Nine

1 – Bryan

   “I don’t know where everyone else has gone, but we need to find them. I won’t let anything happen to you but there’s strength in numbers,” Bryan said.

   Everything had gone to shit so fast and so unexpectedly, and now, Bryan found himself forced to structure his own foundations. Shaun was out of sight and, for all he knew, Scott was dead.

   Bryan could feel the sweat drench his forehead and knew he and K.J. must have smelled like death by now. If not because of the sweat, then because of the filth they had been exposed to as they tried to escape death.

   “I can’t imagine what you could have went through, but we are safe now,” Bryan spoke again, looking over to K.J., who had not spoken since he found her.

   Bryan was accustomed to silence on his own behalf, struggling to conjure up meaningful conversation, never really prospering when it came to small talk, but silence on another person’s end normally made him anxious. As if that person was upset with him. That isn’t how he felt now though. He felt fearful for certain, but anxious about the blood-red sky and the soldiers who could manipulate reality at their whim. What was the best course of action? Their original plan still seemed like the smartest bet, to descend the mountain and make their escape. But was that even a possibility anymore? Furthermore, was any of this really happening.

   The sky had darkened, still projecting its reddish tint, but it was night now, with only a little bit of light guiding them. Bryan could hear tree branches reacting to the wind and what sounded like locusts; a normalcy that felt unnatural in such terrain. The wind was cold. Bryan rubbed his arms in a feigned attempt at warm, then, tended to K.J. trying to drape his shoulder over the back of her neck. K.J. shoved him away like he was an attacker. Bryan wasn’t able to make out her reaction very well, but he could see the white of her eyes and how big they became.

   “I am sorry,” K.J. said, finally breaking her silence. The words escaped her so quietly that it took a few seconds afterward to comprehend what she’d said. “When I was in those weeds, a woman, …,” K.J. stopped for a second, “A woman with black where her eyes should have been. It felt like she was in my head. She knew things about me. She was able to bring back people from my past, things I had repressed all these years.”

   “Who?” Bryan asked.

   “Someone I have tried very hard to forget,” K.J. answered dryly.

   “Oh,” Bryan answered back, a surprise to his voice like he had just been hit by a truck. They hadn’t ever spoken about her past. He hadn’t even known about it until week after when Scott told him and had no intention on ever asking her about it. “I don’t know what is happening, part of me thinks we are all experiencing a great, big hallucination with each other, like the water was spiked with something, or the plant life sends out toxins,” Bryan explained, then stopped, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

   Like you let happen to Scott? A voice in his head said, a sentence that weighed on his chest like a ton of bricks. Scott was under intense stress, that was the only reason he chose to voyage up the mountain, and Bryan had stood there absently and watched him leave. Could he even have really said anything that would have stopped Scott though? Bryan knew well how when Scott set his mind on something, nothing stopped it. Had he known what was wandering the mountain, he would have fought tooth and nail to keep Scott from leaving the group with Hassan. Would he have though?

2 – Melissa

   Melissa could do nothing while she watched the blood leave Shaun. His eyes bulged out in a way that was either from shock or his body’s way of reacting to the attack. On some level, deep down, she knew she felt very bad about Shaun’s death. Terribly, even. She loved him very much but felt too removed from the events unfolding before her eyes to really react to them. The light-headed feeling as the blood depleted out from her open wound created a veil over her mind that made everything feel too surreal, as though she already had one foot in the grave.

    Lü Murk took his eyes away from Shaun and looked back to her, his unfinished business, it seemed. Melissa didn’t feel afraid for what the future held anymore. Everything would be over soon.

   Behind him, Lü Murk reacted as a wooden support beam shattered, unable to sustain the weight Murk had forced upon it. A mere second later, Melissa watched as the cottage propped up atop the hill came crashing down, landing on both Shaun and the man with the lion head, crushing them both.

   Or maybe it wouldn’t be over soon, Melissa second-guessed. She held her hand over her wound, trying her best to stop the blood loss. The walls of the home stayed mostly intact, which meant Lü Murk had taken the brunt of its weight on his body, a silver lining, perhaps.

    She fought back to her feet, wobbling over to the cottage. The longer it went, the more the pain started to sink in and, worse yet, so did the reality of Shaun’s death. She could feel tears run down her cheeks as she thought about what had Shaun would have said right now if he could still say things. He would have cracked jokes to try and comfort her. The black guys never make it out of these things alive, you know that!

