Dead By Dusk

8. It Wouldn’t Be Enough Silene

8

It Wouldn’t Be Enough: Silene

T he forest can be a dangerous place on a normal day. A day when you know where you are and where to go. A day where you know the risks and are prepared for them. But you take that assurance away, strip someone of their memories leaving them with only their base instincts, and send them out to be hunted? Well, then that danger becomes outright deadly.

Thirty minutes into walking this morning and someone had snuck up behind Carmen, holding a knife to her throat. If it weren’t for the woman’s ability to scream at the drop of a pen, I probably wouldn’t have noticed that she was in distress until it was too late. So when she let out a yelp, quickly muffled by the offender’s large, dark hands, I was quick to respond. Not quick enough to stop the small cut that had just stopped dripping dark red blood down her neck, but quick enough for him to be the one bleeding out on the ground instead. One dagger through his shoulder was what it took for him to release her and drop his blade. Then, once she had ducked away from the man, I shoved the sharp metallic staff through his neck and twisted before ripping the cool metal out, watching as bright red blood spurted and gushed out of his gaping out of his star-shaped wound.

I’ll never forget the silent sobs Carmen released, the look of fear and panic on her face as she frantically tried to wipe the blood on her neck. From that point on, I insisted she walk ahead of me. I promised her I’d do my best to keep her alive and this is how I do it.

Several hours, a few breaks and no luck finding food or water later, we got our second attack of the day, and I knew while I was fighting that I should keep them alive. Or at least one of the two, as they could offer some sort of help, but I don’t have it in me to dial back my hits while they’re actively trying to murder me. For some reason, I thought all villains liked to tell their life stories before they got on with the hacking of someone’s head and whatnot, but none of these kind folks have gotten the memo, I suppose. The male attacker carried a staff similar to mine, while the woman carried a set of small hatchets, and let me just say, I liked her style. So much that I told her as I plunged two daggers in her sides before quickly dragging them across and through her chest, then plucked them out of her still-warm hands after her body had landed on the soft dirt and leaves, possibly cushioning her hard fall.

Carmen didn’t react the same after this one, probably because I didn’t let either of them get close to her, ensuring that she sustained no further injuries. Though her hands still shook, she didn’t look as horrified as I thought she would’ve at the death of the woman. It was far more brutal than the first in my opinion, though maybe she’s getting used to it after seeing so much violence in less than twenty-four hours. While I should feel relieved, something akin to disappointment and sadness stirs in my chest at the thought of her acclimating to such a macabre way of life so quickly. As necessary for her survival as it might be, I hope that she doesn’t let these moments define her when we escape. Oddly enough, I sincerely believe that, despite her softness and oddities, she deserves a chance to not just survive, but live.

Maybe more so than me.

I get the impression that I’ve done some terrible things in this life of mine, and that should I die, it would be the only proper way to atone for these atrocities I’ve lived by. Eternal damnation may be the only way to redress the balance of lives I’ve stolen. And even then, would that be enough? It’s hard to know when you hardly know who you are and what you have done. But dwelling within me are thoughts more confident than the ones sitting at the surface.

I could give everything in myself. Mind, body and soul, fighting to ensure she lives. I could destroy myself in the name of a promise of protection, and it would never be enough. I’d have to live a life much longer than I deserve to in order to properly atone. Even sacrificing myself…my soul is not a worthy offering.

For now, though, it will have to do.

That’s the mindset I’ve carried since we walked away from the last fight, the thoughts that have plagued me as memories continue to slowly make an appearance in the oddest of ways. Memories that play like a mirage of moments falling around me and fluttering through my fingertips like ash, maybe mistaken as snow to those who don’t know a once-dormant volcano has awakened nearby. Memories come to me in the words Carmen says, in the actions I take, in the way the black dagger that I’d found underneath the kitchen floorboard easily twirls through my fingertips whenever we take our breaks.

Each one that appears is a missing puzzle piece, though none seem to fully connect yet, which only fuels my frustration while continuing our journey through the woods that seem to be devoid of any life other than our own. That is, until I hear the smallest of ruffles through the branches above, leaves heavy with condensation falling quickly in the space between us. I look up to track the movement, trying to find the source of discourse, when I see it.

Two birds, not large by any means, but big enough to supply some sort of nourishment. It’s hard from the distance we’re at to see exactly what they look like, but I know it doesn’t matter when any second they could flutter away, and we could miss the first real chance we had at staying alive.

