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Authors: Maya Shepherd

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BOOK: Promise: The Scarred Girl
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Traveling alone through the paths and distances on the map, it seems impossible to Nea to say exactly how many days or week she will be on the road until she reaches Dementia and eventually Promise. She will only recognize Dementia by the red robes the Carris wear. Until then, even if she treats herself to a little rest, she must always be on guard, because this forest is a no man’s land and you never know who or what could be a threat. Once she finds herself in Dementia, she knows the Carris will take her as a prisoner as soon as she is discovered without a habit. Yet, even here in the woods, there are dangers. It could be wild animals or even other travelers trying to steal her property. She could accidentally find herself in a hunter’s trap or randomly meet up with one of the lunatics who do not threaten or kill because they are hungry or want to steal, but simply want to see someone suffer, because to them the hurt and pain of others has become their lifeblood. Nea cannot blame them; they are just as much a victim of the new world as everyone else. But nevertheless, in such cases of life and death, the person who draws their weapon first and stabs or strikes saves his own life and lives another day.

For some time, Nea heard the constant noise of a body of water and followed it. It gets louder and louder and soon she sees a narrow creek that winds through the forest. Since there are no cars, airplanes, or other equipment that could produce noise, the murmur of a river, or even the song of a lark can be heard for miles. This is another of the many points some people say is something positive the outbreak of the disease has caused.

The creek is not very deep, but deep enough to serve as a habitat for various types of fish. Nea does not have much time to catch a fish or fry it up and set up camp for the night. She does not hesitate; she takes her shoes off and her two pairs of stockings and slowly climbs into the icy water. In the beginning, she would twitch and shiver as she entered cold water, but now she barely flinches. The hunger drives her too much. It would be a lot easier to lure a rabbit or a weasel in a trap than to catch a fish. For this you need patience. Slowly and cautiously, Nea moves in the water. She stands still and does not make any jerky movements. She remains as calm as possible in cold water and adapts to the environment until she is a part of it and has fish swimming around her legs. Then she leans forward and approaches a stationary fish from behind. Her hands go over and under the fish. She moves her hands to the middle part of the fish and gently touches it. The fish remains calm and does not swim away. It does not recognize the approaching danger. When her hands reach the gills of the fish, she does not hesitate. She grabs. It is medium in size and wriggling in her hand, fighting for its life. She could hold it and watch its life slowly extinguish from its eyes until it lies limp in her hands. But Nea kills the fish, not out of cruelty or simply because she can, but to survive. She hits the fish’s head on a hard stone so as not to let it suffer any longer. Nea never kills for fun, not even a fish.

Now she uses a flint. These are a great advantage if the wood is damp in the forest. Nea stacks a few dry leaves and sticks on top of each other and then strikes the two flints together a few times so that a spark flies into her small stack of kindling. A gentle puff of breath is enough to turn the spark into a small fire. She takes the fish out and impales it onto a stick and hangs it above the fire. In the meantime, she fastens a trap in the bush of a tree near her small camp. If she is lucky, a small animal will be caught in it during the night, which she can then fry in the morning and take with her. The fish smells delicious, even without spices. Nea just hopes this smell will not attract any strangers because she is not willing to share, neither her fish, her time, nor anything else. She quickly pulls the fish out of the fire and extinguishes it, leaving only the soft glow of a few dimming embers. It is just bright enough to find the burned areas on the fish and pull them off with the all-purpose knife. The fish is still hot, but the meat is tender. It fills Nea’s stomach with a soothing warmth. It is a moment of calm that is rarely granted in this world. When she has finished the small meal, she throws the remains of the fish back into the creek in order to avoid attracting predators. She walks to the tree, at whose foot she has set her trap, brings her rope from the bag, and throws it over one of the lower branches and pulls it taut to test if it will support her weight. Convinced it will support her, she climbs up to it. Once again, she throws the rope to a branch a little higher up the tree. Then she climbs up to that branch, and again throws the rope a little higher up the tree to a branch she believes will support her. Again convinced it will, she climbs to it. When she is safe on this broad branch, she puts her backpack deep into her sleeping bag. She places her knife in a loop on the waistband of her pants. She gently climbs into the sleeping bag and once inside, she binds it tightly to the tree branch with the rope. When Miro first proposed to sleep in this way after the death of her parents, she had shaken her head in disbelief...

