Chapter Eight — Opel

Silence plugs my eardrums, like white noise exploding inside my head. I’m shivering right to my core, the floor wet and icy. Crackling murmurs of a nearby fire ride on the gust as it passes by, and I smell the smoky scent of burned wood carried on the cold breeze.

First, I think I must be dreaming, but my small reverie turns into a sudden flashback of a nightmare… running and running, leaving Aecker behind.

Oh, no! My eyes shoot open to a blurry night sky; trees surround me on all sides. The shimmer of the moon reflects off the dewy leaves. Black lines streak across the night sky, but―no, they are not just lines, they are steel bars.

I sit up, my head still feeling groggy. Getting to my feet, I inspect my cage that rests on the back of an old rusty El Camino conversion. My head throbs, feeling like dirty water is pushing against the walls of my skull, the pressure excruciating so I lie back down slowly to ease the tension.

Crickets chirp blissfully to the song of the moon as its light bathes the calm night. But for me, their song is like a saw cutting into bone. Taking a deep steady breath, I try to find my center of gravity, and recall some memory of my situation. Hazily, I remember some man pretending to be my boyfriend. Looking at my left hand, I see the ring is still on my finger. I try to remove it, but my flesh is swollen around the silver band. Am I promised to be married to a man who keeps his wife in a cage?

Footsteps come my way and I close my eyes, pretending to still be asleep.

“I know you are awake,” a young, placid voice says in a whisper.

If I ignore him, will he go away?

“But don’t worry, I won’t tell them.”

My eyes open slowly to a young boy standing before me. He must be about twelve, but I could be incorrect seeing as the moon only graces one side of his face, the shadow of my cage darkens the other. Just staring at him hurts my mind.

“Does you head hurt? Is that why you aren’t talking to me?” He comes closer, little hands grasp the metal bars between slim fingers.

I manage a silent nod, as my fingers reach for the thick metal bars. “Help me.”

He looks down, and then away.

“What is your name?” I ask. Perhaps if I engage him on a personal level, I can win him over.

“Mason,” he replies. His eyes light up this time, his voice is serene and full of trust.

Connection made.

“My name is Opel.”

He shakes his head. “Trackers don’t have names, especially Hallowed Trackers.”

With those strange words he runs off, leaving me to wonder about the word Hallowed. From the tone of his voice, I know the title means something bad.

It doesn’t take him long to come back, though. He whispers to me, but does not call me by name. He simply calls me girl.

He knocks gently on the bars. “Water?” He tilts the cup.

My lips manage a few sips, and as it runs down my throat it seems to take every ache away.

“Damn it, boy!” a deep voice yells out, causing Mason to drop the cup and kick it away.

“Get away from her!”

“Can I keep her?” he asks the tall man marching over.

His huge frame blocks out the embers of the fire. In his shadow, I can feel the little boy’s hands reach out for mine.

A flashlight hones in on my face. “She is dangerous, boy. I don’t want to have to explain this to you again. You can’t keep the defects.”

“What are you going to do with her, Daddy? This one has blue eyes. I don’t have blue eyes in my collection.”

“Just get! This one is not for collecting. She’s been scheduled for Veto.”

“But…”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Mason! She is Hallowed. You know if she gets the chance she will kill us all. These things are empty shells bent on murder. Now get before I―”

“Yes, sir.” Hanging his head, Mason sulks as he walks back toward camp.

The giant man suddenly shakes the cage, rattling my mind. The moon glints off the stars on his collar. “Don’t think I don’t know what you are up to, Tracker. I’ve never liked the idea of your kind. And just so you know, I have plans for you. Just try and make this deal go sour for me, and I won’t grant you the sweet relief of death.” The way he says ‘Tracker’ leaves me feeling dirty from the outside in.

“Why are you doing this? I never did you any harm.” I try to appeal to his humanity.

He bends down lower, his face looming right above mine. I am thankful for the narrow steel bars that separate us. His face is disfigured and laced with a bitterness that has blossomed into outright disgust.

“This is pure survival, nothing personal,” he snorts. “Can you imagine a Tracker becoming our first lady? Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

“What!”

A Taser makes its way through the bars and zaps me in my ribs. My entire body convulses as I pay for yet another mistake.

