For the first time in years, an old familiar feeling comes back to grip me from within. I feel utterly like a ghost. Hollow, alone, and drifting from place to place in forlorn sadness. Part of me is dead, and I have no more motivations or desires. Time seems to almost disappear entirely. I have no idea how long ago I left the red house and began laying in bed. Maybe it's been hours, maybe it's been days.
'Not days. If it was days, Dad would be home by now.'
Dad... I should call him. Tell him I'm alive.
'No. we're leaving soon anyway. Better for him to never get his son back than to find out we're alive and lose us again.'
'It's not going to come to that. We'll convince Val still. We told her we'd be fine, but that was before the drug stuff. Tell her we're going to kill ourselves without her now. That will change her mind for sure.'
'We're not doing that, you selfish, rotten, piece of shit.'
'Better than your plan, you stubborn, pathetic dumbass.'
I curl into myself on the mattress and shut my eyes tight. I'm so tired, and I don't want to think. I just want the irrational thoughts screaming in my skull to shut the hell up, but they just endlessly rattle on, overwhelming every other process in my brain. All I need is to sleep. Just lose consciousness so it all stops working, if only for a few hours. It hasn't come yet, though, or maybe it has, and I just didn't realize. Maybe not even sleep is an escape anymore.
'It's not. If you want it to stop, you need to get off your ass and get out of here.'
Cradling myself, I think about it, and the more I do, the more sense it starts to make. Everyone close to me hates me now, and everyone else I care about is going to be ripped from me in a few weeks, anyway. There's nothing left for me here.
'Wes, that's not true, there's—'
There's nothing left for me here.
I know that it's at least been more than a full day, as the pain in my stomach tells me that I haven't eaten in a long while. I consider it, but the thought alone promises me that anything I choke down will most likely come back up. Better to just sit through the pain than to do more damage trying to fix it.
At some point, I get a message on my phone. My heart thrums anxiously as I raise the glowing screen, thinking it might be from Val, or Claire, or my dad, or any other myriad of people that I don't have the strength to hear from right now. It's only a message sent from the barrack's computer, however, telling me I should be ready to leave for the city tomorrow afternoon. Friday. It's already been three days. I wonder why they're sending me the message when I gave my spot up to Claireese, but I don't have the capacity to think too long on it, and I assume it's just some sort of automated thing the city sent our guards to forward to us.
As I swipe away the message, I see a plethora of other notifications that I never cleared since my time getting back to the compound. 28 missed calls. 10 from Claireese, 3 from the barracks system, and 15 from my father. I cringe when I see all the countless texts that go along with them.
Wes?
Wes where are you?
Wes you nneed to anser me right now out thisis serious
I hold the power button down before casting the device away from me in shame.
'We need to go. Dad will be home tomorrow morning—that's only a handful of hours away.'
'Go see Val. She HAS to feel guilty by now. We can convince her with that, just try again.'
'Would you give it up already? She doesn't care about us. Even if she came, it wouldn't be real.'
Before I know it, I'm standing and stuffing clothes into a backpack; as much as I can reasonably fit. It doesn't really matter which ones; they won't be important later, anyway. This is just for show if anyone investigates...
I throw open my door and am about to head downstairs and out of the house without a second thought when something stops me; something I hadn't noticed when I first got home. Leigh's door is ajar.
With a cautious push, I swing the barrier open and look into the space on the other side. The door resists a bit, but with a little more effort, I manage it open all the way, then quickly see why it was stuck. Across the floor, and all around the room, Leigh's clothes, books, and pencils are strewn about, tossed haphazardly like a tornado blew through. My stomach drops low at the sight of the carnage.
My feet crumple against torn sketchbook drawings as I step inside, my heart cracking with the wrinkles they make. I bend over with care and delicately scoop the drawings up into my arms like they're the most important thing in the world, then return them to their rightful place on her desk. For a moment, my numb apathy almost boils up into anger at the heinous act that's been committed. Anger toward the person who I know is responsible. But before my bitterness can make my demeanor too cold, I notice one of Leigh's books that's been left open on the desk. At the seam, I can see several pages have been torn out, but at the image displayed on the next page, the violence halts abruptly, almost like a shield immune to attack. A particular sketch stares up at me, seemingly responsible for the sudden change of heart from the perpetrator.
My dad, drawn almost as flawless as a photograph, looks somewhere off the page with a smile frozen to his lips. A genuine, joyful grin; one we never saw too often of the man. His pose is easy and relaxed as he sits, one arm resting on his lap while the other hangs care-free on a raised knee. His eyes are soft and almost as loving as his smile, and his handsome face looks at peace. The whole scene is almost the antithesis of how my dad is most of the time, and yet, no component feels out of place. It's all the best parts of the man on display at once, the way that a daughter who loves a flawed father would see him despite everything. As I gingerly lift the drawing to the window to see it better in the streetlight, I notice small, speckled waves on the canvas. Drops of water long dried. They blur the ink around the edges and make parts of the drawing murky and weak, but despite the damage, the message is clear.
Leigh loved my dad, even through all of his failings. The hard pill to swallow as I stare down at the portrait is that I do too.
My throat tightens, and I back up to Leigh's bed with a deep, shaky sigh. My hand finds its way to my pocket without me telling it too and withdraws my phone.
