Even if we wanted to, there was no quarreling with his words. We all at once assented to his sound judgment.
That night, the maligned fish returned in my dreams. I saw it through my locked eyes in its bloated form while it thrashed on the soggy soil near the river. It secreted water and blood every time it senselessly struck the ground, creating the stomach-turning squishing sound that made me want to both find water to help revive it and also stab it. But I could not do either; its revoltingly remarkable eyes would not allow me. In contrast to the rest of its sickly body, they appeared to be more blooming than it could ever have been before its inflicted malady. It was almost as if the infection had given it a stronger soul, but the body could not handle it. Suddenly, those captivating eyes grew larger, which in turn glorified their attraction, but then beauty overextended, and the eyes bulged out of their sockets and burst.
That was the last sound and image I saw before I awoke. My body was so drenched in sweat that it seeped through my clothes and into my sleeping bag. There were many flickering stars accompanying the half-moons shining on either side of me, and without really understanding why, I remembered an old passage I once read while in college and had not thought of since. It was scrawled into an ancient stone pillar by an unknown author, from a lost civilization, and in a bygone era. It stated: “Though someone be simply sitting beneath the stars, lady misfortune can descend on him from the heavens above…”
Chapter Sixteen
Faith
By morning, the news had spread throughout all the camp of our vile visitor in the river, imparting a disquieting ambiance across the entire haven. Liz, my mother, Delphnia, Bervin, and Dayce used the early light to seek some sort of comfort in the makeshift Spirit Temple made for the refuge. Siena and Valssi stayed by their mother’s side, as she was not yet recovered from the excruciating hours she underwent before the journey. The rest of us were left with the singular purpose of devising a new route to embark on should we need to leave the town.
Due to our fuel situation, pushing farther south did not seem particularly welcoming. Going too far southward would lead us to the boundless Tridad desert, and with the hot season only starting, the outcome did not look promising. Nonetheless, if I was traveling alone, it would have been my choice. Heading east or west meant crossing densely populated towns and cities, likely meaning the chances were higher that travelers would bump into the invaders. But with family to take care of, we were forced to take resources into account, something a desert did not have much of. In the end, east won. The direction would take us to the coast, where we hoped to catch a ship that would take us to a safer region. We decided to head for a town called Ryse, residing about 350 miles southeast from our current position. Despite the highly populated area it was surrounded by, it was fairly isolated, anticipating that meant less competition for aid.
Throughout the next couple of days, the whirling turbines of helicopters and planes were almost continuously heard over our refuge. They kept coming in groups and they were moving north, but what lay there, I couldn’t know. Four days and three nights had come and gone and I dare say there almost became a sense of normalcy. Obviously, not the normal I used to know, but of a new kind; a kind I could get used to if I was assured safety and supplies. More northern refugees joined us in the afternoon. With them came updates. According to their accounts, the military was left with no other option but to destroy many of the bridges over the river to keep the infected at bay. To me, the most surprising news was hearing that the Tower in Iva City had gone. Apparently, three days had passed since it was last seen soaring into the sky with an unknown trajectory. Whether it was mere coincidence or something more, Injector assaults also largely ceased to the north. Some took this as a promising sign. I wanted to as well, but I couldn’t and didn’t. To me, this only signaled that their first phase was over, leaving me to wonder how many others there would be. However, I kept these thoughts confined within me.
Later in the night, after wavering a few too many times, I finally entered the Spirit Temple tent. It had been years since my feet had last treaded a holy floor, improvised or not. I regretted it had to take a world changing event to get me to cross the threshold. When I proclaimed my faith and distress by entering, I saw the plain white tent did not do it justice. Liz told me how beautifully it was decorated—with short candles hanging throughout, low wooden pews, an indigo carpet elaborately embellished with flowing floral patterns, and how I should enter for that alone—but I thought it was said from the mind of a hopeful soul and anything resembling the credence of the Spirits would have made her say that. There were around ten people inside, less than I thought, more than I wanted, and some seemed to have looked to have been there for several days and nights consecutively. I sat in the corner of the room nearest the draped entrance, expecting not to be noticed. I didn’t know why, but I had never felt comfortable in a temple. My mother always said that I inherited the notion from my father, but I never knew what she meant by that. I was not sure what exactly drew me in that night. Was it answers? Respite?
Minutes ticked by and I was getting nowhere spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. As I was ready to leave in defeat, I saw a form pass to my right, making the candles dangling low from the ceiling flick their flames. I felt the new presence taking a seat by my side.
My wish to remain alone went unrequited when a soft spoken, but clearly masculine, voice asked me, “Having trouble sleeping?”
With a little glance to the fringe of my vision, I saw the old-fashioned blue robes of a cleric adorned on a man about my age, but I somehow felt like a child sitting next to him. Perhaps that was the reason I didn’t relish entering temples?
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied to the questioner, still staring at the candles hanging in front of me. I noticed one of them in the center had a dimmer flame than the rest. It struggled to dance with the others.
“I’ll admit, my sleep has been sporadic as of late, but I’m sure even the most devout of us can say the same thing.”