Lack of food and dehydration can kill just as easily as a blade. Easier if we’re being honest. And while I would prefer water at the moment, I will take anything that I can get at this moment. I put my hand on Carmen, stilling her movements. When our eyes meet, I first motion for her to stay quiet, and then to stay still. When she nods her understanding, I quietly wipe my sweaty hands on my pants before removing two blades from my pockets, prepping one in each hand for the throw. I calm my breathing. I’m exhausted, and the slight tremor in my hands doesn’t escape my notice. This could definitely impact my aim, but I have to pray that it doesn’t.

Looking back up towards the birds that linger in the branches above, I estimate the distance to be about fifteen feet. There’s no breeze; in fact, the air around us seems so still as if the whole world is holding its breath, and it makes me feel as if maybe I should too, but I don’t. I can’t. I keep each inhale and exhale deep, steady, quiet and count to three before I set my arms in motion. I swing my forearms forward from the elbow, ensuring that my arms are just about straight above me and release the knives, making sure my wrists are straight. With the longer distance, this helps ensure that neither knife flips in the air too much.

Waiting feels like an eternity with the hunger that I know not only plagues me, but Carmen as well, and my breathing hitches as I hear the sound of the impact. I take several steps toward the direction in which the birds have fallen to the ground. I hear the high pitched squeals leave their bodies in their descent, and in my periphery I can see the faltered steps of the woman behind me. See the way her face crumples at the sound, and I know that even though she knows that we need this, it still affects her more than she wishes. Even as the two animals hit the ground, the impact solidifying their death, I can’t bring myself to feel remorse in the same way that she does. Not for an action born out of necessity.

I’m only a few feet away from the birds, beginning to reach forward, when my body is thrown to the ground by someone much heavier than me. Before I have time to react, their hands grab my head and pull me closer before slamming it into the ground, and for the first time since everything started, I release an anguished, distressed sound as black spots flitter across my vision. Everything is blurry, but I can still see a rush of movement behind the man. The movement of my petite friend, who has seemingly never wielded a weapon in her entire life, slamming my metal staff into his side.

Probably thinking I’ll be down for a while, he rolls off of my body and onto his feet, dodging her next couple swings before ripping the staff from her skinny and delicate hands. The shock is palpable on her face as she tries to step back but stumbles as he reaches for her and pulls her into his grasp. Her back to him and her gaze on mine. I’m trying hard to get to my feet, to help in any way that I can, but I’m so fucking dizzy, and the haze in my vision refuses to vanish, but I can still see enough. Enough to note the way Carmen has stopped using her hands to try and rip his arms away from her body and instead has quickly raised her knee and brought her foot down onto his.

Hard.

Hard enough to distract him and for her to slip free from his grip, though not enough to keep him off her for long. She doesn’t make it more than a few steps past me before he leaps for her, grabbing a hold of her ankle and bringing her to the ground as well. Her arms are outstretched in front of her as I watch her be dragged back. I don’t understand why she doesn’t fight back at first, so I reach for the man who holds her, trying to grab onto him. My efforts are fruitless; he just kicks my hand away and tightens his grip on her ankles, but he doesn’t look down at her. No. He misses the fact that her retreat was purely out of a need for a weapon. One that was lodged into a bird moments ago but is now clutched in her hands in a white knuckled death grip.

He doesn’t see it until it’s too late, too focused on my rising body and the axes I’ve picked back up despite my still slightly fuzzy vision. Doesn’t notice that she’s no longer pretending to fight him until her arm has already swung out and the dagger is burrowed deep into his side. The first stab shocks him enough to begin letting her go, but she digs her fingers into his arm with her free hand before pulling out the knife and repeating the movement. The second time the cold metal perforates his body, she lets him go as a sob wracks her throat. He tries to retreat, taking sloppy steps as blood pours from both wounds in his side but she grabs the collar of his shirt, and starts pulling him back, and when they’re practically next to each other, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him towards me.

With my body turned to the side and the hatchets raised high, I cut through the air slashing all the way from his right shoulder to his left hip, leaving two gaping wounds gushing bright red liquid while darker blood flows down to the ground. He drops to his knees, a tormented moan slipping past his lips as I squeeze my eyes shut and release one weapon before opening my eyes and cracking my neck. My steps towards him are taken at a menacingly slow pace, but once my feet straddle his tapered waist, I bend my knees, crouching above him and grab him by his hair, yanking his head back.