'Wait, what are you doing?'
I watch the startup screens as they flash by until the phone is back on, then open my contacts with a trembling thumb.
'Wes, this is a bad idea.'
I know it is. It's especially bad because I know that I'm still going to leave after this. I know I won't even wait until he gets home to do so. Still, I can't do this to him. I can't destroy my own father like this...
Before I can stop myself, I hit call.
It rings once, then twice, then a couple more times. Each electric rumble makes my leg tap faster and breathing feel more labored, and I start to panic. I hadn't even thought about what I was going to say. I almost think the call is going to go to voicemail, but halfway through the final ring, the dial abruptly stops, and the static of an ongoing call fills my ear.
Nothing is spoken for what feels like an eternity. On the other end, I can hear a deep, shallow breath.
"Hello?" I weakly croak.
"W-What... What is this? You... you're not my son—you can't be, he—"
"Dad—"
"Is this that creature somehow?" he says hyperventilating, "You already took one of mine and now you took the other?"
"Dad, it's me," I announce more sternly over his muttering, "I swear it's really me. The guards thought we were dead, but... I'm here. I right here."
The next time he speaks, it's after a long pause and with a broken voice, "Wes?"
"Yeah, Dad. I'm here."
I can hear him open his mouth to say something, but he immediately breaks down into sobs before he can get it out. I don't say anything to stop him. I just let the man grieve. After a few minutes, he finally composes himself enough to speak.
"Wes, I... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything."
"Dad..."
"I didn't mean to drive you away. I know that I'm a worthless father to you, and you never deserved any of it. I-I thought you left because of me. I thought you went to kill yourself again and it was my fault."
I shamefully dash my gaze to the floor even though no one is around to avert, "You're not worthless, Dad. I... I didn't mean that when I said it."
"I am, Wesly. I wish I wasn't, but I am. I was to all of you. Your mother—Leigh; all of you."
I try to think of something to respond with, but I'm fully frozen. I can't tell if it's because I'm still so disconnected, or if it's because I'm only here to hear his voice one last time. He continues his train of thought, however, sparing me from having to speak again.
"Wes, what happened to Leigh..." I hear him steady himself again as he dances on the edge of breaking down once more, "I should have never left you two during all of this. I should have been the father you needed."
"You did what you thought would help us, Dad..."
"No, I left because it was easier... easier than being in that house without your mom. And if I would have been stronger, your sister would still be here."
"Dad, I was there..." I say gently, "there was nothing you could have done to stop what happened that day..."
"There was nothing you could have done either, Wesly," He laments, "And I'm so sorry that I ever made you feel that way. I... I just couldn't forgive myself."
The pain in his voice is palpable, and my eyes well as I hear him breaking again. Suddenly, I feel something that I've never truly felt with my father. A connection. An understanding that underneath everything—behind his anger, and apathy, and doors shut tight, was just a sad, broken, terrified man. It changed nothing that he had done to us. It didn't excuse the years of abuse and mental scarring. It didn't just make those days of walking on eggshells for fear of setting him off go away. I'd always carry those with me, whether or not I wanted to. But it did help me to understand him better, and it helped me to know that through all the apologies over the years, through all of his long-winded speeches about wanting to change, and even through the words he spoke right now, he genuinely meant them. He just didn't know how to start.
That part was up to him, but there was something that I could do on my end. Something that I was okay doing.
"I do, Dad." I say, the old unfamiliar feeling of a single tear rolling down my cheek before I banish it with my hand, "I forgive you..."
I hear a breath release over the microphone, as if my father had been holding it his whole life. Neither of us speaks for a long while; we just sit and listen to the static over the airwaves in each others company. Finally, he softly speaks.
"They told me you went missing on one of those jobs of yours. They offered you a place in the city, huh?"
"Yeah." I tell him.
"Did they, um... Are they still offering you that?"
"Yeah..."
The static drones on, nursing the silence for us while we think. Dad already figures the situation out without me telling him, "So, when do you leave?"
'Wes, you don't have to do this...'
"I leave tomorrow morning..." I tell him, "I'm sorry; it was such short notice and I—"
"No, no, that's good." He says, that pain still haunting his voice, "I'm glad you'll be somewhere safe. And it's like you said before, Y'know... you aren't a kid anymore."
"Dad, during that fight, I... I wasn't myself."
"It's okay, Wes. You were right. About all of it."
I close my eyes and breathe deep, "You're not the reason I'm leaving," I reassure him, "I've been broken for a long time, Dad, I just... I need to get out of here. I need to be on my own."
"I understand." He tells me. There's a warm understanding to his voice as he speaks, and it seems like he's about to let the situation lie, but then he quietly adds, "I... I get home tomorrow, too. You could probably convince the guards to push your move date back a bit..."
He doesn't outright say it, but it's clear what he's implying. I consider it too. I'm so battered and bruised, and Dad's voice sounds like home. Like a kid, I just want to see my parent again. To have them hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. Dad doesn't even know that I'm lying about the city taking me; I can stay as long as I want to see him one last time. But I left that child behind years ago, and he's long gone. I know if I stay, I might change my mind about everything. And if I change my mind, it'll be like Claireese said: I'm just opening myself up to get hurt again. Dad will revert to how he always is. Val and Claire will still be gone. I'll still feel empty inside.
