by T. C. Edge
Each time we stop for the night, the tents are erected. Fires are made and food cooked. The rationing is strict, and already people are beginning to go hungry. I hear dissent brewing among some, complaining that everyone is being given the same amount of food, regardless of size and dietary needs.
Each day, Drake makes a speech and conducts an open forum. He calls for any worries and concerns to be delivered directly to him so that they can be resolved there and then. On the fourth day, the complaints about the rationing are voiced loudly among the crowd.
“I understand,” calls Drake in an attempt to placate them. “We will do our best to remedy this situation and distribute the food more fairly.”
This leads to calls from others that everyone should be given the same amount. It's the only way to provide complete equality. Leading such a party, fraught with fear and hunger and exhaustion, clearly isn't going to be easy.
But I know my father is up to the task. He has to be.
As the days pass, the landscape remains the same. Barren, lifeless, dusty and dirty. Each night, when I climb into my sleeping bag or just collapse on top of it, I appear to have accumulated another layer of grime. With water so precious, none is wasted on washing. It becomes hard to distinguish one face from another among the crowd.
The pace seems to slow the further we travel. More refugees join us from pockets of life in the wilderness, often bringing with them the old and infirm. Those already struggling to keep up gradually grow weaker. Exhaustion and hunger begin to take their toll, leading to further injuries as we negotiate the rough terrain.
After a week, Markus is revising our travel estimates.
“At this rate, it'll take a month to reach Petram,” he informs us.
Discontent continues to swell among the ranks. The stronger and more able suggest that the party splits; that those able to increase the pace march on, and the rest continue as they are.
Drake addresses such concerns with his usual composure, stressing the need for us all to stick together out here in such a harsh environment. For now, the dissenters are placated. But behind their eyes, I can see something brewing. Before long, I know, things will come to the boil.
4 - Boiling Point
It's the darkest of nights when I find myself unable to sleep.
Ellie snores lightly to my side. Outside, the faintest glow of light flickers from the fires of the guards stationed around the camp. I hear no voices, though. All is silent. Eerily silent.
A strange sense of disquiet swamps me. A feeling that something isn't quite right. I sit and listen, closing my eyes in the blackness. And then I hear it. The sound of thuds and grunts. Of growling voices, incoherent as if being heard through water. I listen harder and look deeper, and a faint image comes to me; of a group of men surrounding another, tied up and bloodied.
It's Theo.
I jump up from my sleeping bag and rush towards the tent opening. Pushing through into the night I see that the men usually guarding our tent are gone. The fire flickers in the breeze, slowly dying and unattended. I dart to the tent next door, open the flap, and look inside.
It takes a moment for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. I whisper Theo's name but get no answer. Then I see the shape of a body lying peacefully on one side. The size tells me it's Jackson. The other side of the tent is empty. Theo is missing.
I step back and look around, guiding my eyes over the camp. Spread out across the desert floor are thousands of people, some in tents, most lying under the dark sky. A chorus of breathing and snoring whispers on the wind. I see no sign of movement but for those changing position as they sleep.
The tents we occupy lie at the head of the overnight camp. Beyond, a stretch of darkness expands into nothingness. I weave my way past the tents and search the unknown beyond. And then I see it.
Lights flickering. Several of them. Off in the distance past a small craggy hill. I rush back to the fire and pick out a stick, its end glowing with a small flame. Then I turn and begin making my way out into the night beyond our camp, stepping over rocks as I move at speed towards the source of the light.
Using my burning torch to guide my way, I navigate quickly across the desert. Before long the sound of voices reaches my ears, harsh voices cutting through the night air. They grow louder the closer I get, until eventually being clear enough to decipher.
The first words I hear are: “someone's coming...” followed by a sudden hush.
Now I can see them clearly enough. A dozen or so men, surrounding a figure, slumped on the floor. Some hold torches like I do. Others stand over the body, hands tied behind his back, mouth covered in a gag.
“Who's there?” calls a voice. I don't recognise it.
I march on, a fury filling me, my pace quickening. Then I see the glint of a knife in one man's hand. He moves towards the captive and lifts him to his knees. The knife goes perilously close to his neck.
The impulse strikes me. I pour forward, charging now. The men ahead react, not knowing who I am, and gather up weapons.
“Stop,” they call. “Who are you!”
They don't shoot.
“Damn, it's the Leader's daughter!” says one, identifying me.
Weapons drop to the sand and rock once again, and hands are held up. The men look around at each other, but I only have eyes for their captive, for Theo. His head droops, blood dripping from cuts above his eyes and on his cheeks. He looks badly beaten.
I don't say a word as I clatter forward. Enraged, I charge straight into the middle of the group, straight at the man with the knife. He takes the blade from Theo's neck and points it at me.
“Stop, or I'll cut his throat!” he shouts.
I don't stop. I move faster. The man shoves Theo to the ground and prepares to defend himself. I see into the Void, see the man slash his knife from side to side to intimidate me. I reach him in no time and avoid the slashing trails, sending my fist right between them and into his bearded jaw. I connect with as much strength as I can muster and send his sizeable frame to the dirt with a heavy thud.
