by Alex Bratton
“Help!” she cried.
The stranger reached down and grabbed her outstretched hand, pulling her up in one strong movement. As she regained her footing, Mina turned to thank her rescuer and found several men standing around her. The butt of a rifle made contact with her face, and she reeled back to the ground. Her hearing dulled, her vision blurred, and the men seemed to float in the air. She kicked feebly as someone picked her up and swung her over a bony shoulder. Men yelled at one another. Someone swore at all of them. Bright and colorful stars swirled up toward her from the ground, and the world shifted to gray.
Chapter Five
“…So then I said, I ain’t no gopher! Get your own water. I never ran errands for no one, and I ain’t gonna start now. He kept at it, ordering me around like I was gonna change my mind, so I knocked him flat and left him for the Glyphs. Hit me again.”
The voice drifted in and out for a moment as Mina woke. A man laughed stupidly, glass clinked on tin, and a crackling fire warmed her wet clothing.
Mina’s wrists were tied in front of her, and her feet were bound at the ankles. Her right arm was asleep from lying on it. She carefully rolled back, and pain spiked through her jaw. Stifling the urge to cry out, she halted in the mud, grateful no one seemed to notice her.
Disoriented, her head pounding with an ache that threatened to rip open her skull, Mina had pretended to be unconscious on their journey to the camp. When someone had dumped her on the ground only to ignore her, she had dozed off with her forehead in the mud. Although her jaw still ached where the butt of the gun had hit her, the headache had dissipated with sleep, and her mind was now clear.
Clear enough to imagine all the terrible things that could happen to a lone woman in a group of armed men.
She kept her eyes closed and listened.
“None of them know what they’re doing, I don’t reckon,” a second man was saying, “but how are we supposed to fight an enemy we don’t never see and that always seems to know exactly where we are? This is the third band like this I’ve found. Sooner or later, the Glyphs will show up and exterminate us like cockroaches.” He stomped his foot for effect.
“How did you get away from them the other times?” asked the first man.
Both men had pronounced Southern accents, Mississippi or Alabama maybe, their dialect even more pronounced from alcohol.
“Some cockroaches are bound to slip through them cracks in the wall, don’t you think, Reed?”
Reed didn’t have a chance to reply before footsteps approached, and another voice joined the conversation.
“Doyle! I need you to show those dumbbells over at the end of the line how to make sure no one follows us tomorrow. I don’t want to be caught by surprise. I figure it’s about three days to reach the mountains using the trail. We gotta be well out of the way when they discover it. And put out that fire! It’s almost dark.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said the second man, the one apparently called Doyle. “Those idiots won’t get it right no matter how many times I show them.”
“Then, stay back there and make sure it gets done yourself.” The man walked over to where Mina lay and nudged her with his foot. She pretended to sleep. “Shame you ruined that pretty face, Reed.”
“I reckon her face’ll heal,” Reed said.
“Doubt it,” Doyle said from behind him. “You busted her jaw. If she’s lucky, she might not starve to death. You'll have to feed her food to her all mashed up.”
“I ain’t doing that!” Reed said angrily. “Let her starve. If she doesn’t, then she can earn her keep like all the other chicks around here.”
“You’re an idiot,” Doyle said.
“You mash her food up, then, if you like her so much.”
“I ain’t mashing up her food, either. I was just saying you’re an idiot, is all.”
The man in charge spat into the fire. “I don’t care what you do with her, but you better see if she can walk before you start worrying about feeding her. We’re leaving at first light. Anyone who can’t keep up gets left behind.” He stomped off to yell at someone else, his cursing echoing all the way down the trail.
The man’s words did not surprise Mina, but they lingered in the air well after he had left. The twine they had used to bind her cut deeply into the skin of her wrists and ankles, and she cursed her own stupidity at getting caught.
Someone extinguished the fire, splashing her with the water as he did so. She stifled a groan. She had almost begun to feel dry.
“Hey! You awake?” Reed asked.