   Melissa let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a laugh, but there was only pain and hysterics behind it.

   Then, Melissa flinched. “What the fuck!” She said, with meanness in her words, as the glass of the cottage side window came crashing out.

   A lion-shaped helmet appeared by the window next. It was Lü Murk, still up and moving, it seemed.

   “No,” Melissa said, acknowledging the armored man as though he were an actual animal.

   The anger filled her up, but she could think of no way to express it. There was no stopping him. He just had a fucking building dropped on him for fuck’s sake. He moved slowly, climbing out from the window. The frills around his helm that resembled a mane were now disheveled and bent, whereas his actual helmet was covered in dirt. The way his head kept itself pointed at her seemed to suggest he was aware of her.

   “She’s mine,” A voice called out, one that Melissa didn’t recognize, coming from behind her. She reacted fast, but not fast enough, feeling a syringe being driven unceremoniously into her neck, making her feel woozy soon after, even woozier than she had felt to begin with.

   She felt herself lose balance but was caught before she could fall to the ground. It was an older man, that was about the extent of the distinctions she could make before he was reduced to a blur. She then lost consciousness.

3 – Officer McIntyre

   The more time Officer McIntyre spent around Crystal, the more he started to think she had a lot better of a heart than he did. Unwavering goodness meant naivete and that naivete did more harm than good in the long run.

   Scott Stanfield coughed and whimpered into the night, the debilitating agony he must have been in never relented. At least he was able to sleep, however, which was more than what could be said for Officer McIntyre, who also doubted whether Crystal was able to do so either.

   He wouldn’t check, however. If she was asleep, then, she needed that sleep. If she wasn’t asleep, then he didn’t want to speak to her.

   They took shelter in one of the mountain’s checkpoints, barricading the doors and covering the windows. If anyone caught a single whiff of them, they were goners, but there weren’t any other options to choose from. The more the sky darkened, the colder it became. If their choices were death from frostbite or from the sword of one of these “phantom” soldiers, then he would much rather side with the latter, hoping maybe to kill a few for good measure.

   Officer McIntyre smiled, taking a puff of his cigarette. Part of him felt guilty about doing as such. In any normal social setting, it was impolite to smoke in the same room as someone else without their consent, with the whole cancer business and whatnot, but he decided politeness was now dead. Crystal’s naivete would become more apparent once the sun rose again, that is, provided they even survived to see as much.

   A purely kind hearted human being was indefinitely inferior to a smart and decent one, where a kind heart would do whatever it took to save someone like Scott, a smart, decent one would understand they could save a lot more people if they didn’t try to save the ones with no hope at all. Scott Stanfield would die and trying to fight against that would likely spell out their demise as well.

   “Do you have another one of those?”

   Davis looked over. The frail, recently amputated Scott stared back at him, after somehow managing to fight to a seated position with McIntyre noticing him. Officer McIntyre smiled weakly, slightly amused and impressed by Scott’s wherewithal. He rummaged through his back pocket, finding the nearly flattened container of cigarettes, then, threw the box over to him.

   “Thanks,” Scott said. He didn’t make eye contact and there was no emotion behind his words. Officer McIntyre handed him the lighter, from there, the kid held the cigarette in his mouth for only a few seconds before falling into a short coughing fit.

   Officer McIntyre chuckled, “Have to go easier, kid.”

   Scott seemed to heed his words as a small slither of smoke left his lips. “Never tried cigarettes before now,” Scott admitted. “Alcohol though, lots and lots of that.”

   “I am not proud to admit I am very familiar with both of them,” Officer McIntyre replied. In truth, he was a little proud. He had some fun times with alcohol until the moment he didn’t. The shift in how he perceived alcohol changed when his purpose for drinking did.

   “What do you think the chances are we make it out of this alive?”

   Scott looked like he had been through hell and back. Crystal had washed away some of the dirt from his face, but he still had a raccoon like ring of dirt around each of his eyes, his lips looked badly chapped, and he looked unnaturally pale. Officer McIntyre held a stern expression. “Not very good,” he answered, and bit his tongue when the thought “especially not you,” entered his head.

   “I have screwed up so many times in my life,” Scott said, and, a moment after, his eyes began to swell up. The entire time Crystal had messed with his wound, the entire time she had tended to it, he had not cried, but now, Scott cried.

