***
“How many Old Spirits are out there?” Savannah asked me as we jogged towards the perimeter of the village. “Can you tell?”
“Of course I can. There are very few of them. They were expecting this to be easy. They did not bring many of their people, but there are camps nearby. Camps guarded by ash circles, too.”
Someone's thoughts were very loud. This old man could not wait to return to those camps because he would be greeted by his very young wife. She thought of him as an extension of God's hand on Earth, and she would be more than willing to engage with him in the triumphant intercourse one can only have after victory.
“Bleh...” I murmured out loud, sticking my tongue out all the way and actually shivering. “And I thought I liked them old...”
“What?” Savannah asked, and I shook my head.
“Never mind. So, you are a sufficient markswomen, then?” I asked her as we ran. I had grabbed a large scalpel almost unconsciously on my way out of the infirmary. She was still carrying the shotgun she had found hidden beneath Dr. Miletus’s receptionist’s desk. When Savannah and I sprinted out in the eerily quiet, empty village, I looked back to see her pulling her very long, dark hair into a high ponytail. Something about that assured me that she was well aware of the need for violence, if the situation called for it. Not only was she aware of the necessity, she was ready to act on it.
“I’m sufficient. Yes.”
“And you will be able to keep your emotions in check? I know that these times are difficult, and I fully appreciate that to one who has spent most of her time on Pangaea in exile in a cave, this war and the battles that take place are frightening, but...”
“I was a psychiatrist, Brynna. Emotions are what I do, and keeping them in check is just an extension of that. Now, are we going to talk and argue and debate, or are we going to go?” She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows and blinked her dark rimmed eyes at me in what appeared to be slight amusement at my argumentative streak. The rock charcoal mascara and eyeliner that one of the Pangaean women had invented long ago had dripped down her face slightly, but it gave her the look of a warrior, not of a grieving widow. Not only was there fierceness in her eyes, but there was also an almost taunting understanding of why I was suddenly questioning her. It had only been several minutes since our emotionally revelatory moment, and already, I was trying to draw back and re-assemble what remained of that wall between us.
I murmured that I was sorry.
“What, honey?” She asked, and she really had not heard me.
“Apology.” I murmured quickly.
“Accepted.” She replied, mimicking the quickness with which I had spoken.
“Where did you learn to shoot?” I asked, just to diffuse the awkwardness.
“My husband and I used to go to the shooting range a lot.”
“Did you squeeze it in after your eighteen holes and before your sunset cocktails on the veranda of the country home? You are such a yuppie!”
She laughed half hysterically at that, her fangs glinting in the dying sunlight.
“Shut up. Smartass.”
“If I do not call it as I see it, Savannah, I would no longer be Brynna Olivier.”
“I know. We were yuppies.”
“That is alright. Obviously you know my mother and father were. My father actually wore his pastel-colored sweaters tied around his neck.”
She laughed even harder.
“Oh, I am going to use that as ammunition tonight when we see him. ‘Oh, hello, Daniel. Aren’t you chilly? Where is your sweater?’”
“He might be wearing one, for all we know. Violet told me that he was when she saw him.”
“Oh, Lord! Well, at least Ronnie never did that.”
“There are many subtle levels of yuppie-dom. Do you see anything yet?”
“No. No break yet.”
“We are going to have to speed this up. We only have thirty minutes, approximately, before the sun goes down.”
“Alright. I haven’t run really fast yet, anyway.”
“You have not experienced your ability to run at superhuman speed yet? God, why did you not tell me that? Let’s go.”
We took off, our eyes enhanced with our superhumanly sharp vision still able to see the circle perfectly as we sped past. Even with our amazing speed, it still took thirty minutes to run the complete perimeter. Sure enough, our break was just behind a cluster of homes where several of our people from Earth dwelt. Savannah checked the houses for any signs of those people, who more than likely were the perpetrators of this sneak attack, while I hurriedly ran into the forest and found the flare tree. I broke off three branches, careful not to touch them together because they would ignite in my hands. Because it was a custom of Pangaean people (and of me long before that, as I have always been such a diehard naturalistic pantheist) I hurriedly thanked the tree for its branches, even explaining that the contribution of part of its body would save our lives. Then, I ran back just as quickly as I had come and struck them together, letting them burn until they turned to ash. That ash did not blow away in the suddenly very alive wind; instead, it filled the space, merging the circle back together.
“Such a small break, such an easy fix…” I told Savannah when she returned, “…and yet such a huge disaster if we had failed.”