“And how’s your devotion holding up?”
He sighed. “It’s a trying time, but then I remember our world has faced difficult and seemingly insurmountable challenges before. Just in the last few generations we’ve seen severe droughts, plagues, great world wars, and yet, by the grace of our ancestors, we’ve pulled through every time, becoming stronger for it.”
“You believe our ancestors can guide us out of this one?”
“What do you believe?”
“I was never one for worship or prayer, though I have always believed in the Spirits. I want to now, more than ever, but I have recently come to an unsettling thought. What if the Spirits do exist, but they’re not strong enough to guide us through this?”
“Then we must remember the Spirits guide our souls and no enemy can take that away.”
After a brief silence in contemplation, I asked, half in jest, “Do you know if someone can trade their soul for the safety of others?”
Almost sternly, he said, “We must never become desperate enough to wish for such a thing, no matter how well-intentioned it might be.”
“Thanks for the talk, but I better get back.” I stood up to leave. He raised himself up as well. It was here I perceived the center flame had gone out. “Spirits guide you.”
“And you as well.”
At first, I left the temple not feeling especially enlightened, neither better nor worse, but I didn’t give the Spirits and their mediators enough credit, for that same night, I slept a deeper sleep than I had in days. Not even dreams dared disturb me.
Chapter Seventeen
Exiled
On the ensuing afternoon, Liz and I were enjoying a quiet moment watching Dayce play with some new playmates in the jungle gym. He was an outgoing boy and if we moved thirty different times he would gain thirty different best friends. The sound of children laughing was deposed by the echoes of remote gunfire. It could not have been too far away, originating beyond a thi
ck passage of trees in the direction of the river about 150 yards away. Before I understood how exactly it came to be, I already had Dayce in my arms and hastily placed him in the van. Delphnia and my mother were already there preparing our lunches. Next to the van I saw Valssi standing on the lowered tailgate of her father’s truck. She was holding his hunting rifle, ready to meet any adversary. Bervin was conjointly holding a handgun of his own while standing alongside the truck. His confidence seemed unwavering; hopefully, he was as he looked.
Siena ran toward her sibling, anxiously telling her when she reached us, “Dad went to the river with Neves a few minutes ago. There was some type of commotion and they went to check it out.”
More shots rang out. I joined Valssi on the tailgate.
“See anything?” I asked her as I scanned for the answer, cursing myself for not remembering to bring binoculars.
“No, there are too many trees in the way,” she answered.
I unconsciously headed for the roof of the truck for a better vantage point, though it didn’t make much of a difference. No one around us was panicking. Like us, they were mutely ogling at the tree line and hearing the intermittent barrage of shots. Sometimes I thought I could perceive the faint screams of the agonized in a way that reminded me of the cries emitted from the kites. Finally, a panicked crowd started to emerge from the woods. With them appeared a running Neves and Mr. Tillar.
“Dad, what’s happening!?” Valssi yelled out to her father when she thought him close enough to hear her voice.
“We have to go now!” Mr. Tillar barked back. He was out of breath, but that did not impede his running or his voice.
“Infected are coming! Dozens of them!” added Neves with a strained voice.
My heart accelerated its beats, my lungs needed air, and my skin began to feel damp. As soon as Neves and others like him spoke the words, supplies were getting cleared and vehicles were being filled. Packing was easy, as we were always careful not to leave many provisions out of our vehicles. Leaving turned out to be a bit more challenging to achieve at first. Word speedily spread about the incoming peril and not one second was being spared by the hundreds of refugees. Thanks to the numerous avenues the town had prepared for a possible evacuation, the early trial of maneuvering our way through the park and streets did not last long. With Talib several miles behind us, we were soon at a judicious pace. Our escape route traveled southeast.
Disrupting our sighs of relief was Dayce excitedly exclaiming, “Daddy! Look! There’s Yitro!”
I saw he was peering out the left window. Glancing at my left side mirror proved my child correct. Yitro was sitting in the passenger seat of a red jeep, which I could only tell was red by the exposed streaks of dry mud. Going by his hand dangling out the open window, I thought him pretty carefree. I began to wonder if he had no other temperament. I had not talked to him since the evening I met him, in fact, I had not seen him since then. In the driver seat was a girl I assumed was the friend he mentioned he had escaped with. She was just as young as he was and, while pretty, was the opposite I imagined Yitro’s girlfriend would dress like, since she couldn’t have been more modest in appearance.
“Get his attention, Daddy!” Dayce begged me.
“Who’s Yitro?” asked my mother from the backseat, who appeared surprised by Dayce’s reaction.
“He’s the spirit warrior I told you about,” I made her recall.
“Him? I imagined someone more civilized looking. I’m glad you didn’t turn out that way.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Roym can pull of the bad boy look,” said Liz lightheartedly, glad to have something normal to talk about.
My mother was about to respond, but Dayce, apparently not hearing any of the conversation, said, “Dad, he’s right next to us. Honk the horn!”