More ghostly trails appear. Fists come at me from several sides, some of the men springing to action in defence of their friend. I avoid them with ease and within moments have the rest on the floor as well. Adrenaline rushes through me, hiding the pain in my knuckles, as I pant and send furious glares at the rest of the gang.
“He's a traitor!” shouts one of them.
“He's going to betray us!” calls another.
I ignore them.
“Touch him again, and I won't just knock you to the sand,” I growl. I stare at them, see the fear in the eyes, fear of me, of something they don't understand. “Now go, leave us, and take this scum with you.” I cast my eyes over their fallen comrades, littering the dirt, and don't take my eyes off them until they have lifted them to their shoulders and carried them off into the night.
Soon I'm alone with Theo. I remove the bloodied gag from his mouth and untie his hands. When I inspect his wounds, he raises his hand and pushes me away.
“I'm OK, Cyra, really...”
“You're not OK. You're hurt.”
“I can handle it. This is nothing.”
“Nothing! They were going to kill you, Theo!”
He stands and turns to look into the darkness. For a long moment he says nothing, his body weary and battered.
“Thank you,” he mumbles. “For helping me.”
I go to his side and take his hand. It's steady, tense. I turn him to me.
“What happened? How did they get you?”
“I don't know,” he says, shaking his head. “I went to sleep as usual and then woke up out here, tied up, with them all around me.”
“So they took you from the tent? With Jackson there?”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
Over on the horizon, the pale blush of dawn approaches. I lead him back over to the final remaining torch, still ablaze on the rocky floor, and lift it near his face.
“Those cuts
need attention.”
“They're nothing...really.”
“Is my face a mirror? No. You have no idea what you look like, Theo. You need attention, stop being so stubborn. I've got some first aid supplies in my tent. Come on.”
Taking his hand once more, I lead him carefully back to the camp. He walks slightly unsteadily, tripping once or twice. I fear he may be concussed. At the very least he's shaken. Not that he'd ever admit as much.
Ellie remains asleep when we arrive. I set him down on my sleeping bag, fetch my little first aid kit, and begin working on his wounds.
“Do you know what you're doing there?”
“Sure,” I say, as I apply antiseptic to the first of his many cuts.
He lets out a sharp grunt and grimace, but holds himself back from a full on howl. I smile as he grits his teeth and bares the pain.
By the time I'm done dressing his wounds, Ellie is stirring and the light is growing stronger outside. Theo sits up, carefully traces the various plasters on his face with his fingers, and remarks about how he must look like an ancient mummy.
“Yeah, only not as pretty,” is my jovial response.
It's enough to bring a smile to his lips, the first genuine one I've seen in days.
“There he is,” I say. “Nice to see you again, Theo.”
He tempers his smile and tries to look more stern, which only makes me giggle even more. Then, from nowhere, he leans in and kisses me. For a moment I feel like pulling back. But I don't. I just sit there, his lips on mine, before he retracts with a sheepish frown hovering over his eyes.
“Sorry...I shouldn't have done that. I just...”
“It's OK, Theo. It was...nice.”
His face threatens to light with a smile again.
“It was?”
“I...well at least I think it was.”
“But I thought you and Jackson were...”
“I don't know,” I say, cutting him off. “Now isn't the time to think about these things.”
That seems to right him.
“No, no, I agree. Completely. I don't know what came over me. I guess it was a thank you, for saving me tonight.”
“Don't mention it.”
In the opposite corner of the tent, a half squeaky, half croaky voice sounds.
“What...what's going on?”
We look over to see Ellie staring at us from inside her sleeping bag.
“Long story, honey,” I say. “I'll fill you in later. You should go, Theo. Those guys won't touch you again.”
Theo stands with a fixed jaw and departs without another word.
“Seriously, what's going on?” asks Ellie.
“I'll tell you when we're on the road.”
A little over half an hour later, we're back moving again. Drake first addresses the crowd, as he does each morning, and within their ranks I spot a couple of Theo's tormentors from only hours before. They whisper between one another and look at me with suspicion. When I stare back they're quick to turn their eyes away.
Theo keeps himself to himself once more as we trek on, hiding his face under a scarf while pretending it's to keep out the blowing sand. At our first stop for lunch, Jackson meanders over to me from his position at the front.
“So...you wanna tell me what happened last night?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Theo...I saw him coming out of your tent in the morning.”
He stares at me with cold eyes that have no place in his sweltering heat.
“Maybe I should ask you the same thing,” I retort.
“Excuse me?”
“Theo was taken last night by a bunch of thugs who think he's a traitor. He says he was taken from your tent in the night sometime, but doesn't remember. Funny that you didn't see or hear anything, Jack.”
His cold eyes turn confused.
“Cy, I have no idea what you're talking about. I have no problem with Theo, you know that.”
I let out a long, drawn out breath.
“I know. I guess you were sleeping or something when they took him.”
“Look, you're gonna have to explain this to me. What happened?”
