Before We Die Alone

by Ike Hamill

  “Wait,” I say, “I wasn’t sent here. I killed myself. This has to be some sort of dream, or afterlife or something.”

  “Nope,” the chimp says. He doesn’t offer more of an explanation.

  The gorilla continues. “You probably ate or drank something that allowed a bear to implant that suggestion. Maybe you had one too many jumps under your belt and they were afraid to send you straight so they drugged you. Regardless, you’re here and we’re going to get you out.”

  “Why? What’s in it for you?”

  The chimp answers, “Put someone in power, and there’s always going to be someone trying to wiggle free.”

  “Don’t worry about our motivation,” the gorilla says. “Just do what you’re told and we’ll get you out of this town.”

  “I don’t care about this town,” I say. “I want to get back to my city—my planet. How do I do that?”

  “After we get you out of here, you’re free to cook up any scheme you like. As long as you stay away from the bears, that is,” the gorilla says.

  “Just stick to the forest,” the chimp says. “The bears hate it out there.”

  I take another look over the side. Bears are everywhere down there. They walk on the streets and man the roadblocks. There is a group of bears having a conference by the park. I’m in the midst of a higher concentration of bears than I thought possible.

  “Why are we here then? If you don’t want me to be recaptured by the bears, then why do you have me right in the middle of this bear stronghold?”

  “Because they’re looking for you out there,” the gorilla says, pointing. “Right now, this is the safest place you could be. Now relax, we’re on duty for a while. When this shift is done, we’ll be able to get you out of here.”

  These apes are well-spoken, but they seem like they may think they’re more intelligent than they are. I suppose I don’t have much choice. I sit down and lean against the planks of the railing. All I can do is wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  * Travel *

  THE SUN IS GOING down when the gorilla lifts me to my feet. The strong hands of the gorilla and the chimp are lifting me and lowering me over the other side of the railing without a word. I’m still shaking off my unexpected nap when I realize that I’m being expected to hang from the railing on the outside of the tower. This side of the tower has no floor. I want to yell, but I sense that my silence is imperative. I keep my body flat against the outside of the structure. I seems like any movement will jeopardize my grip.

  I feel one of them lean back against my fingers.

  There’s a voice I don’t recognize. “Anything to report?”

  The gorilla answers. “No, sir. No unexpected movements. We’ve been keeping an eye on the roads and paths leading to the park especially, but we haven’t seen a thing.”

  “What’s your theory about all this?”

  “Theory?”

  I hear clicking footsteps and the floorboards gently creaking as someone moves around the tower. My wrists are beginning to ache, but far worse is the pain in my fingers. One of the apes is nearly crushing my fingers between himself and the railing.

  “You must have a theory. You seem to have a theory about everything else,” the voice says.

  “No, no theories. I’ve made some observations, if they wouldn’t be out of line.”

  The new voice says something that I don’t catch. Perhaps he was facing the wrong direction.

  The gorilla continues after some prompt. “They have black bears watching the river. The brown bears are both better at spotting underwater objects, and also better in the water. It seems that they…”

  The other voice cuts him off with another undecipherable comment.

  The gorilla picks up a new thread. “I think apes would be a valuable asset in searching vehicles. With ape support, more roadblocks could be created, and we’re lower to the ground. We have more opportunity to see into storage compartments and such because we can get into tight spaces.”

  “And you think that apes could be trusted in those duties.”

  “Not all of us, no. But certain apes could be vetted and cleared.”

  “Sounds like a good road to anarchy,” the new voice says.

  There’s more pacing from above. The pressure on my fingers increases and I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall.

  “I want you to check in every fifteen minutes for the next hour. My intel says that the fugitive is being moved at sunset.”

  I hear the hatch again and then the apes are gripping my wrists again. They lift me back over the railing. My exhausted arms feel like they’ve nearly been pulled from their sockets.

  “This is bad,” the gorilla says. “We thought they would have widened the search by now, but they’re tightening it down even more. You can’t stay here, but it’s going to be insanely difficult to get you out now.”

  Honestly, my escape attempt was just a half-formed impulse. I’ve wandered into something that seems pretty serious.

  The chimp is peeking through the hatch.

  “Come on,” he says.

  “Stay with me no matter what,” the gorilla says. He grips my chin and aims my face until I’m looking him right in his giant eyes. “Stay quiet and don’t say a word.”

  I nod.

  He leads me through the hatch and down the ladder. I follow the gorilla as he weaves through the building. This path is much more complex than the one that got us from the car to the tower. I suppose he’s avoiding populated areas of the building. He stops often to listen and smell. I’m left to guess at what he’s sensing—it’s beyond my powers.

  He finally stops at a propped-open door. Through it, I see a loading dock and a white truck loaded with rolling bins.

  He whispers in my ear. “When I give you the word, climb that container and get up on top of the truck. There’s a vent on the top you can grip. Hold on tight. The turns are rough.”

  “I’ll be out in the open,” I say. It’s getting dark outside, but I’ll be visible from any second-story window. It seems like a terrible idea.

  “If you hold on, you’ll be fine,” he says.