   “The way I see it, it does not matter if you were a modern-day saint, kissing babies, and helping old ladies cross the street. Not in the end, at least. In the end, you still would have been on this mountain and none of this could have been prevented.”

   “Seems like the moral of everything happening is to stay out of college,” Scott jested, then, shook his head, “I could have made things different. I could have been decent. I could have been better to Chelsea and, maybe I wouldn’t have been able to save her life, but I could at least have made damn sure she didn’t suffer like she did.”

   “I know how you feel,” McIntyre answered. He saw a small movement from Crystal in one of the cots and wondered if she was still asleep or not.

   “Really,” Scott replied, a snark behind his inflection that Davis sensed came more natural to him in normal life, “You know what it is like to have your girlfriend carved up and perched on a stick like she is a fucking scarecrow?” Scott tried to muster up the indignant anger he craved so badly, Officer McIntyre could see as much, but he was simply too weak to do so, breaking into a coughing fit shortly after.

   Officer McIntyre shook his head. “I do not know what that’s like. I didn’t walk in on my girlfriend after she was murdered,” he agreed, then added: “But I did walk in on my wife hanging from the ceiling and had no answers as to why.”

   It was an admission that seemed like it surprised Scott, but not enough to provoke a particularly expressive reaction. After all that Scott went through, Officer McIntyre doubted anything ever could surprise him anymore.

   “She didn’t leave a note? What she depressed or something?” Scott asked, a bluntness to his words that the Officer doubted was intentional.

   “Hell, if I know,” Davis admitted. “As a police officer, I always learned to shove everything that mattered to me into a box. Today, I’ll do this, or today, I’ll do that. Last I checked, Melonie was the happiest person I ever met. But sometime or another, I put her away, I compartmentalized her, I put her in a box, and I forgot to look back. I always had my demons, … my vices, … my obsessions and things I became transfixed on, but, up ‘til that point, Melonie had dealt with them and every time I looked back, we may have had our bad times, but I swear, … I could have sworn she was still that happy person. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed she would always be there and that she didn’t have her own demons that needed fought.”

   Officer McIntyre smirked knowingly. This was the first time he had ever really been honest with himself about Melonie’s death. He had lived such a quiet, reserved resistance around everyone, shoving emotions down to the recesses of his mind, only for them to burst out when he had too many drinks at the bar or lashed out on someone in anger. This was the first time it felt therapeutic, and all it took was an army trying to kill him.

   “I don’t think anyone will miss me when I am dead,” Scott commented dryly.

   “Bullshit,” Officer McIntyre shot back. It wasn’t something he could have known for certain. After all, he didn’t know the boy from Adam, but it felt like the right thing to say in the situation.

   “My girlfriend died hating me and if my best friend makes it out of this, I am pretty sure he stopped giving a rat’s ass about me years ago.”

   “Then why is he your best friend?”

   “Loyalty,” Scott answered. “Maybe I was stored away into one of his boxes and forgotten about?”

   Officer McIntyre said nothing for a few seconds, looking at the wood floor, until, at last, “Then you will have a lot of choices to make when this is all over.”

4 – Crystal

   To her surprise, Crystal had fought her way to what was nearly a full night’s sleep, sleeping on an uncomfortable cot. It was a testament to the exhaustion she must have felt, overcoming the twinging anxiety inside her and finding the will to rest.

   “Crystal, wake up!” A voice called out in a shouting whisper, one that Crystal was able to register as Scott’s shortly after.

   Crystal obliged, rising out from the cot, touching her bare feet to the wood floor. It was an unfortunate thought that came thereafter. As Crystal remembered their predicament, what they had seen and what still likely awaited them, she almost found herself wishing she had not woken at all. If she hadn’t woken, it would have meant death, but there was comfort in the thought of not having to see whatever creature took their blade to her.

   As Crystal took in the light coming from the bedroom, she saw that it was brighter out than prior. It was not the difference between night and day, but, now, Crystal could at least see some white light bleeding out through the crooked tree branches that spiraled and nearly engulfed the sky, together with the crimson red, it looked less blood red and more like a darker shade of pink. In some other circumstance, defining it as “pretty” might have been appropriate. However, standing beside the window, Officer McIntyre stood with his back to the wall, his handgun readied in his hands, reminding Crystal there was nothing “pretty” outside.

   “What’s going on?” Crystal asked, standing to her feet.