***

When the rain comes, I’m left alone to listen to its symphony of clicks and clanks on the metal bars, the pattering of drops on leaves, and the wet thuds meeting the tents’ fabric.

Misery is no escape. That would be giving up. I will fight until my last breath has been exhaled, carried away by the light of the moon. If I die, I die into serenity. The short moments I had with Aecker, they can never take away from me. So, I take this opportunity of isolation to find a way out.

A guard sits sound asleep in the front seat of the El Camino, lulled by the tone of the rain as he starts to snore. His feet rest on the dashboard, but his head hangs low beneath his dark cap. My chance has come to get to work.

It’s difficult to trace any kind of pattern on the floor; grooves have been worn out over time, thus making it very difficult for me to make sense on how the cage was constructed. Through the dark and wetness, my fingers feel for ridges along the sides, until I strike gold. Screws bolt the bars to the floor. But they’re too tight and too small for my fingers to get any solid grip around them. I get an idea―I will use the zipper of my jacket as a screwdriver. Twisting and turning, I eventually utilize my teeth to break off the metal facet from my jacket. It’s flat and narrow, enabling me to slide it in the top groove of the screw, and it’s almost a perfect fit. I try to turn it, but it won’t budge at all. I end up using both hands in an attempt to navigate the screw.

Thunder rumbles across the sky, powerful enough to shake the heavens, and a nearby strike of lightning alerts me to yet another storm rolling in. When a bolt splits the night sky in a burst of light, I note the screws are caked with rust, which I have to first work off before any loosening can begin and any freedom can be achieved.

My fingers ache, stiff from the cold and constant drizzle. But before the numbness kicks in, I have ground the rust into a thick coppery slush, using the water to wash away the residue. After that, the screws come away easily.

Grabbing hold of the corner post, I pull and pull, sending the entire frame of the car rocking back and forth. I turn to make sure the guard hasn’t noticed. Totally submerged in the darkness of the storm, I have to wait for the lightning to reappear so I can see what escape route to take.

Only a few paces away is their camp of six small tents, and one huge wooden structure. I see that the outside is completely unguarded as the rain pelts down. I am not aware that my body is cold and shivering—my adrenalin has ignited my veins. I know that this might be the only chance of escape I have.

Getting to work on the top screws, the angle is much better, and the screws have not been destroyed by rust; they turn quickly and without much effort. Swiftly, my hands remove the long screws and pocket them. All of a sudden, I have become a gatherer. I need to get my grubby hands on any kind of weapon I can. The screws, I am sure, could cause some kind of damage. But the dismantled pole in my hand is now my very best friend. The tool of my survival.

I almost scream when I hear a sudden loud clink on the hood of the car. Then another, and another. All around me, I hear the slice of sharp objects as they crash to earth. With the hail, the guard’s flashlight comes to life. There is no shelter in my cage from the ice rocks hurtling to earth.

This is it!

I stand, guiding one leg through, and just as I slide my upper body through the narrow gap, a hailstone nails me on the ankle. Because of the icy, wet conditions, the pain is sharp and brutal. The surface of my skin explodes into heat that sears into the depths of my stiff bone. I take a moment to release a crushing breath. Just before I jump down, the guard’s beam catches me right in the face. My vision is filled with bright spots as I duck behind the tailgate. With the pole tightly gripped in my hand, I peek around the corner. The door swings open with a jarring squeak. Bravely taking on the assaulting hail, he jumps from the car leaving the door open as he leaps for me.

I swing for my life, the pole connecting with the side of his head even before he can open his mouth to scream. As he exhales, the stink of alcohol is thick on his breath. I grab his flashlight and run. Afraid I didn’t knock him out, I run harder and faster to ensure my getaway lasts more than just a few seconds. As I run for the forest, I turn the flashlight off. Realizing no one is coming after me, I am suddenly afraid of myself, of being capable of such violence. I may have just killed a man with my bare hands. Even though the chances of someone finding his body within the next few minutes are slim, I run knowing the farther away I get from the camp, the more distance I put between me and my imminent death.