“Well if you saw him leave my tent you'd have seen him covered in cuts and bruises. Had I not intervened, it might have been even worse.”
“So...why was he in your tent?”
“I was fixing him up, dressing his cuts. What do you think?”
He shrugs and looks away. Of course, I don't mention the kiss.
“Have you told your father yet?” he asks, turning back. “If Theo's a target, he needs to know.”
“I don't want to cause a problem, and neither does Theo. Those guys won't go near him again, I saw to that.”
“Saw to that? What does that mean?”
“I put a few of them in their place, that's all. If Theo had been awake they'd never have got to him. If they try again, I don't know what he'll do.”
“People are just looking for an outlet to vent, Cy. They're struggling with all this.”
“Well, that outlet just happens to be my friend. I noticed some of them as the same guys moaning about rationing and how slow the journey is. There are some bad eggs out there, Jack. Maybe they should be allowed to go ahead, they're only causing problems.”
Jackson thinks for a moment before answering.
“Maybe you're right. Shall I mention it to your father?”
“I can do that myself,” I say with a twinge of annoyance.
“I know, I know. I just thought you might want me to do it, that's all.”
“No, it's fine. I'll talk to him.”
There's a strange energy between us. Nerves feel frayed and tender. I feel as if I might snap at any moment. Jackson knows me well enough to realise this, and quickly leaves me alone.
That day, more than any of the others so far, drags like a weight behind me. There's a tension in the air, emitted from not just me, but the thousands of people walking in my wake. A collective sense of restlessness seems to have engulfed the people after only a week on the road. And with upwards of three weeks remaining, I fear the worst is still very much to come.
That night, when the camp settles in for another balmy evening, I find myself seeking my bed earlier than usual. I leave the others as they eat their dinner of tinned beans and dried meat, and seek the solace of my own solitude.
Exhausted after the previous night, I fall quickly into a deep sleep. And with my emotions running high, it's that very depth that delivers what I often dread to see; the sight of something awful, yet to come to pass.
The vision is murky, indistinct. But it's clear enough to send me waking with a chill up my spine and a sheen of cool sweat on my skin.
I see death.
Three bodies, lying ahead of me, collapsed in awkward positions on a flat surface. I stand and stare, unable to move forward, my entire body shaking as the figures grow clearer.
One by one, their faces light up, the white shadow lifting. Features appear, faces I know and love brightening ahead of me. And with them come three names.
Ellie.
Theo.
Jackson.
They're all dead.
5 - Desperate Times
The following day, I hardly speak a word.
My mouth seems as though it's been sewn together, my voicebox crushed, my tongue cut out. Many others seem to be suffering from a similar affliction. There's a strange silence now as we march through the wasteland, weary bodies dragged along by even more weary minds.
For some, I know why they're being quiet. They're lost in their own worlds, worlds of pain and suffering. Theo, unwanted here by so many, his life threatened, his body beaten. He soldiers on, ignoring the veiled taunts and threats. After what he went through on Eden, with his old friends turning on him, he's well used to that.
Ellie continues to be consumed by her grief at losing Link. But there's a hardness growing on her now, her vulnerability setting firm. She walks on, quiet and stoic, whispering words o
f revenge at those who took her love from her.
My melancholy is of another making. Not drawn out by an horrific event of the past, or by the difficulties of the present, but by a fear for the future. A fear that the vision I had the previous night will come true, and that three of those I care for most in this world will soon be taken from me.
I won't let that happen.
I've lost too many people already. Had them ripped from me before their time. Sometimes, they return, like Jackson did, or my father. But the pain of experiencing their death remains, locked inside me. I cannot go through that again.
I'm silent all morning. I don't eat breakfast. I don't engage in any pleasantries. When Drake does his morning address, I take a short walk and put distance between myself and the crowd. I seek space for myself amid this huge open world, and suddenly feel lost among so many people.
Despite all the fear training I went through on Eden, despite learning to lose those I cared about, that threat has never been one I can get out of my mind. It's embedded in there, stuck like a leech, refusing to lose its grip. It has become my sole focus now: to protect those I care about, to see them safe...to destroy the man who's putting them under threat.
I walk alone for most of the day. I don't talk of the attack on Theo, despite Jackson suggesting I tell my father. I tell him that it's up to Theo if he wants to mention it, which I know he won't.
Jackson doesn't seem to understand, but he doesn't know Theo like I do. If he could keep quiet about the abuse he was suffering on Eden for so long, he'll happily bottle it up here too. In any case, it appears the group responsible have lost some interest in him, their chagrin now directed towards the more pressing matter of our water supplies running low.
The day wears on, and the heat continues to rise. By late afternoon, I see Markus up front getting concerned. His encyclopaedic knowledge of the area seems to be failing him, the well that was supposed to be stationed nearby not appearing on the horizon.
On we go, and a wave of nerves flows through the crowd behind us. Scouts are sent forward, healthy, strong men prepared to run ahead and search the area. Within an hour of being dispatched one returns with a grave expression on his face.