'Nothing lasts. This is the only way forward.'
"I'm... I'm sorry, Dad." I softly mutter.
He picks it up almost instantly as if nothing is wrong, but I can hear the hurt, "Oh, t-that's okay. I get it. You need to go." As if he just made himself aware of the gravity of the situation, I hear his voice break when he speaks again, "Wow... I guess this is it then, huh?"
I nod, wiping the wetness from my eyes before another tear breaks loose. Not now. I need to be strong right now. "I guess so..."
"Promise me you'll be safe, Wesly?"
"Are you going to be okay without me?"
"Yeah, don't worry about me," He chuckles, "I'll be happy just knowing you're safe. So can you promise me that?"
I look to the ceiling and purse my lips, trying to let gravity aid the battle against my bleary eyes, "Yeah, Dad. I promise. You promise too?"
"Yeah. I promise... I love you, Wes. I know I haven't always shown that to you, but... I've always loved you."
"I love you too, Dad..."
"Keep in touch with me, okay? Call me when you get to the city."
"Mhmm. W-Will do."
We sit with one another for just a moment longer, neither of us daring to end the conversation. Dad because he fears for me, and me because I know it's the last time I'll hear his voice. The last of my family...
"I'll talk to you later, okay, son?"
"Yeah. Goodnight, Dad..."
The call abruptly ends, and I stare down at my reflection in the dark glass.
'You're a piece of shit. I told you not to call.'
With shaky thumbs, I do my best to type out a convincing message to my father. It tells him that I've reached the city, and that I can't call because of how chaotic everything is. It says that they're going to issue me a new phone because of contaminants, and that I'm unsure if I'll be able to transfer my numbers. I end it all by saying that I love him. It's a piss-poor excuse, and barely believable to anyone who thinks about it for more than a half second, but it's better than nothing at all. I schedule the message to send tomorrow night, then turn my phone to silent before cramming it deep into my pack where I won't remember to check it.
'It's time to go.'
I take one last look around my sister's room before I go. I can almost see the phantoms of us as kids, playing on the floor with little figurines of animals. Laying there doing shadow puppets to make her smile. Talking to her about our escape from this awful place. Why did all of this have to happen, I wonder. Why did the world have to go to hell? Why couldn't we have grown up and gotten jobs and families and lives the way we were supposed to? Why did I have to let her die so young? I allow the ghosts dance around the room for a while before finally standing. I could sit and reminisce all I want, but it won't bring her back. At the end of the day, that's all they were: ghosts. A couple of dead kids, only, one was still walking.
"I'll see you soon, Leigh..." I tell her out loud.
Wrapping myself in my jacket and slinging my pack over my shoulder, I step for the front porch. I could always spend a few more hours wallowing in old memories, but frankly, I just want to go. I want to be done with all of this. With my hand on the knob, I turn it and swing the door open, only to be greeted by a surprising sight–a fist raised at face level, waiting for me. It recoils in surprise upon seeing me, and I clench my jaw at who I see standing there.
'No... Damn it! Why right now? Why now, of all times?'
"Oh! S-Sorry, I was just about to knock," Kaphila nervously chuckles.
I'm not strong enough. I know I'm not strong enough to hold my own with Arti. It's going to hurt too much, and I can't handle it. Immediately, I go into defense mode, closing myself off and resolving to bluff in whatever way I can.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, plainly.
"I-I was just coming to check on you—You haven't come back for a checkup in a few days, and I was worried..." She shrinks into herself, "Especially since you haven't come to say goodbye before you leave for the city..."
Seeing Kaphila outside of the med trailer is incredibly rare, really only reserved for compound meetings. She's always charismatic and cheerful in her office, so it always surprises me how out of her element she seems when she's away. Her white coat has been replaced by a thick parka that she hugs herself in, almost using like a safety blanket, and her eyes can't seem to hold still for more than a few moments before moving somewhere else. I wonder how much time she must have spent in hospitals and ERs to make her feel so at home there compared to outside. Then again, perhaps she was just nervous to be seeing me. I wasn't about to help with how I was about to act.
"Arti, it's almost 4 AM, what are you doing up still?"
She chuckles nervously, "Well, you know that my sleep schedule is absolutely awful. Besides, I couldn't sleep anyway; needed a walk. I was passing through and thought I'd stop to check on you?"
"You knew I'd be up, huh?"
"I had a hunch..."
"What does that mean?"
At my coldness, she suddenly shifts gears, catching me off guard at how her own warmth slips a bit, as if she's been acting too, and now she's giving it up, "Well, for starters, you're leaving for the city in a few hours. I figured you either wouldn't be able to sleep, or you'd be up all night getting ready."
"Oh, um, right."
She stares at me for a moment, her expression flickering a bit as she sees right through me, "Then there's always the fact that something is clearly wrong with you, and I know you shut down and overthink when that happens."
I wince in surprise. I had never really seen this side of Kaphila before. Not just her calculatedness, but that she knows me so well. Sure, it'd almost been two years since I met her, but I guess I had never realized how close we had become in that time. Regardless, I try to play it off, still holding on to my planned demeanor.
"I'm fine, Doc. Nothing is wrong with me."
Finally, she shows her hand, "Is that why you just lied to me twice about going to the city?"
