Perfection

by JL Spelbring

  Unacceptable.

  Ellyssa straightened her shoulders and pulled her lips tight; then, as if she had pressed a delete button, all emotion fell away. She’d be damned if the first time she cried would be over feeling sorry for herself.

  8

  The first purples and dark blues streaked across the sky when Angela finally rolled up the map and sank into the chair. She was tired and irritated, her backside hurt, and her eyes were dry and itchy. The detective rubbed them with the palms of her hands.

  Angela had spent half the day researching the ghost towns. A lot of the old towns had been born from mining operations, which meant abandoned mines would need to be added to the search. Complication after complication.

  She glanced at Captain Jones. Dyllon sat facing away from her, purposefully turned toward the trees, waiting for the last search team to report. Ever since she’d snapped at him, he’d kept his distance, only talking when circumstances demanded it. For efficacy reasons, she’d have to fix the problem. She depended on the additional man-hours, unable to do the initial tracking all by herself. The world outside of The Center required her to show a certain level of civility.

  Angela gathered up the items and stowed them away in her car. Maybe after dinner and a shower, she’d take another look at the map to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Then again, maybe she’d just go to bed and give her eyes a break.

  “Captain Jones,” she called, while returning to the camp.

  At the mention of his name, Dyllon leaned back in the chair. His head turned in her general direction with robotic rigidity. He raised his eyes, but instead of meeting her gaze, she was fairly certain he was staring over her head. “Yes, Detective,” he replied coolly.

  “You and your unit have proven to be very useful. The Center… appreciates your help.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as his brow arched. “And what about you?”

  Angela sighed. “I appreciate the help too, Captain.”

  A grin twitched Dyllon’s cheeks. “We are a little less formal in my district. But, as I am sure you know, our track record is infallible. We are efficient.”

  Angela thought less formal was an understatement; the lax attitude was unnerving. Their record was impressive, though; they’d delivered many members of the resistance to the camps. “I give credit where credit is due, Captain Jones,” she agreed.

  Dyllon’s lips pulled into a smile that spread across his face. “You can call me Dyllon.”

  First name? The thought made her uncomfortable. But, if such informality was the way they did things here, she’d play along… somewhat. “Dyllon,” she acknowledged, “you may call me Detective Petersen.”

  At first, Dyllon’s smile faltered, but then he started laughing. “Fair enough,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Detective Petersen.”

  The captain held out his hand in greeting, and Angela accepted. His palm was a little rough, and warm in a pleasant way. She shook once and let go.

  Standing there, feeling awkward, Angela stumbled around in her head trying to find the instructions she had for the team for tomorrow.

  “Follow me, Cap—I mean Dyllon,” she said, walking to her car. “I want everyone back here at five in the morning. We will pick up where we left off.”

  “Five o’clock, it is,” he replied, still smiling.

  She held his gaze for a moment before sliding into the car and slamming the door. As she turned the key in the ignition, the engine hummed to life. She turned to wave goodbye, but he was no longer paying attention to her, his body angled toward the tree line. The radio was in his hand, his thumb holding the side button as he spoke into the transmitter.

  The detective frowned. She hadn’t heard anything—not the crack of static or the squeal of feedback. Looking down, her hand fell to her waist where the radio sat in its holder. She turned the knob just in time to hear Dyllon say something about securing a perimeter.

  Had they found her?

  Excitement curling in the pit of her stomach, and the taste of revenge on her tongue, Angela turned with her hand on the door handle and silenced a scream before it erupted. Dyllon was peering at her through her window. His face twisted in amusement. While her heart found the beat it’d missed, she opened the door, pushing him back.

  “What the hell?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the captain said but, judging by the slight lopsided grin he held, Angela doubted he meant it. “The search team found her scent. I told them to secure the area and issued instructions for two of the men to stay put. Their partners are on the way back with the dogs to retrieve sleeping bags. I hope that will suffice for the evening.”