I hardly feel the clamber of the storm against my body. And once in the thick of the forest, I turn the flashlight back on; its beam jumping and twisting with my body as I find myself scrambling through uprooted tree stumps, under low hanging branches, and between the clawing fingers of bushes. My eyes burn from all the rain, my head is frozen and hurts, but the pole keeps me steady. When I reach the jungle, I keep swinging the pole like it’s some kind of knife slicing through the overgrowth—but it’s not and the thicker branches don’t budge. Supple ones come flinging back at me, hacking at the flesh on my face, hands and neck. I don’t have the time to deal with the pain or let it affect me in the slightest. I pretend I am tethered to the other side, that my freedom is pulling me forward. And what waits me on freedom’s side is my life―Aecker.

The urgency to get to him spikes inside me. My lungs burn as if I’ve inhaled fire itself. The light-headedness adds to the numbness that allows me to carry on. At one stage I don’t feel my muscles at all, I feel only the bones, working faster and faster to take me over the uneven terrain.

Becoming too complacent in my miraculous ability to crash through the jungle like a wild animal meant to be there, I take a wrong step. Half my foot comes into contact with thick root of a tree, as the other half slips off, twisting my ankle in such a way that it becomes the sole of my foot hitting the ground. And with all my weight on the bone of the ankle, my leg gives in. I hear the snap and crunch of broken bone. As if in slow motion, I suck in a gasp filled with fear and watch myself crash down onto the forest floor. My face hits a tree stump, my hands scrape through the mud. The pain is blinding. When the white spots of agony fade, I try to get back up, but the pain is too intense. I cry out of frustration and anger. But I get up anyway, knowing Aecker would tell me to do so. He would never want me to give in.

I use the pole as a crutch to lean on as my injury has slowed me down. In the distance, I see the flashlight lying in the mud. It flickers and then dies. Suddenly, the darkness seems dense and folds in around me. Standing against the shelter of a tree, I notice the hail has stopped, and the rain has slowly died out to a whisper. This is a good, yet terrible thing. This means they’ll be coming for me now.

My jacket’s sleeves are soaked and dripping over my hands, causing them to slip on the metal pole. Taking it off and tying it around my waist, I move forward. The first few steps are hard, but I manage it. And as my body adapts to the painful limp and my muscles begin to warm, I pick up the pace. I am working up quite a sweat, very thankful I can’t feel the wet and cold anymore. The wind is a blessing over my damp skin now. In the silence of the night, I hear the rush of water in the distance. Water is life. It’s a tricky decision to make because those hunting me know this fact, too.

When the clouds part for a few moments, the moon shows me the way. Sleek pebbles carpet the ground, making it hard for me to walk on. I follow the dried-up stream to the river. The rumbles of the storm pass over, calling from a distance, like a nomad leaving its footsteps behind as it continues on its long journey. The moon’s rays cut into the shadows as I walk below the thick branches high above.

The light now flickers the faster I gain my momentum down the tunnel of trees. Up ahead, the shadows are swallowed by the full moon. I reach what I thought would be the river, but face nothing but a small clearing of rock of what used to be a stream that suddenly drops down to a flowing river far below. Glistening fragments of the moon’s rays dance over the choppy water. Across the canyon to my right, the roaring rush of a waterfall kills any other sound. I get to the sharp edge and manage to lie down for a second. Raising my injured ankle, I cross my leg to rest on my knee; the pain instantly subsides as the blood flows away from the injury. I won’t unlace my boots, though. I need to keep the ankle bound in order to try and prevent any swelling.

Once I’m accustomed to the rush of the water, what was once a frightening roar transforms into a sweet lullaby. Little by little, I hear the rest of the forest come to life around me. Crickets chirp, beetles croon, and frogs croak nearby. Then, all too quickly, it dies out. All at once the silence emerges, penetrating the forest with something thick and sinister. Only the pleasant rush of the waterfall’s song can still be heard―which turns deafening, preventing me from hearing any kind of approach.

Managing to stand, I struggle to move on, but as soon as I drop my ankle the ache flares to life. Sharp, biting needles of pain shoot up my leg expanding into my chest, creating a searing path of pain into my head. I hear a snap, followed by the sound of shoes crushing pebbles, but I am too late to spin around and see the stalker. Knocked back down onto the rocky terrain, I scream as the man spins me around, and wrenches my hair so I face him.

