The Trial

Chapter 12 - Edited

Miles of driving through the woods tells me he must've been parked somewhere close to where she left me. The noise makes conversation of any kind impossible, which is a good thing; considering what I want to call the idiot driving. He's incapable of missing anything on the road and I've grown tired of bumping my head. My hand remains in place on my head to help cushion the blows as I stare at the driver, who remains oblivious to everything. His blue eyes have taken on a glazed appearance as his knuckles show no sign of white in them at all.

The horrid stench keeps getting stronger and I've no idea how the driver can be so oblivious to something that smells worse than death. I don't believe anyone can simply get used to this and no sane person should be willing to move any closer than we already are. He must be using his own unpleasant odors to mask the smell, but I don't think I've ever come across anyone that smells bad enough to accomplish the task.

I'm ready to jump out of a vehicle for the second time today and place my free hand on the rattling handle. A wall appears through the grime in the window and whatever lies beyond must be the source of the horror. My heart pounds heavy in my chest and my knuckles whiten from the grip, since he's going to kill me and I've run out of time.

This is the place where some of the unfortunate souls end up when they disappear. I try to bring on the mist to end this moment. I don't want to relive any of this madness.

Why do you continue to hide yourself? I know you can hear me. Bring the mist and let's move on to the next miserable point.

The driver gets out without saying a word and follow his lead against my will. Once I'm free of the vehicle, I can see everything clearly and the stench almost causes me to vomit. There are far too many notes to narrow down any one thing, and I need to get back in the truck. Steal it and return to the city to hide, since the smells there are far preferable to this horror.

On the grime coated wall, I can see someone in gray and there's no sign of a robe. He's clearly a guard of some kind, at least I think it's a he, but have no idea what's being guarded beyond the walls. The stench alone would keep anyone away from this place and there should be no need to guard the cesspool that must be on the other side.

The lone guard isn't paying any attention to either of us or anything on this side of the wall. A hateful gaze lingers on whatever's on the other side and I don't want to know what it is. I'm doing my best to hold my ground, but I've never faced anything quite like this.

It's not as bad inside. If memory serves me right, it's bearable, but not by much. You'll find ways to cover the stench, but it's going to be with you longer than your stay.

His hand presses hard against my shoulders and his voice sounds raw from lack of use. "This is camp nine seven two and I'm state driver forty-seven. That's as close to an introduction as it gets."