“I’m going to fall from the tree,” Nea exclaimed while laughing while she peered up the tall apple tree.

“What are you more afraid of? Falling over or falling from the tree?” Miro asked in a serious voice.

Without hesitation, he threw the end of the rope through the thickest branch and pulled it tight.

So gallantly, like a cat, he climbed the tree and grinned down on Nea from the top. “C’mon coward, I’ll help you.”

With a sigh, Nea gave in and pulled on the rope and climbed up the tree, but she was neither as fast nor as elegant as Miro. She felt more like a wet sack of potatoes. In the last few feet, Miro came to her aide. With a firm handshake, he pulled her next to him on the branch. While Miro acted as though the height did not bother him, as though he had lived his entire life in a tree, Nea had trouble just keeping her balance. Just one look to the ground was enough to make her balance become unsteadied. Desperately, she clung to Miro’s arm.

“I cannot even stand, how can you expect me to sleep here?”

“I do not expect you to, it’s your decision.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he spread the sleeping bag on the branch.

“Also, we only have one sleeping bag,” Nea pressed on.

“Since when does that bother you? On the ground you would come and sleep in my bed with me every night.” Miro teased. Even if she only saw his back, she could see his cheeky grin. Angrily she gave him a gentle push. Miro stumbled stronger than she would have expected. She seemed so sure that he would have thought something like that might happen. Suddenly he could no longer hold his balance and fell from the tree. At the last second, he managed to grab onto the branch and clung to it dearly.

“Miro, Miro, I did not expect to,” Nea screamed. She rushed to his side and helpfully held out her hands to him. “Come, I’ll help you.”

“Never do that again,“ complained Miro once he was back on the branch.

Almost from the moment he was safe again, his impish grin returned and mimicked Nea’s voice, “Miro, may I please sleep with you? I had a nightmare.”

Nea refrained from hitting him again, instead she pressed her lips together, pouting. “You’re quite right; I’ve just had a nightmare.”

“Yes, and every night you steal half of my bed. I pray every night to have my own bed for myself one night.”

At his smile, she realized that his words were in jest and were not serious.

“Admit it, without me, you’d be hopelessly lost. Without me, you could not even sleep.”

“Not at all, I admit. Without you, I would not have to listen to your conceited talk. Without you, I’d finally have peace and quiet.”

Now she has her peace and quiet. But what would she give to once more hear Miro’s arrogant voice? Furious, she shakes her head to dispel the thoughts of him. A view through the canopy in the clear starry sky is sufficient to allow herself to drift off and sink into a dreamless sleep.

Dreams often rob one of strength, since you seldom dream of beautiful things. Mostly you’re in a dream world that is not entirely dissimilar to the normal world. The only difference is a permanent fog bank lays over everything and makes the world seem crueler than it already is. In the morning, you wake, drenched in sweat, the fears of the night come through in the day. They hang like clouds on your concentration, which has become essential for survival in this world. You have to listen to every little crack of a twig and pay attention to every shadow, because there could be an ambush hidden in those shadows.

Two

A
small whimper and whine wakes Nea from her sleep. Dazed, she opens her eyes and sees that it is almost dawn. She hears the pleading whimper again and remembers the trap she set the previous night. Maybe she was lucky and caught an animal in it, an animal that is now desperately trying to escape. Carefully, she unties the rope, which kept her sleeping bag affixed to the tree. She no longer finds it difficult to move safely in the tree or make a camp in one for a night of peace. A long time ago she once lost her balance and almost fell out of a tree herself. When she is back on the ground and looks at her trap, she is more than disappointed. She had expected a raccoon or rabbit, but instead a filthy, half-starved dog is caught in her trap. With sad eyes, he looks up at her and whines pleadingly. In fact, it is a better catch than a raccoon, simply because it is larger, but the poor thing only consists of fur and bones. Never before has she killed a dog. Nea pulls her knife from her waistband and kneels down next to the dog. The dog winces briefly, but looks toward her, helpless, and waiting for her next step.