“Someone’s going to pay a sweet sum for something like you.” He offers a brutish grin, pleased with his catch. “And what do we have here?” He sees the ring on my finger, and then notices the silver armlet on my wrist. “You must be important to carry such riches. Do you know how much silver goes for these days?” He chortles, his chest heaves, and unhealthy coughs shake his body.

I am sandwiched between a hard, wet floor and the crushing weight of the man’s body on top of mine. Pale eyes, savage and sardonic, give me the once over.

“And it’s pretty, too.”

My hand slips out of his monstrous paws and I bite down on his wrist. I jam my finger in his eye socket, infuriating him even more. Fueled by his rage, he uses his elbow to strike me in the face. The stinging force jerks my head sideways. In his eyes, I see a shocking surprise as I swing my face right back at him and head-butt him on the bridge of his nose. He grunts―no, snarls with agony. Leaning forward, I manage to grab the pole and strike out, connecting with his jaw. He falters, recoils, and I manage to crawl to my knees. But as I stand up, a gun is waiting for me.

“Move and I’ll take out the other leg, carry you the rest of the way. I don’t mind.” A creepy smile spreads across his face. It’s the lieutenant from the camp, Cyrus, if memory serves me right. “Keeps you even closer to me.” He drags out the last few words, screaming at me over the rush of the falls.

My hand fumbles in the pocket of my jacket, searching for the screws. Balling my fist around the few I manage to discover, a shot rings out through the dark of night. My ears ring.

“Not one more move!” a man shouts at us.

He wears a mask of red, each drop of blood dips into the deep crevices of his face. His eyes seem shadier all of a sudden, like a wounded beast that revels in the color of his own spilled blood. My hunter smiles at the lieutenant coming closer. I move back. The lieutenant realizes I am at the edge and stops.

“Go ahead.” He motions toward the edge of the cliff.

He is filled with contempt, stupidly thinking I wouldn’t rather die than be taken.

“Well, go on, then!”

I know the moment he sees my body shift to take the leap. He will shoot. He, too, would rather have me die then fail in his mission. In my desperate defense I throw out a punch, the screws jut out between my clenched fingers and connect with his cheekbone. He screams, calling me some filthy name as the screws puncture his skin. From out of nowhere, an arm stretches over his head and pulls him back, a knife held to his throat—so engrossed was he in my next move he never noticed the other man stalking closer.

“I saw her first!” the hunter shouts.

“She belongs to ST. Stand down, or I’ll kill you!”

“ST!” He snivels, then lets the lieutenant go. Moving back he gives him a condescending smile I count on the brute’s unwavering ego and I duck as he swings with the knife toward the lieutenant. I was correct, it doesn’t take a second before the two egotistical bullies get into a deadly battle, and I manage to get away. I suck in the air I need for courage and leap down the giant falls. One of the men grabs the jacket tied around my waist as I go over, but the untidy knot gives in, and I am unraveled from its sleeves.

My stomach drops as I fall over face-first. I pinch my eyes closed and feel the plunge. Gravity opens up and swallows me whole. The wind screeches past my ears, tearing at my body. Then… I hit the water; it’s colder and harder than I imagined. Pain spikes through my ignored ankle, and the icy claws of the flowing river capture me. My body catapults through the depths of the torturous water, deeper into the jaws of the dark currents. My descent takes much longer than I anticipated―I continue down, being sucked in by the water. Once my body finally comes to a stop, I feel the push of a twisting current shoving me sideways. I’m fighting it to swim up, but my ankle won’t play along. The stupid thing hurts more as I fight.

Changing strategy, I try to ascend without using my injured ankle to pull myself from the water, and it seems like forever before I am able to see the glimmer of the surface. My lungs burn for air, my throat seems ready to implode. Still, my hands can’t reach the break of the water. My head feels like it’s going to burst―I am running out of air. I panic and use both my legs, swallowing the pain as my feet tread water. I’m climbing, climbing, stretching to breach the unyielding surface.

Then, I feel the little bit of remaining oxygen I have left inside me burn away. The surface is just out of reach, I can see the display of light filter through the turbulent waters above, but I can’t make it. My body goes weak and numb, my legs have no power, and I surrender to the river’s haunting melody.

Swept away by the tempest, I am the water’s chalice, its prize, a vessel for its unspoken truths and deadly secrets of the ones who have gone before me.