My stomach drops. Kaphila crosses her arms and gives me a disappointed stare.
"Yeah. I know about that." She tells me, "Lisa mentioned you giving your spot to Claireese Mayflower."
Finding myself cornered, my defenses flare a bit, urging me to give a little resistance, "Not considering. I did give it to her."
"Then why do you have a backpack, and where were you going at this hour?"
"I'm just going to unload some resources from old runs at the red house, seeing as I won't need them anymore."
"I don't think that's the truth."
"Why do I have to tell you the truth? You're not my mom, Arti." I spit harshly. I want her to blow up on me. I want her to hate me and walk away, just like Claireese and Val. It's easier that way. Easier to leave when nobody cares you're gone. My venom has the opposite effect, however.
Kaphila begins to tear up.
"You were leaving, weren't you?" She says with a quiver, "You can just tell me, Wes..."
I don't respond, I just stare vacantly at her.
"Why wouldn't you at least say goodbye?"
"I... I didn't know how. I didn't want anyone to know."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't need any of you trying to stop me."
"Wes, we just almost lost you..." the doctor reminds me, "And you're going to leave again?"
I've had enough. This is exactly why I didn't want anyone to know, "You'll lose me eventually no matter what, Arti!" I shout in a whisper, eyeing Val's house carefully, hoping she doesn't hear the noise, "Why does nobody understand that? Stay; go—it all ends the same. We either transfer, or drift apart, or get torn to pieces, and I can't deal with that pain of losing anymore people that I care about. I need to get out of here on my own. I need to be alone so I don't lose anymore."
Dr. Kaphila stares at me with tear-stained cheeks and a trembling lip.
Fuck! Why? Why does everything have to be so damn painful? I just want it to stop. I just need it to end.
"What, Arti?" I snap, "Can you say something? Just—anything! Tell me how dumb that is! Tell me that I'm a moron and that I'm selfish and that you can't stand to be around me because I keep putting you through this stress!"
The woman shakes her head, "I'm not going to do that."
"Why not? I know that's how you feel. I know that every time Val and I went over that wall, you hated it, so the idea of me going on there on my own should make you livid."
She wipes her eyes, and puts on a defiant face, "It does. But I don't hate you for it. I'm not going to yell, or insult you, or tell you how much you hurt me, Wes. I'm not going to give you this crazy self-hatred that you need for validation. If you want to leave, fine. I'm not going to stop you. But I need you to know that I lov—"
"Arti." I warn.
"I love you, Wesly. And if you leave, you're going to have to live with that."
My frustration begins to boil over, and I grind my teeth to release some of the pressure. Finally, though, I break, and throw my head back, "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you going to make this more hard?"
"I'm not trying to, Wes, I'm just trying to show you—"
"So I stay. In another couple of weeks, I have to say goodbye again anyway, so why does it matter now?"
Kaphila keeps her stern look and responds plainly, "You know why this is different, Wes. I'm not going to play your games. Like I said, leave if you want, but you aren't going to get what you want from me."
My eyes lock onto hers and push back hard, but the pressure is no match under her scorching iris's. I have no other options, and she's not going to budge, so I guess this is just the pill I have to swallow.
"Fine." I tell her, "Then step aside."
I can see a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but she does a good just of hiding it. Crystal waters seep back into them, and she nods, "Okay. Then this is goodbye."
"U-Um, Yeah..." I say, softening far too late. "I suppose so..."
Arti grinds a fistful of salt into my wounds by stepping forward and taking me into her embrace. I try to resist the urge to return the gesture, but at the first sob, my arms are already around her. It's so hard to let go; nearly impossible.
'Why are we doing this? Is this really what you want?'
'It's the best outcome in the long run. If we stay, that pain remains forever once we lose them.'
'Just like Mom. Just like Leigh.'
It's a long minute before Arti pulls away. She stares at me, and I hate that I see no resentment in her eyes.
"I...I'm going to head for the city on my own, still." I lie, "I just needed Claire to get my slot. I'll be safe, Arti."
She nods and forces a smile, wiping her eyes one last time, "Mhmm. I'm sure you will be..." As if too painful to keep looking at me, she hastily whips around, "I have to go. Lyle might wake up and wonder where I've been." that sentence seems to have some pointedness to it, but I let it bounce off me for sanity's sake as she carries on, "Be safe out there, Wes. I hope this isn't our last goodbye."
I stand on the porch watching her go down the road until she's out of sight. She never bothers to look back. I know she'll likely immediately tell someone, or maybe she won't, but either way, it won't matter. I'll be gone in a few minutes, and none of this will be my problem anymore.
I make my way across the street to the red house, then head around back and into the garage. Taking one last look around the place, I sigh, focusing on Val's spot in front of the space heater. Before I can fall back into memories, I tear my gaze and turn to find what I'm looking for on the workbench. Val must have returned at some point and put our helmets back. I grab one, then stuff it on before heading back into the yard.
I'm halfway to the shed and staring up at my escape when something suddenly dawns on me I hadn't thought of until now. I can't get over the wall without Val... The height is too great alone, that's why I always needed to vault her, and for her to catch me. The irony of the situation isn't lost on me as I curse under my breath and look around for something to help. It doesn't take long for me to notice the trellis hanging on the side of the shed that I promptly tear free. The wood is rotted, but it'll make enough of a ladder to get me to the top.