“How stupid is he,”
Nea thinks to herself. If she was in the place of the dog and someone with a knife knelt before her, she would try with all her might to free herself. She would growl and gnash her teeth. But this dog is sitting there and waiting for her to give it its fate. It would be easy for Nea to slit his throat. Slowly she moves her knife toward his neck to give it a straight, fatal cut. When her hand comes close, the dog suddenly moves. He moves its head with its shaggy, light brown fur, and licks her hand holding the knife with its rough tongue. Nea looks at the dog and knows that she will longer be able to manage killing it. It’s ridiculous, because it is not worth more than a raccoon or a rabbit, but because too often she was told stories of small dogs or cats, so now she has qualms about killing one of them. As a child, she always wanted a dog. Nea slowly withdraws her hand and places the knife back into her waistband. She looks at the dog as evilly as she can in the eye.

“Don’t you dare try to follow me,” she hisses at the dog. In response, however, she gets a friendly wagging tail. With a sigh, Nea frees the little dog out of the trap and is glad that the dog is not too hurt. The dog stands next to her and looks expectantly with its ears pricked up, attentive. He’s not big enough to protect her. Nea lifts her leg and stomps firmly on the ground and tries to shoo the dog away with her hands and a loud voice. “Get out!” The dog stops wagging its tail and its ears fall, but the dog does not move, so Nea just runs off.

After a few meters, she turns around, and of course, she sees the little dog directly behind her. Although he keeps a distance from her, it is clearly following her. She should have killed the dog when she had a chance; this would have been best for both of them, but now it is too late. The dog will not be happy with her; she is too selfish to care about the welfare of another. The dog will soon notice this and leave The sooner the better. At best, she will no longer notice the dog.

Nea continues with a steady view of the compass and her map. She makes sure not to turn to see if the dog is still following her, and pretty soon, she has forgotten about it.

She runs through the forest at a brisk pace all morning. It is even colder than the day before and the sky is a single gray mass. The sun is no longer able to break through the clouds, so that, even at noon, many leaves still have frozen edges. It is a clear sign that snow will soon fall. Nea can only hope that Dementia is closer than the map makes it seem.

Her hope soon feels vindicated as the forest begins to slowly thin out. But as she comes closer to the edge of the forest, she hears the loud noise of a river and soon she finds herself at a  riverbank. It is not a small creek, like the one in which she had caught the fish, but a ravening, wide, and apparently, deep river. It flows down the mountain, down the valley. From the riverbank, she can peruse its course and finds that there is no bridge in sight, despite the slight mist.

Using the map, she can pinpoint her exact position. The map states clearly that the path on the other side of the river would be the shortest route, but if she tried to swim across the river and managed to make it to the other side, her hair and clothes would be completely soaked. The risk of severe hypothermia is elevated in this cold. So Nea's choices are a detour that could delay her for hours, or possible pneumonia from which she might die.

It took years before she could bring herself to actually leave her home and travel to Promise, so she should not take any unnecessary risks. Finally, she wants to arrive in Promise and not die on the way there. Therefore, she chooses the detour and hopes that the flow elsewhere will become shallow enough to be able to cross.

The good thing is the path to follow the river is all downhill, so she will move faster on the leaves and moss-covered forest floor. Although the grass on the riverbank is a bit slippery from the moisture, her boots will protect her feet and keep her footing sure.

After some time of running down the path, Nea never saw the river become shallow or came across a bridge, her stomach started rumbling and her strength begins to wane. So she stops to take a deep breath. She pulls her water bottle from her backpack and takes a big swig. The water gurgles in her empty stomach. She now thinks about the dog for the first time since the morning, if she had not become sentimental over the dog and decided not to kill it, she would now have something to eat and not have to go hungry. She won't make the same mistake again. Hesitantly, she turns around expecting to see the dog behind her, but he is not there.

BOOK: Promise: The Scarred Girl
13.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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