Forever Young

Chapter Ten. Escape.

Chapter Ten 

 Escape 

Despite the preponderance of Darsian literature on the shelves, the authorities had left the library in its original state and it became a popular place with the inmates. Walt, no reader, now feigned an interest in entomology and passed countless hours poring over Cornelius Hollinger's collection of exotic insects, and the accompanying texts. In reality, he was trying to find the best time to make his escape. 

Initially he thought an opportunity would arise during dreamtime, but much to his consternation he found a staff member always present during this recommended break. Even the dead of night proved futile. Under the alphega regime, most of the residents and staff had become nocturnal and the library was at its busiest in the wee small hours. It was only just before dawn, as energy levels waned, that the room emptied. The librarian, a rejuvenated Myrian male of middle age, remained.  

Millie would take care of him.

On the morning of his planned escape, the librarian, who had succumbed to Millie's seductive wiles, strayed to her room for a promised bout of carnality. Walt, carrying a backpack containing some of the supplementary food allowed on the alphega diet (fruit and vegetables), nervously entered the library. It was empty.

The lever that opened the secret door was a fake copy of a Hollinger Annual Report concealed amongst a myriad others. Walt tilted the book outwards causing a distinct rumbling as a wall panel slid to the side, revealing an opening to a dark, dank tunnel. 

Walt entered the tunnel, located a lever on the inside wall, and closed the panel. The interior was pitch black; so dark that even his alphega enhanced night vision proved inadequate. He resorted to a flashlight. A score of beady-eyed rats scampered away from the cone of light revealing a roughly hewn passage festooned with decades of unavoidable cobwebs. Walt hesitantly made his way along the rugged path, occasionally missing a step, and brushing against the slime covered walls. Walt had estimated the distance to the gazebo at about five hundred yards, but progress was slow and almost half an hour passed before he reached the iron rungs embedded in the wall at the end of the tunnel. 

These rungs formed a ladder leading up to an iron grill located in the gazebo floor. He could hear the murmur of voices. An enamoured couple, probably custodial staff, had chosen this very morning for a post exposure tryst. No matter. He had planned to lay low until dreamtime anyway.  

For almost three hours, Walt stood and occasionally sat under the grill, listening to the moaning and groaning of the apparently insatiable couple. Eventually the sounds of passion ceased and the couple left. All was quiet. Cautiously, Walt waited. Still no sound. He lifted the heavy iron grill and clambered up in to the now deserted gazebo.  

The wail of a siren signalled the start of dreamtime. Walt donned his old wilderness gear leaving no part of his body exposed to sunlight, and after waiting a good half hour, made a doubled over dash across an open field to the hoped for safety of the neighbouring forest. The alarm remained silent. 

The Hollinger home sat atop a plateau overlooking the Vagus River. Walt knew that if he continued downhill in an easterly direction he would eventually reach the riverbank. As he stumbled through the pine forest, he came upon a well-trodden path that seemed to be heading in the required direction. Furtively, Walt followed this path, remaining in the forest fringe at all times. Dreamtime ensured his safety, at least for a little while. 

The path led to a two storeyed log cabin situated on the edge of the forest. The building fronted on to a large sandy beach. Everything seemed to indicate that he had stumbled upon a recreational area. Croco courts covered the beach that shelved towards a roped off swimming area. A lone jetty protruded into the languid river. A large rectangular wooden platform lay directly in front of the cabin beneath a second floor balcony. The place seemed to be deserted. Walt, after a cautionary pause, decided to investigate. 

The only door on the ground floor was locked, but through the windows, Walt could discern that this was a storage area. Shelves, situated behind a counter covered with every conceivable piece of equipment required for outdoor survival, bore fishing and hunting equipment. Several canaks, small one-man boats ideal for river travel, lay scattered across the dirt floor in front of the counter. 

Just as night fell, Walt heard the laughter of a small group of Myrians approaching on floaters along the forest path. Hurriedly, he beat a retreat into the forest fringe, where he watched and listened. The intruders were from his home town of Timus, a family who had rented the facility for a weekend getaway. Most were obviously athletically inclined and took advantage of the darkness to participate in a frantic game of croco.  

A young couple, obviously anxious to be alone, emerged from the cabin, each carrying a canak above their head. They made their way along the jetty and launched in to the Vegas. Soon they were out of sight. When they returned, a couple of hours later, they found the party in full swing. The Myrians were living up to their reputation for revelry, dancing exuberantly to the sound of a solitary raucous fiddle. The youngsters rushed to join in, leaving the two canaks on the beach away from the water's edge. 

Once again, the predawn fatigue played to Walt's advantage. Carefully he wended his way past the wooden stage where lay several apparently comatose dancers. One was still awake. He saw Walt sidling by. He sat up. 

"Any ice cider left?" he slurred in Myrian. 

"I'll go get you some," replied Walt in the same tongue. 

Satisfied, the inebriated Myrian fell back in to the prone position. Walt headed to the water's edge, slid into one of the canaks, and started paddling downstream in the direction of Lake Nipogong. 

Walt's absence from the morning sensitizing session at the Hollinger, and a futile search of the estate, raised the alarm. A subsequent report of a canak missing from a nearby camp convinced the authorities that Walt had made his escape down the Vagus. State troopers, attired in silvered uniforms, that reflected the debilitating wavelengths of solar radiation, were deployed. The hunt was on. 

Paddling downstream, keeping close to the shore, Walt came to a narrowing of the river. The current was increasing. In the distance, he could hear the roar of white water. A campfire, surrounded by a platoon of troopers, blazed on the rocky shore. In the glow, Walt could see a mesh of some kind strewn from one bank to the other. He wondered if he could portage around the barrier unseen. He doubted it, with so many troops in the vicinity. 

In an attempt to forestall the hunt, Walt launched an upturned canak in to the current and then headed far from the riverbank to the security of the deep bush. There he remained in hiding for three days. When he returned to the river, he found the camp abandoned. His ruse had worked.  

Boatless, and discomfited by a futile attempt at log riding down the river, Walt resorted to walking along ancient hunting trails winding through the forest. It added many days to his journey, each day more agonizing than the preceding one, and when he reached the small Darsian settlement of Bardy on the shores of Lake Nipogong, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.  

Withdrawal was not a myth.  

Luckily, a laker was heading to Engelsbay.