  The detective’s heart accelerated. “I should go there.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dyllon said. “There isn’t anything you can do tonight. It’s not like in the city. We’re deep in the woods. By the time we set up the necessary equipment and the spotlights, it’ll be morning, anyway.”

  Angela hesitated for a moment, one foot planted outside the car.

  “I’ll make the appropriate arrangements. Don’t worry about anything.” Dyllon flashed his stunning smile.

  Angela’s gaze slid between the wooded area and the car, the prospect of a good night’s sleep tempting her. “Fine,” she said, her mind made up. “First thing in the morning.”

  “First thing,” Dyllon promised.

  9

  As soon as Angela ducked under the yellow caution tape, Dyllon waved her over, a smile lighting his face. He stood next to a patch of grass where the rocky shore ended.

  “Look,” he said, pointing toward an area where a darkened, misshapen figure-eight stained the green.

  Slipping on a latex glove, the detective lowered to her heels. “Is that blood?”

  “Yes. My people have already taken a sample for analysis.”

  Angela ran her hand over the fine grass to where the blades stuck together in the dried crimson, plucking free a blue piece of material. “She’s hurt,” she said, bringing the material to her nose. Faint traces of copper mingled with the forest scent.

  “Considering the amount of blood, I would say she is badly wounded.”

  “If you look at the indentation mark,” Angela said, indicating where the greenery lay crushed, “it’s thicker here. I think it’s her leg.”

  “Which should slow her down considerably.”

  The news worked wonders on the detective’s mood. For the first time since Ellyssa had escaped, things might actually get easier. Angela stood, her lips spreading into a chilling grin.

  Ellyssa hobbled to the edge of the truss bridge. Sun-bleached planks were missing from the deck and beams hung precariously from the long rafters. Wooziness rotated in her midsection as she looked over the side of the cliff. Turbulent water leapt over the jagged rocks, reflecting the sun in dappled shards. Stomach lurching, Ellyssa leaned against the branch she’d been using as a makeshift crutch and sank to the ground, closing her lids and hoping the nausea would pass.

  When the dizziness steadied, Ellyssa turned and looked down the old paved road, wondering if she’d made the right choice to move back to land. Roots and vegetation jutted between the cracks of the blackened asphalt, nature on a quest to take back what had once been hers. The terrain was rugged, but no more than the slippery rocks she’d already navigated. At least her feet were no longer numb, and the tremors that had shaken her body had settled to mild shivers.

  There was no going back or second guessing herself now. Only one way—forward.

  Ellyssa pulled out the water bottle and took a small sip, then poured some in her hand and wiped her face. It wasn’t as cool as the stream, but it was still refreshing.

  Using the crutch, she pulled herself up and limped over to the edge where broken asphalt met wood, her leg singing a tune of pain.

  Ellyssa slipped the crutch lengthwise through the flap of her bag and grabbed one of the few remaining beams crossing the triangulated latticework. She placed her left fo
ot on the first plank of the bridge, testing it. It mumbled, but held. She pulled her right foot next to her left.

  The next plank made a loud popping noise when Ellyssa tested it. Bypassing that board, she skimmed over to the next and stilled.

  Nothing.

  Pent-up breath whooshed from her lungs. She continued, moving slowly, skipping over the boards that groaned too loudly or dipped under the pressure of her weight.

  Three-fourths of the way across, the muscles in Ellyssa’s arms and legs quivered from the exertion and careful precision of moving. Her heart slammed against her ribs, keeping time with the pounding in her head. Her chest heaved short gasps of air. Vertigo accompanied her rolling stomach.

  Sweat dripping into Ellyssa’s eyes, she evaluated the remaining distance. Two, maybe three meters. Hard to tell with tunnel vision. She took another step. The rotted wood creaked and popped under her weight, as if infuriated that she might make it to the other side. Ellyssa skipped to the next and continued.

  Safety mocking her a little over a meter away, dizziness spun Ellyssa’s head again. She stumbled forward, landing roughly on the board. It snapped, shooting her leg through like a piston. Time slowed as she fell; everything was detailed in lines and vivid colors.