I place the cheap wood against the shed before climbing up, then hauling the thing up after me. I place the legs of the trellis evenly over the peak of the roof for stability, then lean it against the fabricated wall. I'm just about to lay my boot on the first rung when I hear a voice call out behind me.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
I whip around with a jump to see a face that I didn't expect. Or, rather, the lack of a face that I didn't expect. The man in the hat stares up it me with his brim, his hands casually laid in his pockets. I hadn't even noticed his approach on the sound map. Quickly, my fear turns into anger.
"For crying out loud—how many people am I going to have to talk to tonight?"
The man ignores my question, but expands on his own, "I hear it's pretty dangerous out there. Especially alone. Although, I suppose you've already been, hmm, Wesly?"
I shake my head and shrug, fully at my limit, "What do you want? What are you even doing here?"
"I was out for a night walk. Don't sleep well, remember? I saw you come back here with that pack and was worried you might be up to something dangerous."
My time of pleasantries are over. My anger has seized me, and I don't care about trying to be nice anymore. None of it will matter soon anyway, "I'm sorry, but why do you even care? I don't even know you—I don't even know what you look like under that stupid hat. You've never even told me your name."
The man shrugs, "I don't need to know you to care, Wesly. People are a precious commodity these days. Losing even one is a tragedy."
"I'll be fine. Like you said, I know my way around out there."
"But how will everyone be here? If you leave them?"
That one strikes a nerve, "You don't know anything. Would you just go? Leave me alone."
"I'm not trying to judge you, Wesly; I'm just asking you to consider this more. Are you sure this is what you want?"
I'm not. The longer this night goes on, the less sure I'm becoming. Still, my rage urges me forward, and I just need this guy to screw off. I just. Want. To be. Alone.
"Yes." I say defiantly, "Now leave me be."
The man stares forward before stoically nodding, "Maybe reflect on things a little more. You can do it in here or out there; doesn't really matter. Either way, I'm sure you'll come to the same conclusion that it'd be better for you to stay."
"Thanks for the life advice. Now are you done?"
The man in the hat says nothing else. He just waves a dismissive goodbye and turns to leave. I scoff under my breath and vault the wall before he even reaches the side of the house. I know there's a strangeness to the interaction, but I'm too apathetic right now to care.
It's a little more effort to hop the wall without someone to pull me up, but I make it over regardless before starting down a nearby street. It's a strange feeling as I walk: for once, being outside the borders, I feel no urge to be vigilant. I'm not worried that something might see me or that there will be anything that I'll need to outrun. My mind is overwhelmed as is, and honestly, I've miraculously survived out here so many times that I'm almost convinced death is a luxury that's out of my reach.
Still, it's not going to deter me.
I stand at the peak of the hill that my neighborhood rests on and look out over the sea of black toward the starry buildings on the horizon. For a moment, I wonder what my life could be like there. I wonder if I go, if I'll be able to mend things with Claire. If we can be friends again, and I can learn to be happy. I could still call and text Val and my dad and Kaphila, and live a meager, but safe life among the last of humanity until the lights go out. The thought seems peaceful, but to my jaded mind, impossible.
I turn and start in the opposite direction.
Near the edge of the grid, I break into an untouched house and make my way to the garage, swiping the keys to the car on the way through the kitchen. I feel barely in control of my own body at this point, my functions on autopilot at the will of my emotions. I don't fight them. After all, they usually know what's best. Logic has wronged me too many times. It was logical to assume that my emotions were wrong about Val not caring about me, and that turned out to be true. It seemed logical to lie to Claireese to keep her from worry, and that only made things worse. It was logical to let go of Tyler when he was in that Slither's mouth to try and stab it instead, and now he was dead. All the things that seemed like the most rational option led to things being worse, so why would I do that anymore?
'None of that is true; that's just how YOU see it, Wes.'
'Tell that to the dozens of people we've hurt in our wake.'
I start the car up, pleased to see that it still has a decent amount of power after all this time, and then the console asks for my destination. I know the place I'm going won't be marked in any GPS database, so I switch the car into manual mode and grab hold of the wheel. Besides, I don't trust the car to drive itself through the apocalypse, and there's only one creature tonight that I want to see. I turn the headlights off to not draw any extra attention, then start the drive through the dark, visor guiding the way.
I had forgotten how fast cars were. Val and I had been so adrenaline fueled in our escape from Mason's that I didn't have time to appreciate just how much I'd taken them for granted. They were peaceful, too; something I hadn't remembered. It was probably a lot more relaxing given there was no other traffic to worry about on the road, but the muted rumble of the tires against asphalt and the long stretch of road ahead made it easy to zone out and not think for a while.
After I clear the grid's edge, I drive for around 10 more minutes before slowing as I approach my destination.
I don't even know if it will be here, but it's the only place I can think to look for it...
Like my last time through, the overgrown dirt road is remarkably hard to spot, but I drive slow as I look for the path, and once I find it, I hang a sudden turn down its rough terrain. A few moments later, I emerge from the branches and shrubs slapping the roof of the car and see the structure before me. The old, abandoned white church looms tall in the dark among the trees, it's steeple stretching like a hand toward the endless night sky. I put the vehicle in park, then turn it off before inhaling deep. Removing the helmet from my head, I set it on the dashboard; I'm not going to need it anymore...