Mina didn’t answer.
“Hey!” Reed threw something at her.
Mina finally opened her eyes. The man who was speaking stood near the fire with an empty plastic bottle in his hand. Reed was a small, wiry sort with brown hair that fell into his eyes. He was most likely in his early twenties, but his pale eyes were hard.
“There she is! Right. We’re gonna see if you can walk. Stand up.”
Mina stared at him.
Reed chuckled to himself. “Guess I gotta untie you first.”
He crouched down and leered at Mina, the alcohol clinging to him like bad cologne, his unshaven face smudged with dirt and sweat. Mina slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking warily at Reed. He pulled a knife from his belt and fumbled it against the cords, his hand slipping more than once as he cut the twine.
“Finally,” Doyle called dryly from behind him. “I thought you were going to have to amputate her feet.”
Reed stood and gestured with his knife. “Up.”
Mina used her bound hands to steady herself as she pushed up onto her feet, struggling to balance. Every part of her body ached, but it was nothing compared to the sharp stabbing pain in her jaw. She swayed as a cold sweat broke over her face, and a wave of nausea washed through her. Willing herself not to vomit, Mina took a few awkward steps. She was sore, but she had full use of her legs. She stood a full head taller than Reed.
“Sit down on that log there,” he said.
Mina obeyed, simply because she was in no frame of mind to resist. As soon as she sat, Reed tied her ankles again, more tightly than before. He glared at Doyle, daring him to object, looked back at Mina, and placed his hand on her thigh. Mina jerked away, but Reed only grinned, rose, and walked into the trees at the edge of the trail. Doyle ignored Reed and began gathering his gear. As soon as he had shouldered his rifle, Doyle headed down the trail without glancing back.
Other groups were settling in for the night. Men armed with guns and knives stood or sat around, unpacking their bags. A few had tents. They shouted and called out to one another and barked orders to younger, male teens, who scurried as if dogs were nipping at their heels.
The light faded, and a few campfires still blazed on. Mina saw women moving around the fires. At least two were armed, establishing their status in the group, but the rest begged for food. No one gave them anything out of charity, and the women seemed resigned to the fact they would have to earn it.
Mina scoffed. Unbelievable. How long has it been since the first attack? Two weeks?
She scoured the ground around her feet, desperately looking for something sharp she could use for cutting free, but the area had been cleared.
Reed wandered back over and sat down on his own log, leering at her again. He settled himself in, taking a bottle of whiskey from a duffel bag. With a grin, he said, “Cheers!” and took a swig.
Mina didn’t take her gaze off him. He drank awhile, eyeing Mina frequently as the last dregs of daylight disappeared. She was exhausted and felt every pang in her jaw and now her ankles, but she was glad it would at least keep her awake.
The moon didn’t light the trail through the tree branches, leaving it completely dark. Conversations hushed, and soon, all the other fires were extinguished. The blacker the trail grew, the clearer Mina’s mind became. She needed to get away. She may not have another chance.
She leaned over and worked at the twine around her ankles, careful not
to make any noise. Listening intently for any movement from Reed, Mina struggled to position her fingers between the cord and her skin. The sound of liquid swishing in a bottle ceased. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Mina strained a little harder to get a fingernail beneath the knot, but the tiny knots wouldn’t budge.
Reed grunted and heaved himself from his seat. Mina sat up quickly. In the dark, she couldn’t tell what he was doing. Then, he tripped through the remains of the fire, stirring up glowing red embers, swearing as he tried to catch himself. When he stopped cursing, he paused to relieve himself on the ashes. The coals hissed.
Disgusted, Mina worked at the knots again, but they only dug deeper into her flesh.
When finished, Reed shuffled closer, his stench even more potent than before.
Pass out, stupid. Please pass out.
Balancing precariously on her tailbone, Mina raised her bound legs in the dark. When she sensed him directly in front of her, she kicked with every bit of strength she possessed. Her feet connected with his groin. Reed grunted and doubled over, trying to grab her feet. Mina pushed back, and he fell, dragging her down with him before letting go.