   “There was a siren,” Officer McIntyre stated. “How could you not hear it blaring?”

   Crystal shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes still felt heavy like they could shut at any moment. With how exhausted she felt, an elephant could have stampeded through the cabin, toppling over walls and she would not have noticed.

   “Was it coming from the speakers?” Crystal asked, her hand pointing at the roof where a wooden pole protruded above them with a public announcement system attached to it.

   Officer McIntyre nodded his head.

   “Maybe it was someone’s way of trying to reach out, maybe someone trying to ask for help?” Crystal suggested.

   “Maybe,” Davis agreed. “But nothing has made any sense so far. The world’s gone completely to shit, so I doubt anyone thinks calling attention to themselves will help them in any way.”

   He was right, Crystal supposed.

5 – Bryan

   Surviving through the night proved one hell of an undertaking for them. Although the fiery skyline above them might have suggested otherwise, the temperature had begun dropping at a resounding rate. To their fortune, however, K.J. and Bryan were able to find shelter of some sorts beneath a large tree. The landscape had changed drastically over the last several hours, with trees spiraling and twisting, growing and expanding, but at least it appeared as though it could work to something other than their detriment. The tree uprooted itself from the ground, and beneath its roots, Bryan and K.J. were able to take refuge, a visual that resembled something not unlike being eaten alive by the jaws of some nondescript, ghastly creature.

   For their own survival, Bryan had suggested huddling up together for warmth, which K.J. vehemently denied.

* * *

   “First and foremost, I would like to congratulate all of you. Survival could not have been an easy task for you. You have likely looked on in horror while loved ones were decapitated. You have probably endured your own scrapes and broken bones in your strides to escape a predicament beyond your own comprehension.” Although the words implied a sympathetic sentiment, the inflection behind them was nothing of the sort. The woman’s voice appeared arrogant and cavalier, matter of fact and proud of it.

   Bryan and K.J. stopped in their tracks the second they heard the voice; on-guard and alert. Bryan scoped their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the voice’s origins and decide whether it was time to listen or run like hell. However, he soon discovered that the voice radiated and appeared to be coming from all different directions of the mountain. Must be a P.A. system of some kind, but how could access it? Did all the checkpoint stations have access to it, or were all the speakers controlled in one central location?

   “What the fuck?” K.J. said.

   “I want to assure all of you that your lives and their proven frailty has not been in vain. Together, our combined efforts have brought remembrance for The Aeonians who sacrificed their lives all those centuries ago and the wars contested on this mountain. Together, we have satiated the Gods. Thank you, my friends.” The voice was calm and collected. The woman spoke without hesitance and didn’t stifle over her words. Whatever message she was trying to send with this speech, it was clearly rehearsed: “For those of you who yearn to make it through to the end of the world, I tell you now that come nightfall, the red sky will come down in floods to wash us all away from our sins, and with it, a new day will be upon us. Try to survive, as is only natural, but fear not for death, as Heaven awaits you indefinitely. I love you and good luck.”

6 – Melissa

   “Any idea who that is?” Melissa asked, looking over to her fellow inmate, a haggard-looking fellow with tattered clothing and an anemic disposition.

   They had not spoken much to one another, the worn man clearly did not yearn for conversation, and neither did Melissa, for that matter. In fact, part of her wanted nothing more than to end it all right here and now, to rip out the strings the mad doctor had stitched, sealing the knife wound at her side, and rejoice as the blood poured out of her. However, another part of her, the part that ultimately called the shots, didn’t have the nerve to do something like that. Not yet, at least.

   “If I had to assume, I would say it’s likely the leader of one of those cults, maybe Neo Odeo, or some other extremists,” The man answered.

   “I have never heard of them,” Melissa replied.

   “Have you ever heard a word or a name for the first time in your life, and then, for some unprovoked, unexplained reason, you hear it again the same day?” The man asked but continued speaking before Melissa had a chance to nod in response. “I heard a news show talking about them. It was reported they had stolen The Water Lily from Urgway’s church. I didn’t watch very much of it. I’ve never been a very religious man. Starting to wonder if maybe I should have been.”