Stepping out of the car, I notice something that's different from my first time through the area. With the shell on, I didn't notice it pulling up, but now that I'm standing in the field surrounding the church, it's almost completely dark. The massive field of sundance that once grew here before is almost entirely gone. The flowers lay withered and crumpled on the ground, their once radiant petals reduced as brown as the decomposing leaves they rest with. A few glowing roses and their buds still offer small flecks of light around the area, but mostly, I can barely even see the front door of the church.
I remove my pack from my shoulder, then grab my flashlight out before dropping the whole thing into the mud. I click it on, not needing to be unseen anymore. If anything saw me driving, it won't be long behind, and if the beast I'm looking for is still living here, it will already know that I am too.
I take a few steps toward the church. They feel weightless as I move, and the silence in my head tells me that this must be the right thing to do. The first time was wrong, I know that now. This time is wrong too, but it's at least reasonable. At least I genuinely had a reason this time.
Didn't I?
About thirty feet from the door, I hear a scuff of the floorboard inside. I take a deep breath in and prepare myself, unsure if I'm ready or not.
'Leigh hadn't been ready.'
I swallow the thought down like a pill and keep my eyes on the door. I expect the visage of my sister to appear, or of my mother, but in the dim glow of a few golden roses by the door, I see a form that I don't expect. Valentine's figure is highlighted against the dark, a small glint in her eyes trained on me from the dark.
"Wes?" she asks, "I thought you'd be heading for the city—what are you doing out there? It's not safe outside; come in here before something sees you."
I wouldn't mind if the image of her stayed to keep me company, but the sight is too painful, and I know it's not real, so I shake my head. "You don't have to do that." I tell the Mocker, "I'm not going to run."
The form of Val seems to freeze in place, almost like a sculpture, before her skin flakes away into those thin ripples off flesh. They all pull into one another before the tail slithers back into the dark, and the haunting visage of the creature's true form sticks its head out.
It's clear, crystalline eyes catch the light of the sundance much better than Val's had, and I see the woman's sad figure looking me up and down with confusion, as if it's never had this happen before. Cautiously, it steps a long, pale leg through the door. Its tears trickle down its face and fall to the steps below, creating even more tiny holes in the already peppered wood. I watch as it eases closer and try to keep my body from trembling. It was hard enough to do this the first time; I thought it would be easier if I didn't have to do it on my own. It doesn't make the fear go away, though...
When the mocker reaches the bottom of the steps, it seems to turn its head for a moment to focus on the patch of sundance that's sprouted nearby. It looks its head at me, almost checking to see if I'm still there or considering leaving, and then, when it sees I'm still waiting, something strange happens.
The mocker takes a small shamble over to the flowers, bends over slightly, then hovers its face above the roses. Its long, graceful tail sways delicately behind it as it stares down at the flora, and then, in the light from below, I see a couple of sparkling tears fall from its cheeks. They drip down to the flowers, striking the petals as gently as a drop of rain, and then...
The sundance... dies.
As if the glow that was imbued in the leaves was nothing more than a coat of paint, I watch the water hit it, and a glowing orange smoke puffs out from the rose, drifting up into the air before disappearing into the void. As soon as all the color has left it, the flower shrivels slowly, turning into nothing more than a dead plant. The Mocker, content with her work, turns to face me once more.
I stare back at its diamond eyes, trying to decide what to think of what I just saw. Was this what the Mocker did all day out here in the dark? Just roam around and look for sundance to kill? Is that why it showed up at our compound sometimes? To get the flowers growing inside? Or was it drawn because of the people using it? Either way, I struggled to understand why. Most creatures out here were content to brutally consume people, or spread their horrible fates to unsuspecting survivors, but come to think of it, the mocker didn't do that. Sure, it lured people into its clutches, but it would only hold on to them for a moment before letting them go. It wasn't like it took anything from them, and based on the vision I had of its tears touching my body while saving Claireese, it's crying didn't seem to hurt when it came into contact.
Was... it even malicious?
I think back to that same day when I got its attention, and it started toward me. It was almost trying to stop its mimicking of Leigh as it got close, like it knew it was upsetting me. Then it held its hand out to me and was begging...
"Please..." the Mocker mutters, reading my mind. I snap out of my trance and focus back on the thing. It's started toward me again, doing the exact thing I was just thinking about. Hand outstretched and begging. "P-Please..."
I start for it, almost drawn in by its mystery, but my brain resists for a moment, the small instant giving me a fleeting purpose.
'Wes, this is valuable information we just got. We need to get back to the compound and let someone know!'
I consider it for a moment, knowing that my window for escape is closing quickly. Once I think about all the finer details, however, I change my mind. I would have to face Arti again when I went to the barracks. I would have to tell Val. I would have to say goodbye to everyone for real this time, and I wouldn't be able to leave my father a second time.
'That's not our job anymore. Who cares about this mystery? Can we just get this over with. I'm so tired...'
I am too.
I step forward again, crossing to meet the Mocker. It almost seems nervous as I approach, still confused why I'm not running from it.
"I'm coming, Leigh..." I mutter under my breath as I stand before the beast. The creature that's haunted my nightmares for so long. It looms over me, its form having almost a whole foot over myself, and stares down with arm still extended. With one last second thought, I hesitate, then take it.
