DECEMBER JANE

December: Rustle

It's been a year since the blow now.

Every morning I wake up, planning in my head how I'm going to fill my day. I usually don't help Ann or Smiles, but sometimes I clean the place up. I'd complain about the lack of pay if they didn't give me food and housing free of charge.

The half of my body that got hit by the explosion was still severely charred and bruised. I still wear braces on my right knee and ankle. I'm still completely blind in my right eye, partially deaf in my right ear, and most importantly, my right hand was still totally fucked. It could move, but it was constantly jittering around, and it was too weak to hold everything over a pound. Instead of wrapping it up and moping or chopping it off, I spent about six months building a pulley-spring system of small metal rods. It was like an exoskeleton for my hand; it clamped onto my wrist and onto the bones of each finger. The joints of the exoskeleton bent at the knuckles, and the springs helped give resistance to my fingers, mostly to help grip strength or prevent my fingers from bending backward. The pulleys are pinned to my tendons-- yes, it hurts-- to allow more control in my joints. Ann thinks I'm a genius now or something. I just think it's using my now useless engineering degree decently.

The whole serial killing business was apparently popular around here, 'here' being somewhere in the middle of the north-western US; yet another state I barely believe the existence of, and the weird forest-murder stuff doesn't help that.

More often than Smiles seems to know, I sneak out of the old abandoned hospital to roam the woods every once in a while. Of course, I carry plenty of first aid gear on me to ensure I don't die, and I carry hand rifles that I holster to my industrial overalls (Ann stole the overalls for me. I think they're freaking awesome). The only article of clothing that survived with me was my old green jacket. It was canvas on the outside, army green, with a fuzzy lining and fur that lined the neck hole. When the zipper was entirely up, the front covered my mouth. It's pretty sick, plus it's comfy as hell and really warm. Some of it was stained with burns and old marks from the blow, but I personally think that gives it character.

My 'bedroom' at the moment is a spare emergency room. I woke up in my usual hospital bed, and I rolled over on my side. The side in question was my right, which still felt sore when I lay on it. It wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be, but God was it annoying.

I miraculously dragged myself out of the bed and towards my small dresser that sat against the opposite wall. Beaten and scuffed as hell, it was one Smiles and Ann found in a landfill somewhere nearby. I didn't have that many clothes, so its volume was perfect. I opened up my shirt drawer and yanked out an old gray sweater that had definitely been nibbled on the neckline by moths. With that, I grabbed a pair of wool socks, as well as some shorts to slip on under my overalls (because thunder thigh burn is actually hell).

I wore all of that and a canvas bag containing some first aid, my pencil case, and my workbook. The only thing I needed was my boots, which were at the entrance. Sneak out, grab those, and run. Easy.

I peeked out of the doorway and glanced in both directions. When all was clear, I padded quickly down the corridor with the silent aid of my socks. The way out from my room was down the main corridor, a sharp left, a flight of stairs, a right, and then I was finally there. It was void of noise as I made my way, which was good news, but no reason to end my caution. As expected, my boots were at the entrance of the hospital. There used to be broken glass everywhere from the used-to-be windows, but now that it's been cleaned up, it was safe to walk in socks. I jumped into my boots and yanked the laces into knots as quickly as I could. The second my boots were secured, I sprinted out of there.

The hospital was one of the many abandoned areas in this ghost town. I'm pretty sure nobody who resided here-- if there was anybody-- was a completely law-abiding human being. There was another small town roughly a forty-five-minute drive away, but I had no reason to visit. There were trailers and small homes that looked ancient, ravaged by weather and weeds until they caved in entirely. Some of them were missing halves of themselves, though when I say some, I mean most of them. I ran along the cracked pavement of the old highway, which broke off into a dirt road if you ran far enough in either direction. My feet thumped on the concrete, echoing against the empty abandoned ruins. I passed by the old fairground, which still had some old attractions that just sort of sat there. There was even an old Ferris wheel that looked busted. One person on that thing and it might as well collapse.

I probably ran half a mile from home before I slowed my pace to a jog. A full mile away and I finally let myself slow down a bit. The road by now had turned to dirt, and the old town was far behind me. The only destination ahead of me was miles of tall, lanky pines. Fog blanketed the area, darkened by the cloudy sky. I took in a deep breath, feeling the cool dew in my lungs. It was beautiful in these parts. Trees that had fallen were soon rotting and covered with a patchwork of moss and a variety of pretty mushrooms. My favorites were the inky caps, which had black droplets around the rim as if they were dipped in tar.

I dipped off of the road and walked aimlessly into the woods. Mud squelched under my boots while I hiked along. It would be some time, but I would eventually find the river, and I would follow that to my favorite writing spot. A perfectly placed boulder on the bank, large enough to hold a campsite, but I didn't use all of its space. I liked it being a bit roomy.

After the last mile or so, I made it to my spot. Boulders towered over the rumbling rocks below. Mist rose from the river in a sheet of white. The smell of soil and rain was strongest here. I smiled, sitting on the damp rock. "Hey," I said to no one in particular. The forest around me felt so sentient, like it was watching me. It was less lonely out here. I could talk away all of my thoughts and it would be there to listen. But even when I didn't need to, when I just needed to be silent, the woods were too.

I opened the flap on my bag and fished out my journal. Selecting a pen from the case I brought, I opened a page I was working on for some months now. Some sort of smoke bomb, I guess. I liked planning some 'great escape' even if the efforts to design one were totally fruitless. Besides, the occasional hikes were worth the imprisonment with these psychos, right?

My hand-- my, thankfully, dominant left-- started to scribble some thoughts on the side.

I continued the design blueprint for the rest of that page and the next. I added valves with liquid dispensers, and when I didn't like that, I tried gas ones. The gas would probably have to be potent as hell, but again, this was for fun. I wasn't actually going to make a poisonous smoke bomb.

A whisper, then a rustle, came from the bushes behind me.

I leapt up and whipped out both of my pistols. I made sure the safety was off, then scanned the area. No, I didn't shout 'who's there' because it seems to me that anyone with half a brain would know that absolutely nobody would answer that nonsense.

Nothing moved, aside from the tiny dances of the pine needles and other leaves from the song of the wind.

The woods were still sentient. I was never lonely out here. But now, something didn't feel right. I had the tendency to be paranoid, but I would rather be safe than sorry. I stuffed my journal and pens into my pack again. Standing up, I took one last look at the scene. Gorgeous river, an ethereal environment. I was lucky to be trapped here.

The wind gusted a little harder as I jogged back to the main road, leaving the mossy abode behind.