. It had penetrated his breast plate, deep enough to pierce his heart. His torso was covered in blood.

  “Oh my God," whispered Tracy. Annie turned away, shielding Sam's eyes from the carnage. She knew he had already seen worse but she would do anything to prevent him from seeing more. Carlos retrieved his rifle leaning up against the rear of the jeep. "I already checked it, nothing of use to us."

  "Must be a road up there,” said John, gazing up the valley through the pinewood palings.

  The door of the passenger side was already left ajar. Derek leaned in and picked something from the seat. He lifted it up slowly to show the others. Another helmet. Streams of dry blood coated the dented Kevlar exterior. Derek looked down to his feet and realised he was standing in a trail of blood. He dropped the helmet immediately and hopped back. Mike circled the vehicle and scanned it up and down.