   The Water Lily was a religious artifact with controversial origins. The conventional biblical teachings about The Aeonian denounced all its credibility, suggesting it was more myth than truth, citing no mention of it in sacred writings. Nevertheless, many Urgway civilians coveted the Water Lily, holding the belief it carried the souls of each Aeonian and the powers they left behind. It was a cherished item, and thereby, its disappearance surely would have been mentioned all over news networks. It must have been tunnel vision on Melissa’s part that she had been oblivious to the occurrence, focused fully on the field trip and on exams for the last few weeks.

   “You believe that Neo Odeo stole the Water Lily then? What would that accomplish?” Melissa asked.

   “If you would have asked me a couple days ago, I would have said it was because crazy people steal crazy things for crazy reasons, but I am assuming now that it was to start whatever is happening on this mountain.”

   Melissa let out a sigh. It was easy to infer what “Neo Odeo” likely stood for, and it wasn’t anything good. “Neo” meaning something new or revived, whereas “Odeo” clearly paid homage to Hardan’s former King Odeo Hassius. In truth, a more logical name would have been to call them “Neo Kudos,” after all, that was the name of the King’s regime of soldiers, however, Melissa supposed even cultists couldn’t resist alliteration.

   “Do you know why we are in these cages?” Meliss asked, it was question that piqued her interest the every second she awoke, but hadn’t yet, until now, mustered the courage to hear the answer.

   The Doctor “rescued” her from Murk’s intents on ending her life and prevented her from bleeding out, but she could not remember anything after the doctor shoved a needle in her neck. The needle, likely a tranquilizer, left a groggy aftereffect she could still feel, leaving her sluggish and calmer than she had any right to be in such a situation. From what she could tell, she was inside of a large-scale dungeon. What little light she was given was provided by lit lanterns hanging against the walls outside the prison cells, and from those lights, which stood out like bright dots or little fireflies, she could see that the prison spiraled downward, seeming to travel down into the mountains.

   “To die,” The man answered plainly. “But if it matters, Dr. Rindan hasn’t finished with me yet.”

   “Dr. Rindan,” Melissa repeated, it was another name from the history books she also knew.

   In-fact, it was a name she had thought of already today. Dr. Rindan was a psychopath scientist who experimented on individuals imprisoned by Kudos, the head doctor for Kudos. He was specifically known for his obsession in trying to make “animals” out of his patients, not unlike how Chelsea had been mutilated and displayed.

   “My boyfriend died trying to protect me, now his death will be completely for nothing,” Melissa said dryly.

   The cell doors appeared rusted and worn but considering how nonsensical everything on the mountain had proven, she suspected trying to break through them would be the same as trying to pierce through a diamond.

   “If he could know the fate that would await him otherwise, I think he would see that he was left off easy,” the man said, a straightforward directness that Melissa wasn’t offended by, but, instead, acted as a reminder of how far they were removed from everything else.

   “He had his throat slit and had an entire building dropped on him,” Melissa replied.

   “Oh,” The man began, then, added: “Well, maybe not.”

   Melissa found the exchange comedic on some level, but that level was very low on sanity’s hierarchy, a value more shrouded in lunacy than comedy. After a few seconds of sitting in silence, she watched as one of those bright “firefly-looking” lanterns began to move. As it turns out, that lantern belonged to a man, a doctor. His presence was enough to enliven the fear that the chemicals coursing through her veins had caused to act dormant.

   Dr. Rindan was an older man with a frail body, but something about him, something she could not describe through use of any of her senses, was distinct. It was not a smell or the way he looked, it was an invisible aura or presence that radiated off him, carrying the undeniable truth he was in-control, an angel of sorrow and the epitome of evil’s curiosity.

   “Hello there,” The voice spoke. The sound that came out of the man’s mouth was unexpected. It was older sounding, with the harsh rasp of life sprinkled in, but it also had an energetic enthusiasm behind it as well, something almost childlike. “Michael, it does appear that you have some competition as my favorite friend.”

   Dr. Rindan pushed his head against the cell bars and looked directly at Melissa, a wrinkly smile on his face, exposing his decayed teeth. Melissa wanted to spring to her feet and drive her knee to the side of the old man’s head and break his neck but knew he would pull away before she had the chance. Also, even if she did happen to succeed, these creatures didn’t tend to die the way they should.

   “Oh no,” The man in the neighboring prison cell, Michael, apparently, responded dryly.

   “No matter, my dearest friend,” Mr. Rindan assured. “I will enjoy our time together, no less.”

   Something changed in Michael’s demeanor the very second Dr. Rindan walked away from Melissa’s cage and brought his attention over to him. Dr. Rindan rifled through a large ring of keys until he found the key he was looking for, unlocking Michael’s cell.