“Such a huge disaster already.” She corrected me as we stared off into the trees.
“True. But at least we have successfully stopped a further, far more tragic disaster. And look, we were just in time.”
The sun had dipped below the horizon far from us. The glowing blue of twilight was fading. When the darkness settled, and the moon was enshrouded in a tomb of clouds, the shrieks of the trebestia reached us, ear-splitting, hair-raising, soul-stealing. It was not one of merely defeat; in that sound, I heard the rage of an army thwarted when they had thought victory was certain, but I also heard a promise to return. The sound intoxicated me, appealing to the animal and the warrior inside of me. I almost wanted to walk forward, even though I was terrified of those hellish creatures…
“Come on.” Savannah broke from her own daze and pulled me back forcefully so I would stop looking into the darkness.
“They are calling us.” I said, “They don’t want this to be a complete loss.”
“I know. We beat them, Brynna. Now, all we have to do is beat the Old Spirits, but maybe if we’re lucky, the tree-people will beat them for us.”
“No. We have to meet them. They are close, but still a mile or so away. We have time to get everyone put safely back in their houses. Listen…”
We both strained our ears to hear. We were far from the village square, where all the carnage had unfolded. But if we switched our ears over, we could hear them all there; we could their roars, screeches, cries, and screams. Some were screams of pain. Others were screams cut off suddenly by a gurgle or gasps. Our people—Pangaean and Earthean, alike—were killing each other still. If we did not stop them, there would be none of us left.
“How will we stop them, Brynna?” She asked me softly. “They’re completely out of their minds. But…” Her eyes filled with hope. “We did just close the circle. Maybe they’ll be cured now!”
“No. It takes a long time for the venom to leave the body. We are going to have to improvise. Come on!”
All around us in the trees, the trebestia were screeching. She jumped, and I whipped backwards, hearing their thoughts spoken in their language, which was older and more intricate than even Adam’s. I could not help but fight the smile that formed on my face, not just at their thoughts of enraged disappointment but at the fact that I could understand them at all.
“Well, we have made more enemies, it seems. But it seems also that they might be working in our favor, though they do not know it. They can sense others in the woods, and those others are our first enemies.”
“The Old Spirits?”
“Who else, Savannah?”
“I know. So, the trebestia are going a
fter them now? They don’t stand a chance out there.”
“Well, they have God on their side, don’t they?” I said with an apathetic shrug, “I am sure their prayers in the face of death will lead to some divine intervention. Either that, or they will not. No matter. We have our own people to worry about.”
I hurried away, but she hovered back for a moment, staring into the trees. I knew that not by looking back at her, but by allowing myself a moment to peek into her mind. Her thoughts did not flood into my brain, but instead, I could see through her eyes, and I saw only that boundless darkness in the trees that were swaying in a bitter wind.
“There is no use worrying about them.” I said to her over my shoulder, “They would not show us any mercy if they came across us right now, so we should not worry ourselves over them. Rather, you should not worry yourself. I do not worry about them at all.”
“But if they have your mother, Brynna?” She asked, turning to me. Her tone was a little harsher than I would have expected. “Then you would care? If they really do have her, the trebestia are going to kill her, too, you know.”
“So, what do you suggest, then?” I asked, and her slight harshness was met by a full blast of my typical coldness. “Should we run out there, where they will surely be waiting for us? Should I allow myself to run headfirst into a dangerous situation on her behalf, even though I am completely unconvinced that she is even with them? Even though I am completely unconvinced that she is alive?”
“You’re not unconvinced!” She exclaimed, and I found myself wondering very strongly from where her inconveniently timed and very annoying emotional outburst was coming. I had grown used to the composed Savannah, whose ability to solve any problem, emotional or otherwise, was coupled with not only great calm but kindness. And that, as it turns out, was where we were losing our common footing in that moment. My focus was trained on my people and getting them out of harm’s way with enough time to spare to parlay with the Old Spirits out in the woods. I had not figured out how to do that without being attacked by the trebestia, but I was working on it meticulously, considering every pitfall and peril we could possibly encounter once we ventured over the circle. Her focus was all over the place, if her thoughts, which finally did flood my mind when I poked into hers, were to be believed; she was worried about her children, about our people, about our lives, all while feeling guilty about the man she had killed and most disturbingly, fretting over whether some of her friends who had remained with the Old Spirits were in the party coming towards us in the woods.