Seizing her opportunity, Mina knelt and fumbled around on Reed’s belt for his knife, not caring that her knees were causing him further discomfort. Reed seemed to realize what she was trying to do and rolled away, knocking her to one side. For a moment, the pain in Mina’s jaw almost caused her to pass out.
Afraid to miss her opportunity, she stood and clumsily hopped away a few paces, only to trip and fall into the underbrush off the trail. The slim, rough branches scratched her tender face and jabbed her in the ribs. Reed shouted at her. He would find her if she struggled, so Mina stopped moving and trusted the darkness to hide her.
Reed cursed at her in all directions, his drunken rantings stirring the camp. Apparently, he didn’t know which way she had gone in the dark. A few of the other men called out to him, trying to discover the trouble. News spread about what had happened, and some of the men laughed, further enraging Reed. He challenged someone in the dark, and a scuffle broke out as Reed tried to reclaim his injured pride.
Mina anxiously fumbled again at her bonds, but her cold fingers couldn’t undo the knots. If she stayed put, all Reed had to do was wait until dawn to find her, so she took advantage of the ruckus and tried to stand again. She was halfway up when a man’s voice spoke quietly near her ear.
“Where did you think you were going, tied up like that?”
Startled, Mina fell back to the ground.
“Who’s there?” she mumbled through her swollen jaw.
“Hold still.”
But Mina was not going back without a fight. She squirmed to get away from him, ready to kick again and pound with her tied fists.
“Stop fighting!” the man hissed. He grabbed ahold of her arms from behind.
“Let me go!”
“Just hold still!”
He let go of one arm, and metal slid through leather, the sound of a knife being unsheathed. Mina used the opportunity to lash out with her elbow, but she hit nothing but air.
A small fire lit the trail. Reed must have started it because more voices shouted at him to put it out. He swore at everybody and nobody, fists raised like he was ready to fight again.
Glancing back, Mina recognized Doyle in the dim light.
“Listen!” he whispered as he grabbed her arm again. “I’m going to cut you free, all right?”
Mina’s voice rose shrilly with the pain. “I’m not going back there!”
“Either shut up and let me untie you, or I’ll leave you here. Those are your options. Reed won’t have any trouble finding you once he’s sober, and he’s not any nicer then.”
Something about Doyle’s voice bugged Mina, but she could not think what. The sounds of the scuffle died down, and someone put out the fire. Maybe Reed passed out, or someone had knocked him out. Either way, his drunken slurs faded, and the camp was quiet.
Doyle took her silence for assent and let go of her arms. In two swift movements, he cut through the twine on her hands and ankles without cutting her. Mina sat for a minute as blood tingled back into her toes.
Doyle grabbed her armpits and hauled her to her feet. “We’ll need to hurry. It’s not safe here.”
“We?”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
Mina shook her head and then remembered the darkness.
Doyle seemed to be able to see her anyway. “I thought not.”
He took her elbow, but she jerked away.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said.
Without waiting for an answer, Doyle grabbed Mina’s hand and pulled her through the trees. They moved through the thicket for some time, avoiding the open fields on their right. Mina could barely see his backpack in front of her and absolutely nothing on the ground. With every step, she stumbled in the tangle of twigs and vines. She would have protested, but the pain in her jaw kept her quiet. After a while, the grueling pace became more than she could handle, and she grew dizzy.
If she fell, would Doyle keep walking, dragging her along behind him like a sack of potatoes?
“Stop,” Mina muttered when she’d had enough.
She leaned over and retched. Doyle quickly released her hand. Bile coated her mouth, and she retched again. Nothing came up. Doyle walked off, out of sight. Before Mina could wonder if he had abandoned her, he was back, moving quickly again.
“We need to go,” he said.