  I don’t have time to lodge a second objection. He spots the opportunity he was waiting for and he pushes me towards the door. The climbing is harder than it looks. The bin wants to roll away, giving me nothing to push off from. I grab hold of the top edge of the big truck, but I’m left with just my arm strength to pull myself up. This would probably be child’s play for the gorilla or the chimp, but I’m not built like them. I manage to swing my leg up when I hear voices.

  I’m only halfway over the edge and there’s a bear below me. He reaches up without looking, nearly brushes my leg, and grabs the leather handle for the rolling door of the truck. He slides it down and I finish my roll onto the back of the truck during the noise. I don’t have time to catch my breath.

  “Okay!” the bear yells.

  The truck’s engine starts and it begins moving while I’m still on my back. We pick up speed and I swim across the metal to where I see the vent jutting up. There’s just enough of a lip on the vent for me to curl my fingers around. Every time the truck shifts gears, my grip is nearly torn free.

  The first turn takes me completely by surprise.

  My hands pop free and I slide towards the edge. One foot actually slips over the side before I get a tentative grip with one hand. I pull with all my strength and manage to get the other hand in place. The turn is over. I could have just waited because with the next turn I’m sliding back the other direction. This time, I manage to get both hands firmly on the edge and holding myself isn’t as hard.

  Of course, that’s when I hear the breaks chuff and then squeak. I slide towards the front and imagine myself tumbling over the edge and crashing down through the windshield.

  I start to scramble back as the truck comes to a halt and I realize there are voices below.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Incinerator.”

  “Pu
ll over and shut it off. We have to check the back.”

  “I’m coming from the station,” the driver whines. “This is the end of my shift. You know the guys on the other end are going to inspect.”

  “New orders,” the voice says.

  The truck jerks to the side. It shuts off and I hear the driver grumbling to himself. Meanwhile, at the back of the truck, a low conversation is followed by the rumbling of the door.

  Quietly, I try to get myself to the exact center of the roof. It’s pretty dark out, but there are buildings not too far away, and I can see the upper windows. It stands to reason that anyone inside those buildings would be able to see me. Just in case, I try to hold perfectly still. Below me, someone is pawing through the garbage and banging around the bins.

  “What’s that smell?” someone below me asks.

  The answer is too quiet to hear. I hold my breath as the creature bangs and tears around.

  “Found it,” he says. I exhale my relief.

  I hear pounding footsteps as the animal leaves the interior of the truck and I hear both the rear door and driver’s door shut.

  “Yeah. Thanks,” the driver says.

  The truck is barely started before he’s jerking it back out onto the road. My fingers strain every time the thing lurches beneath me. It’s like bull riding without a rope.

  After another stop sign and a right turn, we’re on a windy road. The curves are gentle it’s a little easier to hang on. I blink against the wind. My eyes water as I peer in the direction of the headlights, trying to get a sense of what’s coming. There’s a low bridge up ahead. Something is hanging down—I’m not sure I’m going to fit underneath. I press my body as flat as I can and squeeze my eyes shut. Just in case, I relinquish my grip on the vent. I have a terrible image of being scraped from the top of the truck and tearing my fingers right off my hands. We’re not going terribly fast, but fast enough that I don’t even want to think about trying to jump off.

  The sound of the truck thunders in my ears as we pass under the structure. When I emerge from the far side, I have the briefest moment of relief, followed by pure terror.

  Something snags my leg and I’m dragged backwards across the roof of the truck. I bang my head as my arms fly out. They say that drunk people survive an accident more easily because their muscles aren’t tensed up. There’s a floppiness to a drunk person’s body. Unfortunately, I’m not drunk.

  ---- * ----

  Instead of hitting the ground in a heap behind the truck, I’m swinging there, suspended by my ankle. Then, in a hitching motion, I’m jerked upwards. After a second, hands grab my thigh, my belt, and my other leg. I’m pulled up and turned over, still reeling from the experience of being plucked from the back of a moving truck. The streetlight reveals another chimp and a couple of orangutans. They’re wearing black robes, like monkey ninjas.

  “Is he okay? He’s just standing there,” and orangutan says. He pokes at my chin with one of his enormous fingers.

  “Come on,” the chimpanzee says.

  An orangutan takes my hand and I’m pulled down the road, and then off into a little dirt area where they’ve stashed motorcycles. With no helmet, I’m guided to the back of the chimp’s motorcycle, and instructed to grip the sides of his black robe. His heel nearly takes out my leg as he kick-starts the bike. On either side, the orangutans start up their motorcycles as well. The chimp is reckless in the gravel. The bike gets sideways before we make the pavement. As soon as we have traction, it pops upright and we’re streaking down the road.

  One of the orangutans pulls ahead of us and takes the lead. The pavement doesn’t last long. After a couple of curves, the chimp points the bike off the side of the road and we launch over the low bushes. I’m too scared to even react. I only clutch the robes of the chimp and pray that he knows what he’s doing. We land on a dusty trail and the suspension absorbs our impact. The path we’re on is terrifying. Trees streak by in a blur. Every time the bike touches down in the dirt, the chimp executes another radical turn and we bounce into the air again. We’ve left the orangutans behind. As far as I know, they’re continuing on the road, like sane apes. I’m stuck with the chimp who seems to have no regard for our safety.

