Still Myself, Still Surviving: Part II: The Realization

by Marlin Grail

  From his prickly words, it sounded like C. had no idea of this at all. Maybe that was to add more legitimacy to this boy’s training?

  C. rolls his lips within himself, trying to take a look in our truck. “…Yeah, they’re with me. I wanted them out of mind, since they’re not known to be with me. To be honest, Gary, I’m somewhat paranoid. Anything I say about them is dangerous, because, well, who knows if this enemy has scouts already around here. They’re big, Gary. Skilled, competent, and big. They won’t back down from another invasion to another of mine.”

  I suppose that is rational to think about. Again, our group happens to shift things around for him. I still stand by it, though, for this one reason…Alex.

  “Why don’t you get him out for me?” C. suggests.

  Chapter XVII

  I recognize this moment would come, but I’m wary to how he said it.

  Regardless, I turn to where Will’s seated, then nod my head. Several seconds later, Will comes out of his seat, helping Alex follow him too.

  C. inhales with typical glee plastered on his face. “I didn’t realize you meant boy! Look at him! He’s all geared out and everything!”

  Will, mindful of C’s erratic behavior, remains close to Alex even as C. squats down to be eye level with him. “You come from that place over yonder?” he says, playfully pointing and circling his finger to the general direction down the road.

  “Yes. I… Um, are you C.?” Alex inquires.

  C. chuckles, raising his smile back to him. “Why yes, son, I am. You’ve never seen me, have you? Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been around your people as I have this batch. Believe me when I say it was with good nature to keep you hidden from all of this.”

  The boy looks down to his feet. “My Chief isn’t happy about you not giving us updates. Not happy at all. Fort Washakie’s spirit has been enraged by it.”

  Now our group knows. Fort Washakie is the place.

  C. seems to take great pain hearing that, but holds in any emotion other than warmth.

  I’ve found it’s truly tricky to know what’s real for him and what isn’t.

  “Well, why don’t we get you back to them?” he finally brings up

  This odd connection Will and I see between C. and Alex has us surprised, as well as the way C. is treating him. We slightly forgot about the few undead we saw lurking around, that is until they start gradually gravitating towards us.

  C. throws once more a curveball. “Hey, son, take one of them out for us, and it’s your ticket back home.”

  Okay, that sounds more like C. to me. Agitating.

  Will hesitates to let Alex out from behind him, but Alex makes his decision to follow through with C.’s order.

  Lissie hands over my sword while Will borrows a knife from Ashton. We let them know there’s no need for their help. I take care of two in a matter of seconds, while Will takes out the ones trying to surround Alex.

  Once the final undead is seen, not haze-incubating, and all by itself, we notice C.’s stare, silently demanding to let this last one out of our hands. Our natural response is to swiftly end the threat, but C. knows how important it was for us to go through all of the trouble to stop our convoy.

  The boy fulfills the deed. Eventually. It’s only after continuously launching his youthful legs up at the crotch region of the towering undead that he’s finally able to make it arch its back. Once the undead then tries to lean in over him, Alex is able to take it out.

  C. hollers with excitement afterward. “Yes, child! You’ve just earned a ticket to your place!”

  Two things for us will be taken care of. First, all of us could possibly get access to fuel. Second, the boy returns home.

  We’re not going there to suck them into our skirmish, but we can make peace with those that might stir up with consideration. Especially now that we know C. hasn’t truthfully been up and active with them, which has upset them greatly.

  Two things for C. will be taken care of. First, he unifies his people, so they don’t look at him poorly. Second being the first reason, so he doesn’t potentially make another war happen.

  Chapter XVIII

  The stress from convincing C. has finally left off of me. I’m sure it is doing the same for everyone else here, in their own ways.

  We’ve begun traversing a route that’s led us to the sight of many red cliffs. We travel in between multiples of these bulky, and what would seem uncared for, scenery. To me, it is one of Earth’s last untouched works, but I could understand where those people would be coming from.

  Those cliff’s peaks would be perfect for ambushers to mount and simply observe movement like ours. Let’s assume, for the time being, that won’t be a concern for us.

  The sides of the route have a string of wooden posts where electricity and phone wires remain. They encourage the current tedium in the truck to be dealt with, as the boy and Will begin doing road games. Janice times her ability to read when the road is smooth and straight enough to not shake her vision.

  I hone my focus strictly on the yellow lines, occasionally also seeing a dark streak of a tire that’s long vanished—no matter its freshness—and we will never know whom it came from.

  “Uh, Gary,” I eventually hear come from Janice, “there’s a problem.”

  When I turn my head to her, she redirects my vision to look through her side-view mirror. The car behind us is slowing down, but not in the way that looks purposeful. Instead, it has that gradual decrease in speed, as the engine does what it can before giving out.

  We’re not going to pretend we don’t see, or that we can’t help it.

  I switch on my tail blinkers as an indicator to the smaller cars, along with C.’s motorcycle, that we need to all pull off the road. I wait to brake until I see the car behind is about to give out of forward momentum.