   “Stay the fuck away from me!” Michael yelled out loudly, the laid-back tone was now nowhere to be seen.

   He sounded terrified. Melissa could hear the scurrying of his feet stamping down on the ground, and until that moment, she had paid no mind to the fact he was almost completely naked in his cell. The corner of the cell he was in kept him in darkness, but now she could see his whole body, which was nude aside from some heavy bandages on both his arms and legs.

   As Dr. Rindan neared him and Michael did not spring to his feet to fight back, Melissa understood that it was because he couldn’t. It could have been a drug that had caused his limited mobility, or his wounds could have been less superficial than they appeared.

   Dr. Rindan revealed a needle, one that looked not unlike the one that Melissa recalled being stabbed with and brought it near Michael’s neck. Instinctively, but also slowly, Michael slapped the needle out of Dr. Rindan’s hand.

   “Stop fighting, you little shit!” Dr. Rindan said, a stabbing anger now showing itself, a new representation of himself that Melissa could see came more natural to him than faux attempts at kindness.

   Dr. Rindan readied his other hand, clubbing Michael over the head with his lantern. The act was sudden, with the lantern’s glass case shattering as it connected to the side of Michael’s skull. Dr. Rindan still held the handle in his hands and, miraculously, the light continued to blaze on, highlighting the broken glass that was now lodged in Michael’s face.

   “Guard!” Dr. Rindan exclaimed loudly.

   After, Melissa heard the boots of someone walking down the spiraled prison steps to their location, a Kudos soldier, by Melissa’s assumption. The only thing distinct about him from the other guards she had seen was the large emerald necklace hanging around his neck, which appeared to depict a “dragon”. The guard was burly, a type of build that could hold their own without swords or weapons, he was muscular and tall.

   “Take him to my examination room,” Dr. Rindan instructed, his voice told that he had managed to gain some of his composure.

   The Kudos soldier said nothing in response, walking toward Michael whose screams only grew louder as he was lifted, unable to do anything about it. Dr. Rindan began to follow him, until he stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Melissa.

   “I am sorry about my outburst. Here,” Dr. Rindan said, taking a small pouch out of his pocket and tossing it into her cell.

   Melissa made no attempt to see what it was, she kept her eyes locked intently on the doctor, fully realizing the dangers that might await her. Dr. Rindan provided a weak smile, at last, turning his back to Melissa as he headed up the stairs.

   Once the footsteps silenced, Melissa looked over to the pouch and opened it. Although she didn’t recognize them, it was clear the small black pouch was filled with candies wrapped in tinfoil. Was this an attempt to poison her? Or was this an honest attempt at trying to be kind, or, at least, convey the illusion of such?

   Melissa wasted little time thinking about it, and instead, thought about her escape. She stood to her feet, feeling a sharp pain in her side the second she started to walk. It hurt, but it would not stop her from continuing to stand. She brushed her fingers over the cell bars. They were old, but she doubted she would be able to break through them.

   Maybe Dr. Rindan would waste all his time on Michael, maybe she would run out the clock, and she would survive. Melissa sighed, even if that did happen, she would be locked in his prison cell and would starve to death.

7 – Crystal

   The terrain had changed again since the last time they were in the open. Some hills were taller than before, and others were shorter. There were different sources of white light flaring out from under the hills and tree branches, creating the illusion of more than one sun. A faint pinkish light replaced the blood-red sky night-fall had brought and a layer of white-fog covered up the ground to Crystal’s knees.

   It felt like a different beast than what they had said goodnight to, but no less threatening to her. The air was still and cold, so calm that the only sound Crystal could focus on was the synchronized footsteps of her and Officer Davis McIntyre, who fought to keep from lagging while he carried Scott.

   “Do you really think this is the smartest way to go about this?” Crystal asked, her bones felt like they were rattling inside her skin.

   “There is no telling whether or not that man on the intercom was bullshitting us or not, no way of knowing if waiting this out will do a damn thing,” Officer McIntyre fired back, his hand touching his holstered handgun, an act that came across like it wasn’t a conscious decision but instinctual.

