SAFE (4 page)

I
had to make a decision. Left or straight. Right would take me nowhere except the
perimeter, and there was no type of clearing for me to drive through; the right
side was completely dense with thick trees and vines, and god knows what else.

I
peered back to my left. Barely visible was a burgundy piece of material flowing
back and fourth in the wind. The mini flag was attached to the end of a stick, poking
a few feet taller than the ground.

I
filled my lungs with a deep breath and turned left.

After
a few more yards another piece of material, the same as before, flapped in the
wind. However, this time they were on both sides of the dirt path. I drove carefully,
following in between the marked flags guiding my path and counted fifty of them
before…before seeing the first body.

He
was lying in the middle of the road; I almost hit his distorted limbs. I dodged
around him just in time, not hard with the rate of speed I was driving, and I
knew for sure I didn’t need to check if he was dead or not. The body was mangled
beyond repair. His flesh had been torn with large parts scraped from all over
his naked, exposed skin. Vines covered him, but I hardly noticed them through the
blood and the dark night. I continued driving along, fearfully scanning my eyes
along the nasty skids trailing behind him. My headlights and eyes followed the
path. The car suddenly jerked, my head heaved backwards, and my senses vanished
then came back with a jolt of realization that my hands were gripping the wheel
too tightly. I quickly released my fingers, but kept my hands in place. I had
never seen a dead body. My grandparents died when I was young—old age. I’ve
attended funerals, the few there were. Any families that had chosen execution
were euthanized in the most humane way possible, without any onlookers, and then
laid to rest prior to everyone paying their respects.

The
left side of my brain, the more logical part of me, screamed
TURN AROUND
,
and while I considered my options, I spotted a few more bodies lying near each other,
lining both sides of the road. They weren’t torn and shredded like the one
prior, but their torsos and faces had been riddled with punctures. Not
punctures. Gunshot holes. Blood soaked the ground around them. Hands sprawled
out to the side, feet disheveled over one another, torsos turned in conflicting
ways—not normal. Pools of blood adjoined underneath each, coming together into two
large pools, making the entire scene impossible to miss.

Immediately,
I began turning the wheel to the right, forcing the car to the far side of the
dirt path, giving me enough space to turn around while I still could. Out of
nowhere, the car hummed to a complete stop. I shook the translucent wheel and
pressed whatever buttons I could find. I stomped my feet against the floorboard
like an angry, scared child, but it didn’t matter. This car wasn’t going
anywhere. It was dead.
Great.

The
power was nearly depleted; the only thing still working were the headlights and
a few interior lights. I brought my eyes up and realized the lights were shining
onto a form, no…a structure, something resembling a house in the near distance.

It
wasn’t like any of the ones in the Colony. Most of the houses there were built
from stone and rock. This one was encased with long pieces of material, same as
the flags, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark night, I realized the structure
was only the start of dozens more like it—varying in dingy colors. The lights
from the car were bright and glimmered off tiny pieces of reflecting objects and
hundreds of tiny vases stacked on one another, layering the ground in between
the homes like tiny little bridges attaching each home together. Outlining the exterior
of the one closest to me were dozens of wooden sticks a few feet high in length
with skulls and horns attached at the tips. Hanging on the ends of the horns swung
long, vibrant feathers, dangling in the wind. I swallowed the fear inching its
way up my throat.

I
knew exactly where we were—the Lowers.

The
Lowers, the place that I, and everyone else my age, was forbidden to go. Not
just that, but nobody ever wanted to come out here, forbidden or not. When I
was little, kids told haunted stories about where the Lowers lived. But they
were always made up, stories pieced together from their own imaginations.
Parents didn’t talk about them, and besides the kids, nobody else did either.
We kept our distance unless forced near one another due to a mandatory meeting.

Instantly,
the wheel disappeared from my hands and all the lights turned off. Now the car
was entirely out of power. I had mixed feelings, more horrified than not, but
slightly glad the car turned off in a place where other people existed, even if
I was terrified at who these people were.

I lowered my hands from the empty area where the
translucent virtual wheel subjected my grip—and my uncertainty. The tension I had
been so desperately trying to control freed from my arms and sunk effortlessly
into my body, transferring the tension throughout me. I sat there not moving, with
my stomach convulsing. Minutes later, I swung my legs out the doorless side,
placed my feet on the ground, and braced myself with my hands.

I
stood up in the quiet, breezy night alone, staring at the home not far away. My
long sleeves kept the wind from hitting my skin and my body was grateful for it.
Somehow, my shirt from home also felt like a barrier, something to keep me
safe. More of a mental thing, I guess. Finally, my eyes adjusted as much as
they would with the only light available being the stars and the full moon; the
natural tiny balls of fire numerous, covering the sky like a blanket of lights.

All
of a sudden, a figure ducked out from underneath the entrance of the house and
a curtain swung back behind him, or her. For a short while, the person remained
in their doorway, eyes facing my direction. I could see, though not well enough
to tell what the individual looked like. I assumed the only thing they’d be
staring at was me and this large car. And I wondered if this particular
individual had been the reason for all the deaths I passed along the trail
here.