  Once they do, the problem can finally not be masked by the ones upfront of us. I get out, being the first and only to jog over to the car behind. The driver practically kicks open his door, redness in anger splotched on some the visible areas of his face.

  “Are you alright?” I politely ask him.

  “Does it look all right to you?” he aggressively says back.

  He takes immediate action to open the hood of his car. I stretch past him to also examine the engine.

  Any part that needs replacing or fixing would take way too long.

  The rest of his group, all agitated, together bark out their statements. C. finally stomps his way to us all. “What is going on?” he questions sharply.

  “Something to do with the battery being dead!” the group’s driver responds.

  C. exhales with his own frustration. “I knew this was bound to happen.” He says this under his breath, looking at the engine bits to reassert what’s a priority. “You guys are out of a vehicle. You have two options. Either go back to our place, or pile up with the others.”

  Some then nod in agreement, while their driver turns his attention to our truck’s bed. “Hey,” he calls out to Lissie, “why don’t I sit up with the two of you?”

  The remainder of his group starts to stifle a reaction they have, which implies something about his question they like hearing.

  Lissie replies that she and Ashton are already cramped tight.

  His response is a lowering of his dark-tinted glasses, then a wink.

  Okay? That’s not what would be considered random.

  She gives a scornful cough, then says that it’s not up for debate.

  That’s saying something. She doesn’t seem all that keen about even being within radius of him.

  He simply shakes his head. I’m getting the vibration he really isn’t hearing her. “Come on, girl. We’ve just lost our ride. Have some sympathy.”

  Lissie then stands up on the bed, prepared to blast her signature contempt at him, but C. raises his voice louder than she can. “Hey! Look, this is not going to take that long! You guys hitch your rides with the other cars!”

  I quickly step aside
to examine the other people’s sitting spaces. This group is five total, and I count three possible spots they could take in the other cars.

  It’s going to require that our truck lets two of them travel with us.

  I relay that information to everyone standing here. The group’s driver, who I presume to be their leader, directs those three to find their spots. “Me and Big Bill will get up there with her and the cotton picker.”

  Ashton rises with absolute fire in his stance. “The hell did you just say to me!”

  At this point, this group leader has just lost any chance of being accepted by either of them. I’ll agree and support Ashton and Lissie on that choice.

  Ashton closes distance right in front of this man’s “poker face”, if one might say, because he looks unintimidated. I step my way between them, while C. takes this opportunity to walk away completely, before saying, “Yes, Gary. You settle this out. You’ve all got a minute before we move again.”

  As I place my hand on this man’s chest, his extra group member steps into my personal space. “This isn’t going to work. The two of you will have to trade places with your other people.” My gaze bounces quickly back and forth between them—just in case.

  This group’s head smirks and chuckles at me. “Look at the famous rockstar, Gary Nillon!” he mockingly states out in the open. “He’s telling us what to do. Remember, Bill, when we said how we bet it wouldn’t take much to get him on his knees, like the other wimpy men we’ve dealt with before hand?”

  They’re no safe way for them to be around my group. I don’t know about the others, but these two in particular need to be kept away.

  “This isn’t up for negotiation,” I throw back, losing my compassion for both of their predicaments. “Go trade places.”

  I can tell that if he could he’d try to tread right through me. My hand reaches out for my sword, ready to retract it from its sheath thanks to Lissie’s assistance. This makes him aware that he and “Big Bill” are outnumbered as of this moment.

  The last thing he does, before predatorily walking past my right side, is give a flirtatious smooch over to Lissie. This leaves her and I disgusted.

  It’s taking a certain amount of strength to hold me back from making you fully realize why that’s incredibly insulting.

  His second group member follows around to the other side of the truck. He slightly taps on the back tire with his foot. “You aren’t a truck guy,” he criticizes, coldly turning his shoulder and moving forward.

  While waiting for two of their group to come out and reposition over here, I ask both Lissie and Ashton if they’re okay.

  They both start their responses at the same time, but Ashton politely lets her go first. “They’re bastards I don’t trust, Gary.”

  I then feel her firmly hold onto the hand that I threatened those two with. “We need to stay wary of them—all of them.”

  I gently place my other hand on top of hers, patting it with assurance. “I trust you, Lissie. You and Ashton stay closest to one another.”

  Ashton nods along with Lissie. He then quickly shares, “They try anything, and I’ll show them what a ‘cotton picker’ will do.”

  It was uncalled for, Ashton. They’re still stagnant to a time they weren’t even alive for, but still believe it was a right way to be.

  I finally see sight of those other two, new people this time.

  Whether their personalities are different or not, hopefully they recognize to keep that hidden from us. Because Ashton and Lissie, including me, can’t handle anymore ugliness.

  “Keep my sword and your weapons close,” I warn within an instant of breath. I then hurry to the driver door, because C. and the other cars begin moving again.

  Chapter XIX

  After feeling relief about repositioning those unstable men, and getting back on the drive to Fort Washakie, I still manage to find myself stressing over the sight of seeing Lissie and Ashton with two other men. I have no idea if they’re being respectful.