The Mocker lets out a small noise of surprise before its cold, coarse hand closes around mine. A jolt of fear shivers through me as I realize what I've just done, but I close my eyes and try to calm myself. This will all be over soon.
It's not frantic as it pulls me in like it was with Leigh. It knows that I'm not trying to slip from it. Instead, it inches closer, gently sobbing as I listen to its tears patter across the ground. I brace myself for the strange feelings of holes that are about to appear in my skin, but when the first tear hits me, something happens that I don't expect.
The tear is warm, contrasted to the creature's skin. I think for a moment that maybe it's just blood flowing from a freshly formed wound, but the thought is quickly cut off by the shocking flow of emotion that suddenly overtakes me.
Pure, utter despair and overwhelming grief flood into me, knocking the numbness of my brain and replacing it with a strange stream of voices. I gasp out a deep breath to try to cope with the feeling, but it's relentless, and there's clearly no shelter from it. Instead, I change tactics and try to flow along with the thoughts invading my consciousness, which aids slightly, but ultimately leaves me confused.
The voices in my head aren't really voices, but they still speak. They tell of me of loss and pain and suffering, but their language is that of memories. Memories that feel like mine, but I know come from somewhere else. One moment, I'm a woman whose son was mangled in a car accident, and I can feel the agony at the last sight she saw of him in the hospital. The next, I am the son, feeling the last moments of his consciousness as he lay among the burning wreckage. Suddenly, I'm a man in war shot through his stomach several times, and I can the pain that he felt bleeding out for hours. The fear of knowing nobody was going to save him... I'm both a mother and a father, staying up every night sick, wondering where their missing daughter is. If I follow the thread, I can feel the sorrow and hopelessness that daughter feels at the hands of the man who took her...
It's as if all the world's grief and anguish is lying upon my shoulders all at once as the Mocker sobs into me. But despite the sheer overwhelming power of it all, somehow, I'm not afraid. The sights are vile and horrific and make me want to weep along with the being holding me, but all I can do is feel pity. The word isn't enough, but it's all I can think to describe it. I feel so much sorrow for the beast, as if it's a manifestation of every life I'm seeing, and by holding her, I'm offering some sort of meaningless comfort. It continues to cry, and between the bursts of memories, I notice a concern that had completely fallen to the back burner.
Its tears aren't burning my flesh and clothes away like it would to anything else. Somehow, they just fall on me and slowly grow cold with the surrounding air.
The Mocker's visions continue to flow through me, and I just let them, almost using the grief as a conduit to vent my own pain. They're not all so grim and horrible, some are simple, but raw. A happy couple for years, slowly losing their passion until their love fades away. A man at a doctor's office finding out that he's terminally ill. There's a person who's lost their job, another who's hopelessly lonely and just wants love, a parent in a retirement home who's kids never call—all the thoughts flow through me for hours, the Mocker and I collapsing to the ground at one point and holding each other there. I feel thousands of them at once and yet have time to live every minor detail in an instant. Part of me wonders if anything in the woods might find us in the vulnerable state and come in for the kill, but the thought feels unimportant in the face of the sadness of humanity. Has this been this creature's whole existence? Carrying all of this weight around this whole time? The thought only serves to reinforce a question that I hadn't thought about since the beginning of the Vanishing: Where did these creatures come from?
Eventually, the memories morph into ones more familiar. People waking up to find their loved ones missing, and the sun gone. Families literally torn apart by horrible beasts and monsters that broke into their homes and over their walls. Men and women waiting around in their homes, alone and fearing that every day might be their last.
I don't even know how much time has passed when the mockers grip finally loosens, and the memories fade more and more. My hand holds its pale, fleshed back, and suddenly, the coarse skin becomes brittle in my grasp. I gently slide my hand, curious as to what I'm feeling, and as I do, the epidermis seems to flake away. I lift my head from its shoulder to look behind it, only to find that its whole form has begun to do the same, its skin cracking and fluttering away like moths. It dances away in the night breeze, and the mocker pulls back, still holding me, then looks me in the eye.
"T-Thank... you..." It whispers, its crystals focused intently on me.
In a matter of minutes, the beast's body has fanned out into an incomprehensible mass of blankets flowing in the wind that break off and drift away. Eventually, her face does the same, but its eyes remain focused on me the whole time and still steadily leaking tears. Tears that no longer leave holes in the dirt. Once the skin is gone, though, and there's nothing left to support them, the perfectly clear orbs tumble to the ground, clattering into the leaves and leaving me in awe. I slowly reach out and pick them up, then stare down at them.
What... the hell... just happened?
My brain works at it, but I'm utterly stunned. I hadn't been ready for any of that, which only made it harder to think. What was the purpose? Was I cursed now or something? Was the Mocker dead? The eyes in my hand tell me it is, but it all seemed so sudden. So easy to take down the unkillable beast that had haunted my life for the last few years. If that's all someone had to do, then why didn't that happen with Leigh, or Lyle, or anyone else who had fallen victim to the Mocker?
I have no idea. And frankly, I don't feel like I'm going to know any time soon. One thing is certain that I do know, however, as the lingering traces of humanity's suffering fade from my mind. Faced with all that, I think needed to bear with my own pain a little longer...