Was
he going to kill me too?

I
looked at James still lying across the front seat. If it wasn’t for all the
blood, I’d think he was sleeping peacefully. He was not moving, eyes gently
closed, with no expression on his face. Unfortunately, that also meant he was still
unconscious and would be no help protecting me.

I
closed my eyes and tried wishing him awake, hoping that this situation would simply
disappear. Maybe he could read my thoughts?

That
was a stupid.
Nobody is able to do that
.

The
memory of him moving swift and precise as he fought the two guards clearly
bigger than he, was alarming, but I wouldn’t mind seeing him do the same right
now with whoever this person was still looking at me. Honestly, I didn’t know James
could move like that. I never saw him in action or training. Nobody did unless
they were also a guard. And he never bragged in detail when telling me about
his day. I knew without a doubt, he could easily overpower this person—who was most
definitely contemplating ways to kill me.

Or
was it a she?

I
couldn’t make out any movement from the other houses, only this one. The house where
the dark figure now took his first step towards me.

I
wasn’t sure if the earthy ground beneath me was trembling, or if the shuddering
was coming from the shaking of my own legs. I’d never actually felt an
earthquake. However, I didn’t see anything else moving around me, so I was
positive it was the latter. I didn’t let my knees give way, and held my position.
Unmoving and not showing this person any of the fear trapping me. My shoulders
sat firmly back and my head upright, sturdy, chin outward. My breathing was a
different story. I had to get it under control. I began counting numbers and solving
scientific equations in my head.
Try to relax
.

Every
step this person took towards me, I focused more on my tedious thoughts. Seconds
passed, and I had already counted to fifty and solved two equations. My eyes
stayed focused. More seconds gone.

He,
not she, was closer now, and I finally made out part of his appearance. He
looked plain, no lines. There were no vines covering his skin. But how was that
possible?

Surely
my eyes were going as crazy as the thoughts running through my mind. I tried
rubbing the blurriness from them, and then regained my superior stance, arms
taught by my side.

He
walked with his weight leaning more to one side, hobbling, favoring his right
leg. A wrap was tied around his left thigh where his pants looked as if they
had been torn off; his right leg still holding the entirety of the navy
material they were made from, the left shredded directly above the wrap.
Strings of thin fabric flung down over the rest of his skinny leg and dry blood
painted his skin like a backdrop to the fabric. His dark hair was an enormous
tangled mess, strewn about his head, sticking out in every direction.

Now,
he was close enough for me to touch.

My
eyes didn’t lie; there were no vines.

His
body looked frail and his bony joints large, poking through his skin. Eyes
dark, unmoving, drilling deep into mine. He was old. Wrinkles creased around
the edges of his lips and eyes.

I
stood still as he gradually sniffed the air around me. Then he turned his head and
looked into the car. He saw James. He jumped back, and then looked at me. The
expression on his face was unreadable. Angry? Lips together in a thin line,
eyebrows furrowed. His chest rose and he glanced at James again.

I
didn’t know what else to do but ask, “Please, will you help us?” I uttered the
words quickly before my unavoidable death, which I was positive he had considered
carrying out. I looked down and noticed his left hand holding a small hatchet
with a sharp, shiny tip. His fingers grasped the hatchet tight, unyielding.

He
responded to my question with a few low grunts and bent over into the car, pulling
James’ body out easily, and then he tossed his lifeless body over his shoulder—still
holding the hatchet with his left hand. Without any words, he turned around;
James’ blood trickled down the man’s back.

I
quickly reached into the car and grabbed my backpack from the backseat and the
guard’s gun—not forgetting the severed fingers for their useful DNA. I stuffed the
digits into my pack, strapped the gun over my shoulder, and then sped up beside
the old man. I wasn’t sure if he was leading us into a trap, but I didn’t
really have a choice.

He
was the first Lower I’d seen outside any mandatory Land meetings. In fact, I
never actually conversed with any of them—ever. I didn’t know what to expect.
The only thing I knew for sure was that there was a reason they lived all the
way out here on the outer edge—away from the Colony.

I
walked behind the old man, not saying a word. He was silent as well.

A
few feet from his house, I turned my head towards a rustling noise on my right,
but nobody was there—that I could see. A few more feet and we’d be on his
doorstep.

The
man pushed the curtained entrance to the side. As I followed him in, the
interior was pitch black. I had walked into a place that made the outside seem
like there was plenty of light. I couldn’t see James or the old man. Suddenly, a
memory washed over me from when I was eight years old and I had a horrible fear
of the dark; my father sat on the side of my bed and held my hand, promising me
there were no monsters in the room. I wish he were here now.

I
heard a thud, followed by a flickering light.

Finally.
Light. As soon as the light steadied, I saw James on the ground, not moving and
placed in a casual position on his side.

The
man didn’t say a word as he passed me, walking back out the entrance. A candle
was lit on the table to my left.