  Ashton and Lissie remain planted by the windows. As long as the road behind is practically invisible to me because of their two bodies, then I have to accept that’s the best I’m able to see about their well-being.

  From more red cliffs, to dry patches of tanned fields, much of this landscape has become like that of a scene being rolled over and over again, like in an old-fashioned Western film. All that was depicted then was accurate. Alex breaks the monotony by rejuvenating the hyper personality he’s acquainted us before.

  “I know we’re close! That ranch, in the distance, is a sign! That place tells me we’re close!” His joy is barely being held back by the seatbelt he’s clipped to.

  “I’m sure your people will be glad to see you!” Janice says happily

  He confidently agrees, telling Janice, “Now, I won’t confuse Santa! He’ll know I’m back home, so Christmas can continue like it’s supposed to!”

  Goodness. This is the world’s first Christmas before the change. The kids…things that were there for them once is also damaged because of it all. With that said though, it’s not our place to take away the magic this boy still feels.

  I force out a cough to excuse mine, Will’s, and Janice’s silence after what he said.

  “Yes!” Will says brightly. “And, something tells me he’ll make sure to give your caretakers things, things to give you for especially how well you’ve been this year!”

  Janice agrees with Will. “Santa for sure knows the way you spend your days is different than say just last Christmas. But, as long as you’ve remained kind and considerate, then the joy of him will never change.”

  The boy appreciates their words, responding with “I didn’t know if I would be seen good this year, because…”

  It’s okay. Good and bad. Naughty and nice. These opposites are no longer on an extreme spectrum with a definitive label for one another.

  “Don’t worry,” I fill his silence. “You’re still good, because the fact you still question it means you care enough to want to be good. That is what matters most.”

  He gives me a pure smile. For once, it lets me feel what I said to him.

  Sometimes, what I preach is not always easy to take for myself. Do I see myself as a good person? I know what I do comes from a good place, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t, or won’t, do things that would be identified as not so great.

  That’s why I mostly don’t think about what I’ve done as “nice” or “naughty”. I try not to remind myself of the good things I’ve done in my past, for it means everything else before this time has to be remembered as well, including the bad things I’ve done.

  I wonder what Santa would think of it?

  Janice keeps her eyes on the boy. They’re filled with esteem for Alex.

  The boy seems to notice. “My mother tells me you can see a motherly soul just depending on the way a woman may talk to you. Are you a mother?”

  In an instant, she masks a look of hesitation behind an open smile and eyes that glance down at the arm rest.

  I can already tell that question has her uneasy. To be honest, I have no idea if she had a child or not. I will say, because of how wise and comforting she’s been for everyone, and how she bears our weight on her shoulders, she’s a lot like how my own mother was.

  “I do have a son.” Her answer is for him, but it’s also for Will and I. She simply leaves it at that. Janice turns her head back and looks upfront with me.

  I take several glances over at her. I can’t help but notice how she’s locked her eyes strictly on the road ahead of us. It’s obviously a mask to hide something else within her consciousness.

  What about the mention of your son that’s still so impactful on you, Janice? More importantly, what happened to him?

  Her eyes flinch. I believe she’s grateful for her mind to return to the present, by seeing the indicator of our newly appointed sight…

  Fort Washakie’s land.

  Turning off the main road floods our interior
with the boy’s cheeriness, as he signifies he’s now made it to his home.

  We then see our own introduction to the place.

  A fence stands before us, with solid diamond-shaped holes, and a few undead clinging to this structure. The creatures begin turning their attention within moments of us slowing down.

  I lower my driver side window, trying to hear any key sounds over our engines. Out of nowhere, several figures from beyond the fence hurry over with long rods that have enough sharpness to stab the head of the undead by their fence.

  After the stabbings, C. gets off his motorcycle, with hands in the air. His voice makes him sound like he’s pleading for forgiveness. The fence’s front gates commence to open up by the manual labor of several people.

  Someone then storms straight to C., with his own spiked rod in hand.

  Chapter XX

  At this moment, C. is like any of us.

  He’s vulnerable, and not treated with the status his followers usually give him. The man that’s approached him has deliberately extended his spiked rod to the general vicinity of C.’s head.

  “What are you doing here?” he bravely asks.

  C. risks his life through his way of talking like normal—overly confident, and assuming. “I know, without the aid of my consulting, you must’ve been through a lot of stress. As the responsible C. I am, it’s important I admit my wrong doing.”

  He makes it exponentially riskier for him when he intentionally smacks the rod away with a backhand. A few of the people by the fence then pour out to surround the area.

  Remember what we’re truly here for, C. The boy. You must mention Alex.

  We all remain in our vehicles, while the four in our truck’s bed stay within it—no doubt thinking like everyone else is.

  “Excuse me, but did you just say you’re C.?”

  The man’s tone appears less intimidating now, while C. begins to let his shoulders rise to this opportunity to more than make up for it. “That’s right. I am. I know you’ve forgotten about hierarchy. It’s my fault. Let’s allow both our mistakes to cancel each other out on this one occasion.”