“How, in the actual fuck, do we get out of here?” I ask the man as each breath he takes comes quicker and more shallow than the last. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I dig the heel of the hatchet into one of the wounds in his back. A deep, shuddering scream leaves his throat. “I asked you a question, and I really don’t enjoy asking more than once,” I say. He just chuckles, weak and humorless.

“You don’t.”

Two words is all it takes for my bravado to falter. Only for a second, as that’s the only amount of pity and doubt I will allow myself right now. One second, and I’m digging the heel of the hatchet into his wound again. His head jerks as he tries to pull away from me and swears before falling into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Do what you want, I’m not lying,” he starts before a rattling cough takes over, shaking his whole body. It’s only when he stops and spits on the ground, saliva dripping from his bottom lip that our eyes meet and a lifeless smile overtakes his features. “None of you can make it out of here alive. Nobody ever survives the forest and even… if…y—,” his voice fades. Each word quieter and harder to push out, and I tighten my grip in his hair and tap his cheek a few times to keep him with us a little longer.

“Even if what? Finish your sentence,” I force out through gritted teeth. The way he looks at me says that he doesn’t have much longer. His lids are heavy and staying closed longer with every blink, but he continues regardless. “Even if you do—which you won’t, you would wish you didn’t. You’d remember who you are, what brought you here and realize that you lost everything. You’d have nothing to return to. So fight if you want. But you might find that acceptance is the easiest way out. Your fate is set in stone. No one—”

I cut him off by lodging the axe into the back of his skull, his blood spattering onto my face as I step on the back of his head for leverage and dislodge the blade before dropping it on the ground next to me. “I’ll accept death when she comes to take my hand and drag me to hell, but not a moment before,” I spit out, but as I go to step away, my knees buckle and it’s Carmen who takes my arm and drapes it over her shoulders to steady me before I fall. Studying her features, I see the sadness still carved into every facet of her being, but there’s also a strength there. Somewhere behind the shock and grief I know she must be feeling after killing someone for what very well may have been the first time. Or at least aiding in his demise.

She guides me down to the ground, and I press my forehead into the earth and my palms into my eyes. The throbbing in the back of my head hasn’t lessened in the slightest and I feel as if it may split in two at any moment. Carmen’s hand gently rubs reassuring circles into my back. Pressing my forehead into the soft, cool dirt for just a moment longer, I allow myself to feel and process the man’s words. Few as they may have been, they were also too much, and I almost wish that I would have ended him sooner.

I will not die today.

The mantra is small and short and so repetitive at times, but it’s a promise as much as it is a reminder. I am strong. I am smart. I will find a way. That’s all there is to it, and I cannot allow myself to die as long as I have Carmen to think of. “Do you think…” her voice is small and shaky as she trails off, and I brace my hands on either side of me before slowly pushing up until I’m almost eye to eye with her. She pulls her hand off my back and starts fidgeting her fingers, busying herself while she gathers her thoughts, I suppose.

I don’t speak as she tries to form the rest of her question, giving her a moment of peace to collect her thoughts. It’s the least I can give to her after she saved our lives. Not just hers, which she could have easily done, but she felt mine was worth saving too. “Do you think he was telling the truth? That we—” Her voice wavers, and she tightly clutches her hands together, squeezing her eyelids shut as if to keep tears at bay. Bringing my hands to hers, I gently cradle them in mine, waiting for her to look at me. When she does, I keep my facial expression neutral, not allowing her to see any uncertainty.

“I think that he knew he was going to die. A dead man will say anything—is willing to wreak havoc and destruction upon anything and everything because he’s weak and wants everyone to feel the same way.” I move to stand, guiding her up with me as I continue. “I know he’s lying.”

“And how do you know? How could you possibly know that with absolute certainty?” she whispers, her voice filled with disbelief. I don’t blame her for sounding unsure. Our survival rate seems minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. The thought alone casts a somber mood around us, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground and my shoulders squared back.

“I know that I already made a promise to myself. I don’t break promises.”

“What did you promise yourself?”

“That you live. No matter what, you live.”