I nonverbally thanked Dayce for interrupting my mother’s response by complying with his request. It only necessitated a single honk to detain Yitro’s attention. He returned Dayce’s ecstatic wave with a more tranquil one. We continued to stay in each other’s sights during much of the drive. The road was disciplined, persisting in the same direction with few turns or bends, which helped in keeping us together. We saw sixty more miles of the open road before it started becoming much less uncluttered. The ends of car lines jamming the highway forced us back into a crawl. Why we were ensnared stayed a mystery until we scuttled five miles more. A military blockade was redirecting traffic to a more northern course. Seeing as we were barely moving, I saw Siena and Valssi exit from their truck up ahead and walk toward a group of soldiers blockading a motorway, with certainly the purpose of searching for answers to fill in the blanks.
“So, what is it?” I asked Siena when she visited my window after she spoke with the soldiers for a minute.
“They said there has been a lot of Injector activity to the south in the last couple days. It doesn’t look like we can go southeast for a while.”
“Great,” I said with an irritated exhale. Siena was about to turn around when I called her back. “Oh, by the way, do you mind going up to that red jeep and telling them what you heard?”
“Sure,” she replied, taking a look their way. “Who are they?” She looked as if she was worried she should somehow already know them.
“He’s the spirit warrior Dayce and I met.”
“Oh, okay. Dad says to keep following him for now, not that there’s much choice with all this traffic.”
I was starting to think I was a fixture in a scenic painting after some thirty miles staring at the same ginger fields of grain every which way. At some point, we found ourselves on top of a hundred foot high hill. It didn’t seem all that tall when I saw it from a distance, but the more we advanced, the higher up we went. I soon realized we were overlooking a city that was larger than most, smaller than some, several miles away to our right. Despite the streets being inundated with vehicles, I still sensed its desolation. The overcast sky did not help its disposition. The gray clouds were not afraid to take the throne from the sun and only seemed to become darker and all the more dismal with each scan I pilfered, waiting to conquer our ground with the downpour it was stubbornly holding on to.
Looking back to check if I could still see everyone, I felt Liz pull on my arm and, at the same time, whispering, “Roym…”
Her head was turned to the scenery on our right. Following her cue, I leered with her. Descending from the silver blanket of the sky, heading for the perimeter of the city, was a Tower. It landed gracefully and with a resounding thud that I was able to feel a few seconds after its entrenching. It all suddenly made perfect sense. The Tower, the assembly of people that were now bound together, the Injector attacks that blocked access to the south and the similar attack we had fled from in the west, we were all part of a sick design weaved for our ruin. We were being treated like livestock. They were using their attacks to force us to converge into a corner; all the easier to defile us with their venomous infection.
Almost as quickly as the legs of the Tower met with the ground, and after ostensibly pausing to make sure all eyes were on its imposing frame, the toxic mist was seen merging with the city air. The sound of squawking horns started to ascend from the vehicles around us, as though the haste of our pace depended on the decibel level. I did not follow in their pursuit, as enduring on this road was the last thing I wished to do. It would only take us two miles closer to the city before we had the opportunity to turn east again, meaning we would surely be exposed to the infection at some point. We were trapped.
With as much composure as possible, I said, “Mom, make sure all the backpacks are filled with as much food and water as possible, along with anything else you might feel is important.”
Liz stared at me uneasily, knowing how the wheels were turning in my mind. The first thing I wanted to do was to reach the nethermost of the hill. The minutes continued to lag and the clouds continued to become darker, but we managed only a few turn of the wheels before the line seemed to outright stall. The bil
lows of clouds were intensifying their growling, but the tenacious rain was still not willing to heed to their appeal. The wind was howling, but, thankfully, if I was allowed to be thankful for anything, it was gusting to the north. With any luck, it would not change its mind for some time and help to keep the infection from reaching us. Some in the traffic jam had become so desperate to move that they tried to force the line forward by pushing the vehicle in front of them, but the only task they accomplished was to aggravate the people around them, raising the tension ever higher.
After thirty minutes of vainly waiting for some sort of real progress and watching the darkness creep nearer, I saw people begin to start a new journey on foot. Every time I saw another person, another couple, or another family pass us, each carrying only the little of the person they used to be, I turned to see Liz’s eyes filling up with more tears. I held her hand as she struggled not to cry, or, more accurately, trying not to sob too loudly. Dayce was still foremost in her mind, not wanting to worry him with her lamentations. I gently pressed her hand in mine, hoping it would make her struggle easier to bear, to know she was not fighting her battle alone. I was beginning to feel her strength revive when I saw Neves and Orins exit their inoperative truck, still attached to Mr. Tillar’s vehicle three cars ahead of mine, and went to pay a visit to their guide. It wasn’t too long after that when Bervin walked by us to join them. He collected a quick glimpse at me as he went, confirming I was not the only one whose mental wheels had been turning.
“I have to go for a minute,” I said, turning to Liz. “Will you be okay?”
Her eyes were glistening from her tears, but she shut them with my closing words, wanting to prevent an outflow. She answered me by squeezing my hand tightly and then letting go. She might have also nodded, or she might have simply been lowering her head.
A Depraved Blessing Page 12
