Chapter 14: Chapter Twelve — Flawed with Love
Aecker:
I thought of Noah before I drifted off to sleep. I might even have dreamed of him, how erratically he changed when he came back from the East Wall camps. I have no idea how he could have fallen into the devious traps of The Following, a regime that seeks to overthrow Cupola. I wonder what nonsense they fed him, what promises were made. It must have been something life-changing for him to even think of killing me.
Sure, Noah and I have had our goes at each other. After my father’s death, my uncle declared that our family stole his life. He never could stand my brother and me. Noah used to bully me when growing up, playing nasty and horrible tricks on our entire family to such an extent that we had to move. But after The War, none of that mattered. Uncle Avery was captured, tortured and then murdered—just like my mother.
Noah was bitter for a long time. We took him in, as family does. It was only after my father’s death that we became close. I always thought I knew the reasons as to why Noah was so spiteful; he had no one to relate to. He was bred and raised by a bitter and arrogant man, who brainwashed him into a path of revenge on his very own brother. When my father passed, Noah had a reason to bond, he could share the grief. But his recent display of the old bitter and enraged Noah came through since his return, this time with much more force and vindictiveness. Like he’d simply forgotten everything we had ever gone through together. I might have even hated him for a few moments.
Filling my flask with the delicious water from the kitchen tap, it appears to be a direct water system from a nearby or underwater river. Pocketing the flask in a water proof duffle bag, I notice the old STO badge inscribed on the side. It’s faded and worn like most of the things in her cottage. There are quite a few of the same similar bags, scattered around, probably what she used to get some of her equipment over here. It must have taken her quite some time to gather and sneak it out. Either she had a team, or she saw The Clearing coming.
Noah’s early morning snores disturb the silence in the cottage. I wish I could help him in some way, because his dark temper might get us all killed if we are not careful. Or worse, he might die at my very own hands.
I rummage through the tiny cabinet under the wash basin for any tools I can use for our survival. I manage to find a few things of value; a set of three screwdrivers in a black plastic box, and a packet of matches hiding behind a curtain of spider webs. The box is red with yellow writing. It reminds me of the cheap type we used to buy at a corner café when we were just naughty kids pretending to smoke pipes. I grab it and pull it out—some matches fall and scatter to the dark corners of the cottage. As I draw my hand back, a dozen tiny baby spiders sprint over my fingers and up my arm. I shake them off as quickly as I can. Perhaps they will find their way back to their mother. I feel something pinch the skin on my hand before I’m able to pull it out of the cupboard completely but as I don’t see any blood, I bend and retrieve the escaped matchsticks.
Behind the curtain that separates the bathroom from the kitchen, I find a sail rolled up and stacked in the corner. From the diagrams printed on the material, I figure it used to be some kind of tent pocket. I roll it out and it spreads wide; it’s no tent, but it is waterproof and can be just as useful. I don’t manage to find the tent itself, but it will do as a shelter, and it’s light to carry, too. I stuff it in the bag and pull the zipper closed. The skin on the back of my hand still hurts, quite a bit, actually. Like some kind of acid is burning through it. I inspect my hand, it’s red and somewhat swollen, even though there’s no mark.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath, hoping it’s not a spider bite. I lean into the cupboard once again and my eyes search for the spider clan’s mother. Feeling silly, I whisper anyway, “I know you are in there.”
“Why are you talking to yourself?” Noah groans from behind the counter.
As I turn to stand, it’s evident that he is ill from last night’s alcoholic binge, and as I near him he smells sick, the alcohol sour now and infecting his breath.
“Go wash up. I need you to look after Opel for a few days.”
“You can’t leave me with her!” He seems to sober up instantly.
“I can’t take her with me this time―the risk of them finding her again is high. And I really need to get my brother back. You owe me.”
Noah huffs under his breath. “Owe you for what?”
“For being such a bitch.”
He is stunned into silence. Turning, he heads to the bathroom.
I follow him, pulling the bag over my shoulder. “Here,” I say to him, handing him back his machete. “Try not to hurt yourself while you attempt to fend her off, because once she wakes up, I promise, she’s gonna be real pissed at you for trying to kill us.”
He opens his mouth, but only a tiny squeal comes out before I interrupt him.
“She’ll get over it. Be nice, okay?”
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes and turns on the tap.
“Noah.” I give him the look that holds a thousand unpleasant words. A kind of lecture without actually speaking.
“I know, cuz. I am sorry.” He doesn’t sound convinced by his own words, either.
“But?”
“There is no but.” He splashes water over his face, the drops gather on his overgrown beard and drip on to his wrinkled shirt.
“Spill it,” I demand.
His shoulders slump forward as he hesitates a moment longer.
“Say it now, or get out.” I point to the door. “I am done with you, Noah. This is your final chance to choose your side. So choose!” I head over to Opel, tuck the gun under her pillow, grab the tiny vial that holds the bullet we took out of her shoulder, and lightly kiss her on the cheek. She is still cold and very pale. Some part of me wishes I could stay and wait to see her open her eyes again, but I know ST and what they are doing to my brother. I can’t leave him there another minute.