  Fire burst in Ellyssa’s lower extremities as her shin scraped along the wood and her knee smacked into the edge. The next thing she knew, her chest hit the plank in front of her, stopping her descent. Pain reverberated in her bones as she clutched desperately to the weathered plank that bowed with added stress.

  Heart hammering, muscles twitching, Ellyssa pulled herself up and planted both feet as close to the girder as possible. She inhaled deeply, calming herself, as she calculated the remaining distance and hunkered down. Every part of her body screamed as she uncoiled and sprang.

  Short of the intended goal, wood splintered and broke away as soon as she landed, replaying the mess she’d just escaped. Gravity reached up and claimed its prize. Arms flailing, her fingers stretched, desperate to find purchase, but they only clutched air. Splinters raked through her clothing and tender skin. She lurched forward, her chest catching onto the very last plank, forcing air from her lungs, and her fingers laid claim to the edge of the crumbling asphalt.

  Her legs dangling, Ellyssa stilled, afraid to even breathe. A low moan grated across the rusted bolts holding the plank that served as her anchor. It popped and slipped. She kicked her feet, lunging forward up and over the weakening board and grabbing onto a tree root. With the last of her energy, she pulled herself onto the blacktop, and rolled over where the bridge remained ominously in her view.

  Ellyssa’s brain slammed against the inside of her skull; her muscles seized into screaming knots as the dizziness spiraled through her once again. She dragged in breaths of air as she rested on her side; her eyes locked on the wooden demon.

  Ellyssa wished she had a torch.

  As the sun fell, Ellyssa looked into the sky. Pinpoints of light filtered through the midnight blue of twilight while impending clouds rolled across the other portion of the heavens. A subtle hint of ozone thickened the air.

  Peaceful. Tranquil. Unlike the war raging inside her body.

  You are superior. You are the future. You are perfection.

  Her father’s words echoed in Ellyssa’s head. She wondered what he’d think of her now: sick, broken, imperfect…disposable.

  Needing to find refuge before it rained, Ellyssa adjusted the bag over her shoulder and crutched/lurched down what was becoming the never-ending road. It stretched in front of her and curved into darkness.

  Resignation whispered to her fevered brain, to give up and sit down and wait for sweet death to take her last breath.

  Ellyssa ignored the tempting mumbles and continued.

  She went around the bend and halted. Buildings of varying shapes and sizes stood eerily silhouetted against the light of the full moon, whitewashed like ghosts. Relief siphoned away the misery. She knew the town lay empty; the people moved long ago. No comforts of civilization, just shelter.

  On the outskirts, barely visible, a silvery reflection caught Ellyssa’s attention. She pushed away the overgrown vines. A faded sign claimed the town’s name in white paint—WELCOME TO DEEPWATER - POP 956.

  Welcome?

  Ellyssa’s mouth twitched upward into a partial smile. So surreal. The fever. She felt delusional.

  Stepping within the town limits, Ellyssa followed the crumbling street past dilapidated houses and buildings sporting faded storefront signs and broken windows. Vines snaked along the bricks and wood, tearing at the decaying structures. Doors either hung loosely on rusted hinges or were gone. Subtle sounds of creaking glossed through the air, and the ticking of claws as the town’s only occupants scurried.

  Beyond exhausted, Ellyssa’s feet dragged her forward. She sent her fatigued mind out, but beside the unreadable patterns of animals, there was nothing. No one lived here.

  Clouds quickly tumbled, stifling the night’s light. A raindrop pelted Ellyssa’s head. More fell around her. The suddenly cool air sent chills spinning down her spine. She watched the churning clouds. They had swept over the night canvas, blotting out the stars and blanketing the moon.

  A flash of blinding light was followed by a loud crack, and what started as a few drops increased in number, wetting her hair and clothing. The chills turned to shivers.

  Ellyssa moved as quickly as her body permitted up a wobbly step onto a brick sidewalk in front of an old storefront. The picture-glass window was filthy. She wiped away the dirt and pressed her face against the window. Darkness smothered the store in black.