I
heard the rustling noise again and quickly shot my head around, spotting a blonde-headed
child crouched down in the corner behind a small table.

He
eyed me up and down, squinting, hunching, and observing me with every move of
his head.

“It’s
okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered, ducking down a tad to seem less
intimidating. Of course, I think I’m the least intimidating-looking person
around. My brunette curls didn’t look fierce, and what I wore wasn’t scary at
all.

The
boy shot his hand across the table and grabbed a small figurine; a tiny toy
carved out of wood. He wore a light gray shirt and had no vines either, just
like the old man. He was small and didn’t give off the
I’m-going-to-kill-you
kind of vibe.

Even
still, I kept my distance.

Time
passed, and nobody had walked back into the house. The boy also left. James and
I were the only two remaining. I constantly kept an eye on his chest, making
sure it still moved up and down. Checking if he was alive. I wondered what the old
man was doing, who he was talking to.

Were
they planning on a way to torture us for information about the Colony?

Perhaps.

Then
James began muttering something. I quickly turned and ran closer. His voice was
too low, inconsistent, for me to hear what he was saying. I leaned closer on
the ground and put my face in front of his.

“James.
James. Wake up. What are you saying?” I said, shaking his shoulders.

I
turned my head and pressed my ear gently to his lips.

It
helped a little; the words were still muffled, but clearer. More of a hushed whisper.
The words merged, making one long, repetitive gurgling sound, varying in
octaves, but not in clarity. The only two words I was for sure I heard were,
Penny and Dee or Ida. I had no idea who Dee or Ida was.

I
shook him again, even gently slapped his cheek, but nothing. He wasn’t making
any sense, and then he passed out again.

And
I gave up listening.

Turning
around, I began pacing the room to help me think. I crossed my arms while
talking to myself and threw my hands in the air amidst the unhelpful one-way
conversation I was having. I almost forgot about what started this whole thing.
The virus.

What
did I have? What was I sick with?

Why
was taking me to the Academy so important that my dad risked everything by
giving me…
those vials
.

Vials
.

I
wondered what they were. I walked over and grabbed my backpack off the floor. I
hadn’t opened it until now. Unzipping it, I was sure the vials had broken when
all the insane driving took place; my pack smashed against the interior side of
the car every time James swerved.

My
fingertips carefully unzipped the pack and I was relieved to see the vials lying
neatly to one side, unbroken and on top of my clothes. Taking a deep breath, I
gently pulled one of the tiny tubes out of my bag.

A
small vial with blue liquid, barely enough to seem like it would make a
difference if anyone used it, was inside. The liquid was still. Motionless. And
yet something so tiny had changed my life forever. Surely, my dad would be
caught; someone would find out these were missing. What would happen to him? I
stopped myself from thinking. I knew the Colony; I knew President Falcon. He
and my father were friends. At least I had thought they were until my dad said
he was holding my sister for
ransom
.

Whispers,
loud whispers, came from outside the entrance of the house. The voices were a
mixture of multiple people and they were talking about James. One voice, deeper
than the others, and coarse, left no doubt about what he thought should happen to
us. I stuffed the vials back into my pack and quickly zipped it close.

He
didn’t think we deserved—James deserved—to be helped. He thought we would only
bring trouble and they should make us leave, let us take our chances without
their help. He didn’t know us, I didn’t know any of them either, but the
gunshot to James’ shoulder proved we were in trouble. And whatever kind of
trouble we were in, he made it clear he didn’t want any part of it.

He
was probably right; this couldn’t lead anywhere good.

But
weren’t they killers themselves? The trail of bodies. Why would they care if we
brought any trouble upon them?

The
voices continued for a while until, finally, four people, three men and one
woman, all with bright, piercing green eyes and hair as straight as a board,
entered under the curtain. As they walked towards me, the last person stood
blocking the only exit, forcing me to stay in the house. I took a few steps
towards James, guarding him the best I could.

Each
of them, except the last guy guarding the entrance, stared at me. I assumed he
was the one with the lower voice who thought we should leave. The other peoples’
eyes had speckles of brown in them. I stared back—astounded. None of them had
vines. The man carrying James wasn’t anywhere in sight.

The
tallest one was a woman, and she stepped closer to me.

“What
is your name, child?” the woman said, her voice refreshing, like a cup of
coffee on the days you need it most. She had an irrefutably pleasant way about
her and I instantly felt calmer, more at peace. Most of all, she didn’t appear to
be a person with plans to kill me; her hands were locked gently behind her
back, head tilted to one side as she spoke.

The
two men on each side of her stood in a similar manner, eyes glued on me. They
had on long sleeves and light colored pants.

“My
name is Penny Evans,” I replied.

Then
the woman nodded towards James lying on the ground.

“His
name is James Garak.” I didn’t say anymore. I stood there with my arms at my
side, chin out, shoulders back.

“We’ve
decided to help him. If you will allow us to, we’ll take him to our healer,”
she offered.