“Okay, fine! You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” Noah crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll do it.”
I stand before him, look him straight in the eye. “I need to know I can trust you, Noah. What I am leaving with you is something precious and rare.”
“That’s just it. You think this Tracker has the answers to everything surrounding you, like she’s the cure for the dark and twisted misfortune that is your life.”
“I don’t have to explain it to you, Noah.”
“Yes, you do, because I need to trust you.”
“You can.”
“Don’t turn your back on me, Aecker! Get back here and tell me what it is you are hiding. Is it true that you are flawed with love for this creature?”
“You are not going to get the reaction you want from me, Noah. You are being a brat again. I’ll see you in a few days. If you leave this cottage for some reason, leave me a clue as to where I can find you guys. Please.” Silently, I close the door behind me.
Did he just say love? How long has it been since I have heard that word said in that context, like it’s nothing, but the most natural thing in the entire world.
“No!” I hear him yell through the closed door.
***
It’s nearly dawn as I head out into the forest. The air is chilly for so many reasons, a chill I should be familiar with―it’s the chill I get each morning before a scout, never knowing if I will return alive. But this chill is of faultless uncertainty that cuts right through my core.
I tap on the wooden post twice for luck. I am not sure if I am doing the right thing in leaving them behind, but as Mamma would have said: “It’s faith that guides you forward”.
And it is then that I finally understand these flaws of love and faith. They are not tangible, but they are something as real as the smog that covers the Barren Lands. It’s not concrete, you can’t hold it, but you can feel it affect your breathing, changing the color of every sunset and impacting your sight.
I’ve never broken into The Gate. It makes me nervous, but at the same time I am excited as to what I might discover on this rescue mission. I’m wearing the jacket my brother gave me the day ST took Opel. It is also the same jacket I used to splint Opel’s shoulder after she was shot. All of that feels like it’s a million miles away now.
The front pocket still holds my father’s compass, it’s heavy and pushes against my ribs when I move. As I zip the jacket up to my neck, I catch Opel’s scent. The feeling that washes over me is a good feeling to have, a feeling that you are someone special because someone misses you and you have someone to miss. On the pocket, there’s a tiny row of yellow stitching where Dyllian tore it climbing over a fence when he was just eighteen. The stitch is very neat and hardly visible, my mother’s handiwork. So, in a way, the jacket carries a bit of everyone I hold dear. And I will let that be my anchor on my journey forward, carrying them all with me on this crusade.
***
Hunger fills me, my stomach is moaning in protest. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate something decent. The thought of real food turns me dizzy.
Removing my breathing mask, I take a number of swigs of water, and make my way down to the river to fill it up again. As I move through poisoned lands, I’ll be needing more water to wash the toxins from my system.
The climb over the jutted rocks and loose pebbles is more daunting than it looked a few moments ago. I lose my footing and slide right into the water with a splash. Pebbles rain down around me, joining me in the sharp sting of the cold water. Ice from the mountain caps has made its way to the river―a sign that this part of our county is in its healing stages. It is the cleanest water I have seen in a very long time. I can see right down to the ground where gray and white pebbles dot the riverbed.
Standing up, I strip myself of all my belongings and throw the bag and my clothes onto the bank. I walk to the deeper pools and dive in. The ripples of the flowing river massage the tenderness around my wounds. It’s quiet and peaceful in the depths of the cold water.
When I come up again, I swear I hear Opel’s voice. It’s a sweet melody that hovers over the sound of the cascading waters. What is she doing here? I feel confused and relieved that she has woken. I call her name but there is nothing. I wonder if that’s part of being in love; miss someone so much you begin to hallucinate them with you all the time.
Looking up into the overhang of trees, I realize I have an audience. Above me, sitting on a tree branch, a flock of small yellow birds chirp and sing, sending glances my way. Across the riverbank, butterflies ride the breeze over a colorful field of some kind of hybrid flower, like none I have seen in books from before The War. It reminds me of Opel, beautifully different and captivating. They sway silently in the breeze as the wind turns the soft pink petals upward, their underside a different color. I realize then what it means to be truly lonesome. As beautiful as all this is in my perfect little corner of the world, I’ve never missed anyone so much. I’ve never felt the dull, pulsating ache of loneliness tear at my heart the way it does now. As if in slow motion, I lie back and float. This gorgeous paradise I discovered means nothing without her. I have nothing if I don’t have her. Is this why they call it a flaw? This is what’s taken over my mind when I should be focused on saving my brother.
I continue to float effortlessly in the water, staring up at the entwined branches, when out of nowhere the dizziness grabs hold and drags me ever so slightly into the current. Something bumps into my leg, bringing me out of my daydream. Looking down, I notice something pink, and then another, and another―fish. Food! My stomach rumbles, the sound swallowed by the water as I dive amongst them. Their vibrant colors are a good sign that I have discovered a school of edible fish. They have fins, gills and two eyes, an absolute indication that they have no mutations.