With shaky legs, I force myself to stand, slip the strange crystal balls into my coat pocket, then turn for the car in complete shock. I'm numb again, but for a different reason now as I try to collect my thoughts. I resolve to figure it all out later once I get back to safety, but when I look up to the vehicle as I approach, I jump at a shadowy figure sitting in the passenger side seat, dimly highlighted by nearby sundance. I whip out my knife in surprise, but then relax my stance, and can't resist chuckling to myself upon realizing—No one is there, only my helmet still resting on the dashboard. From the angle I was standing, it looked like a horned creature had crawled inside and was peering above the dash, waiting to ambush me when I got back in. I continue my soft laughter as I climb back in the car, amused that I was so easily scared after just hugging a literal monster for several hours, but then, my amusement fades as I stare at the helmet and connect a thought in my brain.
The helmets; the way the antenna jutted up from either side—It really did look like horns. In the dark, it even looked like a shadowy figure with horns... I sit in the driver's seat, my breathing at minimum as I try to recall where I had heard that description from, but then, all at once, my blood runs cold.
Something Tyler had told me long ago when we first met him. When he was telling us about the creatures that attacked his compound.
'A person in the group said they had caught a glimpse of one of them. They said they were shadowy figures with no face and horns'
I stare down at the helmet that I'm now holding in my hands, the smooth visor staring back at me. A thick lump forms in my throat. The shell of the model I had was gray, but I had seen another kind. A black model, whose visor blended with its casing and whose 'horns' were much, much longer. A model of suit that Mason and his men had.
'All of the sudden, the power just cut out. I thought a fuse had just blown or something until I looked outside and saw it was dark out there too.' Morgan had told me that same night. The whole grid had gone down... I remember wondering what kind of creature could do that. What monster could take down an entire power grid in an instant?
'He never got to do one of those before, either,' Lyle had told me oh so innocently, 'He told me his transfer never happened.'
The start button of the car almost breaks with how hard I pound my fist into it. I crank the car into reverse once the helmet is back on my head, then floor it backward down the old dirt road. Once I hit asphalt again, I gun it, not caring what sees me. The whole situation could just be circumstantial, and I maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there, but several other smoking guns quickly jump to the forefront.
Not everyone was killed at Fairway. Allegedly, some are still missing... Whatever killed those people murdered them. None of their bodies were eaten, from what we could tell. No part of them taken or anything like that. They were just sliced to ribbons and gouged to death.
There was no creature that Val or I knew of that fit that description. Not except for the humans that were collecting people, and their few members that had an affinity for violence. Mason had told me not everyone was fit for their harvest. That those unfit had to be culled...
As I weave through the dark, there's still this unshakable feeling in my gut that I'm missing something very detrimental. It's like my subconscious is screaming at me to put it all together; to find that one last piece to justify my panic. As my mind races as fast as the car, the loose threads began to stitch themselves together.
Dillion had been at Morgan's compound, but he had mentioned that his group sent him away because he had a garrote on his tail. We found him a week after the compound fell, though, so who was the group that had sent him away? It seems so obvious in retrospect that the man roaming outside the wall and addicted to sundance was some sort of spy, sent to watch the compound and pave the way for the rest of his cult to come in for the kill. He even had the sense to smoke instead of eating it in front of Val and I to not make us suspicious. The withdrawals had been clear on his body too, even if he had been running non-stop for days. He was fidgety and jittery, and he talked with that stutter before he finally got some in his system—
Like a bolt of lightning it hits me all at once.
Dillon was a spy sent in a few weeks before a transfer. He had an overly cheery demeanor and talked with a stutter while not taking sundance.
Dr. Lamb, a person who was sent to our compound a few weeks before the transfer, also had an overly cheery demeanor and talked with a stutter...
A person who was sent by the city.
'We have no need of anyone from the city.' Mason told us at the mall, 'Our operations lie elsewhere... I believe that honesty is important.'
He didn't not need people from the city because it was too risky to take them. He didn't need people because he already has his men within their ranks...
They clearly didn't have everybody. There was a reason they were keeping so quiet about what they were doing. That meant if the right people in Portland found out, there must be enough of them to pose a threat to the sundance cult. Still, that didn't mean they couldn't slip their own people in just like they had with our compound. Keep them hidden, but still pull some strings without being noticed. I wondered how many stupid or dangerous decisions had been made by the city that had been pioneered by Masons group to aid in their twisted goals. All just so they could harvest more innocent people...
Dr. Lamb had seemed especially upset when I told her I was giving up my spot in the city, and I had thought that was strange, especially now if they planned to harvest our compound. But much like Kaphila, maybe she suspected I was planning something rash. Something like leaving. That's when one last memory lashes out to strike me. Something that Eight had told me.
'They said by Friday when the next supply run comes, they'll take you back in the truck. In the meantime, they want you to stay put and rest; just chill.'
'They want you to stay put.'
'They. Want. You.'
Today was Friday. Today was the day I was supposed to leave. The day I was going to be taken. What was going to happen if I wasn't there?
I put the pedal to the floor, nearly spinning off the road as I reach for my pack and dig a hand in for my phone. I don't care how reckless I'm being. I need to get back to my compound and warn the others. I need to get back before it's too late.