Her breath hitches as she looks at me with something akin to shock. Neither of us speak for a long while after that. Not while we pick up all the discarded weapons. Not while we check the man for anything that can help, not finding much other than a small flask of what seems to be water and more holsters for different weapons. We don’t talk while we defeather the birds either. It isn’t until I’m preparing a small fire to roast the birds that she clears her throat, and I turn my gaze towards her.

“How do you do that? Start a fire, I mean?” The question is simple and I give her a small smile and nod her over to me.

“It’s pretty easy, actually. Normally, you would make a small pit into the Earth but the ground is wet, so instead you want to elevate it. I gathered more rocks and then set the twigs on top. This also will encourage air circulation, which is helpful as well.” She’s nodding her head, brows furrowed and chin tilted as she listens and watches my hands with rapt fascination. Seeing how the rocks create sparks as they slam against each other several times, creating more and more friction before a spark turns into a flame and the small flame turns into a small fire. A fire just big enough to cook our little meal.

Once the birds look as if they’ve been cooked all the way through, I snuff out the fire by throwing wet soil over the top and ridding it of its access to heat and oxygen. While I don’t think anyone would have been able to see the smoke caused from the small bundle of heat and light that had been in front of us, it’s not a risk we should take. “We should eat this while we walk,” I start as I look around us, ensuring that we aren’t leaving anything behind. “We’ve been sitting still long enough. I don’t believe there’s no way out, but I do believe in tempting fate. With how many times we’ve been hit today, I don’t want to risk tempting her any further.”

Carmen’s gaze is inquisitive but she falls into step next to me regardless. The two of us slowly eat while stalking steadily into the forest, our silent footfalls mystified by the oddity of our environment and circumstance. With every step my gut churns, not with hunger but with anticipation. In an unnerving suspicion that something is off, that we’re walking toward more questions than answers, and it isn’t until after we’ve eaten and taken the smallest of sips from the dead man’s flask that I understand why this foreboding feeling dug itself into my chest so thoroughly.

For in front of us lies death.

As far as the eye can see, an electrical current zips through the air. A fence-like enclosure stretches far up above the trees, wrapping around everything and trapping us like animals in a zoo.

No way out plays through my mind with every harsh beat of my heart. It repeats over and over again, and the pain in my neck and head returns, thrumming along with it. It’s impossible. There has to be a way out, I know it. But not this…this—

God, the closer I get, the straighter the hair on my body stands, the harsher the microshocks rushing against my skin feel. Not a light caress, but a fire lighting its way through all that I am, until I’m nothing but a promise that feels further and further away. We need to leave and we need to leave now, but—

“I can feel it in my veins…the electricity. It feels like it’s part of me. Almost as natural as a current in a river. Inevitable. Expected.” Flicking my gaze toward her, I see her waving her hand in front of the area, still quite a few feet away, but closer than I dare to stand. She almost looks as if she’s living in a dream, entranced by the magnitude of power being released at such close proximity. “I wonder if this is what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?”

“Living.” Her eyes look toward me, wide with a dream-like wonder as a small laugh escapes her.

I gently smile and say, “When we get out, maybe you can tell me.” I say as I reach toward her, not wishing to get any closer as each beat of my heart seemingly comes faster than the last. She hesitates before she reaches toward me, her finger a hair’s breadth away from my palm, and a small blue current of electricity darts out and zaps me. I yank my hand back, but she steps forward as if her feet have a mind of their own before dropping her hand back down to her side and steps to the side.

“But we need to actually get out to find out. Let’s go, Little Dreamer. I don’t want to be anywhere near this if we get attacked again.” A few steps is all she takes before she stops dead in her tracks again.

“Little Dreamer,” she says in a questioning and bewildered voice as our eyes lock. “That feels familiar.”

She’s not wrong. I’m not sure what compelled me to call her by that nickname, but something about it felt right—safe even regardless of the position we’re in. But I don’t think I could place a time that I’ve met her before yesterday, the memories of “before” still a fog that washes uncertainty over me. Pieces. I’ve gathered bits and pieces together, but nothing that would have me believing that she and I knew each other.

Now I’m not so sure anymore.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I ask as I consider her for a moment longer. Maybe we’ll remember soon, but we should keep going. Sundown is no more than a few hours away, and we need to find a safe space to lie low for the night. She nods and begins her trek through the forest again. Shivers run up the length of my spine as a chilling feeling of being watched sinks into me. I check our surroundings one more time, though there doesn’t seem to be anyone or anything around.

Including Carmen.