“Why would you care about them?” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
“What?” She asked, and for a moment, I thought I saw her fingers tighten around the gun, but after I blinked, I understood that my suspicious thoughts and the darkness led me to hallucinate the movement.
“If you want to go after those people, your friends…” I practically spat the word at her, “…then go. You clearly have your people. I have mine.”
“Brynna!” She leapt forward and grasped my wrist. “They’re not all bad.” Her hands were on my face, and her tone was desperate, beseeching, “They’re not. Some of them…”
“All of them stood by and allowed you to be exiled, Savannah!” My voice was rising, “All of them allowed Tyre and the Bachums to send you, your children, and your husband out onto the mountain, along with countless others. Most of those unfortunate people are probably dead now. Do you understand that?”
“Of course I do!” She exclaimed, and tears brimmed in her eyes. I looked away when they began to fall, feeling the sight of those tangible signs of her weakness, those stupid tears, burning into my memory. “How can you ask me that, Brynna?! Of course I know that what they did killed people! But I can’t completely disavow them! I can’t! My husband died up there. He died in my arms, in the middle of the night.” Her tears became evident in her voice, which rose and fell in quivering waves. I could not look at her. “He was so cold, because he had given Ellie his coat and Oliver his undershirt. I told him we would exchange, with the kids having some of my clothes for a little while and then some of his, but he wouldn’t even hear of it. So I thought to myself that once he fell asleep, I would take off my coat and wrap him in it. He was shivering so badly, and I was trying to rub his arms to warm him up, and I thought that I had warmed him a little bit, because he stopped breathing so heavily. So I covered him up, but then I saw that he wasn’t breathing at all. And I couldn’t even check his pulse. I just… I didn’t want to be the first to know. I couldn’t grieve for him and survive, and if I knew for sure, it would destroy me. I would be no good to my children, who needed me. I hate them for what they did, Brynna! But I know that they’re not all bad, and you know it, too! My husband is dead! Maura is dead! And it’s because of them! But we aren’t perfect, either. There are bad people among us…”
“Our worst is not as evil as the best of them…”
“So Don is not as bad as Rich Bachum? Or Paul?! What Don did to me isn’t the same thing as what they all did to Maura?!”
“Do not say her name!” I screamed at her, and I knew that it was not her saying Maura’s name that had elicited such a violent outburst from me, but the allusion to the terrible things that had been done to her.
“Brynna…”
“No!” I shouted, and my rage was rising dangerously. “You have your sob story? You have the loss of one of your loved ones as evidence of their cruelty? That is great for you, Savannah, but your continued sympathy for those people renders that little emotional tale of woe completely moot! I am well aware that they are not all bad! I have advocated for a long time our sparing of those who are not dedicated to their utterly insane cause! But those men out there in the woods, they are not in that category. Not even close! And you know that! I can see in your mind that you know that! So, why are you sympathizing with them, Savannah?! After that story you just told me, how can you possibly have any sympathy whatsoever for Tyre and Rich Bachum and those pathetic little men who follow him around and do his bidding?!”
She was silent, except for her rather sickeningly intense sobs.
“Your mind is hard to read, and I suppose that is why you are such a good therapist. I cannot get into your head without exerting strength that I need. But if I could, Savannah…” I almost smiled, “I do not think I would like what I found, would I?”
“Brynna…” She asked, her eyes meeting mine, “What are you talking about?”
“They put you here, didn’t they?”
Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, and her breaths hitched in her throat. Tears began to fall even more rapidly, but she was not sobbing outright anymore. Her mind bombarded mine with desperate proclamations of her innocence, and I knew that she was not lying. Before she had even spoken a word, I grasped her hand, and she was crying hard again.
“You know it’s not true.” She whispered to me, both of her hands clasped around mine now. “You know it’s not, Brynna. How can you say that? You know it’s not true.
“We will discuss this later.” I said brusquely, to avoid the apology. “I need you to pull it together now, Savannah. When all of this is over, you can cry for as long as is necessary for you. But until then, I need you to focus.”
She nodded and wiped at her eyes. We continued on to the village square in silence, her a few feet behind me, sniffling still but not crying anymore, and me walking ahead, feeling the adrenaline beginning to pulse through me with sonic strength. The adrenaline always led to racing thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts were utterly paranoid ones.
And my paranoid, racing mind could not help thinking how ironic it would be, after I had taken her in, argued for her place amongst us, and trusted her with some of my secrets, if she put a bullet in my back.