  Stepping back, she turned around. From what she could tell, all the buildings were the same: dark, empty, and falling apart. The store was as good a place as any. She shuffled to the entrance, her footsteps echoing eerily in the night, and went inside.

  Complete darkness enveloped Ellyssa like a cocoon. She stopped and listened. Other than the deadened pattering of rain on the roof, and drips plopping on weathered wood, there was silence.

  She swept her crutch in front of her. The wood slapped against something soft. She prodded and it gave way, gripping the stick. Stifling a scream, she yanked hard and stumbled back a step. Mold and the odor of rot resonated within the scent of ozone.

  Fevered mind envisioning decomposing flesh, ragged muscles and tendons sloughing off bone, Ellyssa’s breath seized and bile rose. On the verge of terror, a harmful emotion, she swallowed hard and leaned against the wall.

  I’m hallucinating, she reasoned.

  Rumbling resonated from the sky, and electricity sliced through the heavens, lighting the store in brilliance. She glanced at the pile. For a split second, her hallucination was realized before darkness swallowed the image. Flash. A pile of rotten rags. She blinked. Another burst of light. Rags and old tarps.

  Worn out, Ellyssa slid down the wall and curled into a ball.

  10

  Mumbled voices with strange accents danced on the edge of Ellyssa’s consciousness, fuzzy and unclear, panicky and angry…distant. Unsure whether she was dreaming or hallucinating, she concentrated on the syllables, trying to comprehend through the swirling fog of her fevered brain. Understanding registered at the sound of a round being chambered.

  Her eyes remained closed.

  “What do you think she’s doing here?” The voice was deep, hard. Definitely male.

  “I don’t know.” Irritated. A male, too.

  “Look at her hair. I bet she’s part of a patrol,” a musical voice hissed. Female.

  “Really? Do you see what she’s wearing?” Another male, but his tone was tinny, nasally, as if he had a cold. Very unpleasant.

  “No. She’s hurt. Look at her,” said the male with the deep voice. “They wouldn’t let her continue in that condition.”

  Ellyssa’s mind wandered into the crowd. The readings she received felt surreal, dreamlike. She registered four people. Confused, worried, and angry. Especially the female. All of them su
rrounded her. Images of pump-action shotguns pointing at her crumpled body filtered through.

  Her head throbbed. She pulled out.

  “Whatever. She got lost.” The female again. “Others will come.” Footsteps faded toward the door. “I say we dispose of her.”

  “No,” said the deep voice.

  “I think she’s right, Rein.” The tinny sound grated along Ellyssa’s spine.

  “No,” said the male with the deep voice…Rein? “The discussion is closed.”

  “Exactly when did we discuss this?” said the male who had sounded irritated before.

  “Shut up, Woody.”

  “I’m serious. This could be very dangerous. What if someone’s looking for her?”

  “Wake her up.” The female’s footfalls echoed back to the others. “We’ll ask her.”

  “I think she’s already awake,” said Rein. He tapped the tip of her shoe.

  Ellyssa stayed still and kept her eyes closed, her breath even. She projected outward, ignoring the thumping and the haziness. She had to concentrate. She ventured from head to head. Her body remained the target of the barrels of shotguns—12 gauges. She waited.

  “You do the honors, Jason.”

  “Cover me,” said Jason, nasally. “Hey.” Cold steel, like the feel of ice cubes, poked her wrist. Goosebumps rose and trailed up her bicep, finding her spinal cord. She fought against the shiver. “Wake up.”

  The sound of a boot scraping against the floor, as if the owner was preparing to kick, alerted her to danger. Before he had a chance, Ellyssa leapt to her feet.

  “Stop her,” someone yelled. She thought it was the one called Woody.

  With one lithe movement, her foot connected with Jason’s hand and the shotgun clattered to the floor. She whirled around and performed a back kick into the female’s stomach. Hissy Voice backpedaled and fell against some shelves. Wood snapped on impact.