  “Can you slow down?” I manage.

  He turns his head to shout back to me. “I can’t. We have to be over the hill before they get to the roadblock.”

  I hadn’t realized it, but now that he mentions it, I see it. We’re climbing a hill on a series of switchbacks. I can see a place up ahead where the trail seems to end. Perhaps that’s the top of the hill. I can only hope.

  I keep thinking that there must be something I can do to help. Perhaps I should be leaning into his frantic turns, or putting my foot down the way he does when the bike goes sideways. I’m always too late though. My reflexes aren’t as quick as his maneuvers. With one final turn, he almost lays the motorcycle flat. He guns the engine and we pop back up. Then, to my horror, he flips a switch and the headlights turn off. We’re still moving, but he lets the motorcycle slow a bit.

  I can’t see a thing. I lean back because I’m sliding forward into the chimp. We’re going downhill. The turns still come quick, but the engine is basically idling. He only gooses it to get us around the turns that I can no longer see coming.

  Finally the trail flattens and he settles into a nice, low speed.

  Branches slap at us from either side, but there’s almost a comfort in that. The chimp knows where he’s going, and we’re on a nice tight path with plenty of cover. After a couple of unexpected dips and weaves, he slows the bike. He cuts the engine before we’ve even stopped.

  We leave the motorcycle propped against a tree.

  “We have to move fast. Try to keep up and stay quiet,” he says.

  ---- * ----

  It’s not long before my hip is aching. I think being jerked off the back of a moving vehicle by a my leg hasn’t done me any good. It feels like my hip might pull out of the socket with the next step.

  Our path leads uphill, mostly. It’s dark and confusing. I have the sense that we’re moving in a straight line. The woods are quiet and the chimp moves at a steady pace that I can barely keep up with. Every now and then he stops for a second, but it’s hardly a break. He listens intently to the woods around us and I practically have to hold my breath. Because of that, it feels like I’m even more tired when we start running again.

  Honestly, compared to waiting in the tower, I would much rather be doing this. At least running gives me the sense that I’m making progress away from my problems.

  The chimp stops and addresses me over his shoulder. “We’re beyond the camp now, so we don’t have to be so worried about making noise. Still, if you hear something, freeze until you’re sure it’s not something following you. If it is something following you, run downhill. Always downhill.”

  I realize that he’s pissing on a tree while he’s talking to me.

  “Wait, are you leaving me alone out here?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “I’ll take you to a place where you can set up a camp. There’s good fruit around, and the bears are afraid of the place. You should be safe there. Just find your own way around before you jump in with anyone else.”

  “What do you mean, jump in?”

  “They’ll take advantage of you if they think you’re weak, or can’t survive on your own. You want to be self-sufficient before you join up with any group.”

  “Group of what?”

  “Stick with other skin monkeys. You’ll never be considered an equal with any other group.”

  He seems to be ignoring my questions.

  “Let’s go.”

  He’s done pissing and he is running up the hill before I can ask anything else. When the chimp leaves the path and starts up the slope, he’s impossible to keep pace with. He uses his hands and feet in perfect coordination, and he never seems to tire. I’m gasping and wheezing before long.

  Mercifully, he stops at the round top of a wooded hill.
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  “Take this,” he says. In the dim light of the moon and stars, I reach forward. He places a heavy hunting knife in my hands. “You’re on your own. Look for fruit in the west. There’s fresh water to your south. I would set up a little lean-to right around here. You’ll have plenty of time to acclimate before it gets too cold. That’s when you want to start looking for a band. Take care.”

  He’s running away.

  “Wait!” I call. The sound is louder than I intended, but he doesn’t stop. He’s running away. For a fraction of a second, I consider following him. It doesn’t make sense. I could never keep up with him. I would just end up running away from the fruit and fresh water. If he’s done helping me, then I should just let him go. The night seems colder and more vast with every passing second.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  * Feral *

  WHEN THE SUN COMES up, I make a careful mark on a couple of trees. I make a big forest compass. It’s probably not very accurate. I’m aware that the sun isn’t directly east when it rises. In the summer time, it would be many degrees north of east. On the other hand, I’m almost certain that this could be any star, shining its morning light on any planet. What if this planet doesn’t even have a tilted axis? My version of east is just as likely as any other.

  I go for water first.

  I’ve never had to navigate in the woods on my own, so I’m very nervous about losing my way. I cut branches and constantly look back to remind myself where I’ve come from as I move.

  The stream isn’t very far. I assume that this is what the chimp was pointing me towards. The water is cool and tastes clean, but I’m convinced that I’ll be sick as a dog at any moment. Next, I start looking for the fruit he promised.

  Of course I’m expecting rows of apple trees, ripe for picking. What I find is a single tree with yellow oblong fruit. The skin is weird, but it’s the best part as far as I can tell. The core of the thing is both sour and bitter—a combination that I didn’t know existed.