Mina realized what was different about his voice. His Southern accent had disappeared. In fact, he talked with the same Midwestern frankness she had grown up hearing and that she still spoke. She tried to make sense of the change, but her head still throbbed, and her stomach churned again. Instead of walking, she lay down on the ground and closed her eyes. Doyle crouched near her.
“…walk?” he was saying something.
“Wha—” was all she could manage.
He was watching her, but she could not see his face in the dark. “Can you walk anymore?”
“Stay here?” Each word sent new waves of pain through her jaw.
“Not if you want to live.”
She closed her eyes, beyond caring.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I’m Clay Doyle. What’s your name?”
Mina didn’t respond.
“Listen, we can sit here until the Glyphs butcher us, or you can get up and make a run for it while we still have a chance to get away.”
“Why do you care?”
“What’s your name?” he insisted.
She opened her eyes, looking around, unable to place exactly where she was. Her exhaustion added to her confusion, and she worried that something was wrong with her.
Doyle waited for a response. With great effort, Mina summoned the energy to answer him.
“Mina Surrey.”
“Okay, Mina, we have to go. Now.”
“Okay.” She tried to sit up, and he helped her slowly to her feet. Her whole body ached, but the dizziness and nausea had passed.
This time, instead of leading her through more windbreaks, Doyle set off across an open field, away from the trail. The clouds cleared somewhat, and as the moon came out to light their way, he let go of her hand. Mina followed, careful not to fall in the plowed earth.
As they walked, Doyle avoided the large puddles of rain. Each time they passed one, Mina’s dry mouth screamed for attention. She had not had anything to drink since early afternoon. As they crossed another field, Mina limped over to a puddle, letting Doyle walk ahead.
He ran back. “No!” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m thirsty. It’s just rain water.”
“The fields have been poisoned. Haven’t you noticed all the dead crops?”
“Poisoned? This field’s not planted.”
“They poisoned the empty ones, too. You can’t drink this water or any for miles around.”
“But I have
been drinking it.”
“Did you filter it?” Doyle asked sharply. He was close enough now for her to see his pale, angular face in the moonlight.
“I didn’t know how.”
Doyle stared at her a moment and then laughed, shaking his head.
“Why is that funny?” Talking sent new pain shooting through Mina’s face, but her anger trumped it. “Do you think I had a choice?”
Doyle stopped laughing and held up his hand to halt her tirade. He pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack and gave it to her.
“Don’t drink anything from the fields,” he said. He walked off through the mud without waiting for her.
Mina looked at the bottle in her hand and pulled off the cap. Most of the water ran out of her swollen mouth, but it refreshed her nonetheless.
By the time she finished, Doyle had walked well ahead. Now would be a good time to slip off. Doyle seemed to have limitless energy. Surely he would be glad to be rid of Mina, who would slow him down. But he thought they were in danger. He had mentioned the Glyphs, as he called them. Had he seen something? Mina glanced up at the peaceful night sky, now full of sparkling stars. The spring air was brisk, and she breathed deeply to clear her head. In the absence of any other ideas, Mina steeled herself against her pain and followed slowly after Doyle.
He reached the bottom of a steep, tree-covered hill, pausing to wait for Mina as she struggled behind him. The cold seeped into her through her still-damp clothes. All she could think about was going to sleep right in the middle of the field. But Mina pushed on, determined to find some cover at least.
When she reached the hill, Doyle barely seemed to notice. He checked their surroundings and scanned the sky. Mina could neither see nor hear anything unusual. Did Doyle have some military training that enabled him to see dangers she could not? After a moment more, he seemed satisfied and began climbing the hill.
The ground rose sharply ahead of them. Mina’s cold feet numbed to the jabs of the uneven ground as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, resisting the overwhelming urge to collapse. Just before they reached the top, Doyle stopped and pointed to a cleft in the rocks. Water gurgled out of a tiny spring in the hillside. Relieved, she dove at it. Doyle waited for her to drink her fill, then scooped water to his own mouth, and filled another bottle from his bag.