   Crystal said nothing. Honestly, as reckless as trying to find and kill the man on the intercom sounded, it brought her more comfort than waiting for one of the Kudos soldiers to kill her off. How sudden and drastically perspectives could change. She was only a day removed from a long bus ride, of thinking about what she would paint on her latest canvas, of thinking about what she would do after college. Now, she was thinking about survival and killing a man before he could sick an entire army on her like a pack of wolves.

   They didn’t know exactly where to look, but they had an idea. Near the top of the mountain, where a large fenced area kept civilians from trespassing, the animal life could roam freely and undisturbed. This wasn’t a spur of the moment event. Something like this was premeditated, their best bet was in the assumption that the man from the intercom took refuge in the upper part of the mountain.

   “Careful,” Officer McIntyre instructed, nodding his head forward, directing Crystal at the large gap in front of them.

   It was still a considerable space away and Crystal had been in no danger of falling, but, nevertheless, she hadn’t noticed it until now and could have easily seen herself falling to her death from how it was obscured in fog. Crystal nodded her head to show her gratitude, then, continued. After only a few short steps, however, she found herself stopped again by Davis, “Wait.”

   Crystal looked beneath her feet, wondering if she had already come to another ditch or sinkhole, she hadn’t. Instead, Davis’ warning was more significant than that. In-front of them was an army of knights, but these weren’t the Kudos soldiers. Both of them remained still. The dulled green made the answer obvious, the Kudos soldiers’ opposition referred to themselves as Midori.

   “If old fables and fairy tales were fact, then, that means they are the good guys, huh,” Davis McIntyre said dryly, sounding deadpan and unenthusiastic, despite the extravagance of the assertion.

   As the stories went, they were the ones that opposed themselves against the vengeful dictator. Nevertheless, that didn’t bring down Crystal’s guard, ready to run for her life at the men’s first abrupt movement. She saw Davis’ hand on his holster, ready to unveil his handgun, showing he felt about the same about it.

   “Let’s wait until they leave, then we can carry on,” Davis said. Scott had a weak, sleepy look in his eyes, only vaguely attentive to what was happening around them.

   Soon, the Midori men and women walked off and away from Officer McIntyre, Scott, and Crystal, disappearing into the fog and leaving them free to continue onward. Crystal made a step forward, then, turned, looking over to Officer McIntyre to make for certain she had the go ahead. “I think the coast is clear,” Crystal said in a soft whisper, but as she turned to look over Officer McIntyre, no one looked back at her.

   Instead, what she saw instead was a large, black blur off in the distance, too indistinct to specify beyond that vague description. She thought about heading toward it, but then, thought better of it. The fact it hadn’t been there before meant it had moved, and anything that moved, she assumed, would not benefit her in the slightest. Her eyes surveyed the area, looking desperately for Officer McIntyre. He had been right behind her, and yet, now, without a single word, he was nowhere to be seen.

   “Davis! Davis!” Crystal said in a shouting whisper, too timid to let her pitch reach any higher than that.

   She continued forward a few feet before looking back. The black blur was closer to her now, but it was still indistinct in its qualities, the only thing she knew for certain was that it was headed in her direction. Crystal’s pace quickened, snapping the twigs beneath her feet and feeling the blades of grass brushed against her leg hair until the ground gave way beneath her. If only Davis McIntyre had been around to warn her about her latest confrontation with nature.

   Crystal fell forward. As the momentum took her, she felt vision shrouded in the pure white fog, uncertain of what awaited her and for how long she would fall. The impact came soon and sudden, with her back slamming down onto a tin sheet. The noise was loud and abrupt, but she could tell she wasn’t too worse for wear, merely disoriented and confused. Her eyes opened, and she saw a series of trees staring back her. They were upside down, it seemed, or, perhaps, more likely, it was she who was upside down, and yet, something remained wrong in some way.

   Slowly, Crystal sat up and, to her surprise, realized more about her predicament. Something was wrong, after all. She rested, not on a tin sheet floor, but a tin sheet wall. A window of the small building was even at arm’s reach. The trees were not upside down. They were her walls, for lack of a more appropriate description of the madness before her. She stood to her feet and apprehensively walked across the tin floor until reaching the dirt walls, or, what had once been the ground.

   She felt a vibration beneath her feet. Something was, most certainly, happening, but she knew not what. Her eyes peered through the trees and, in a flicker, she saw a creature staring back at her, to her surprise, however, it was one she recognized. Her heartbeat quickened. This had to have been a dream. It had to have been a hallucination or something of the sort, there was no other explanation. The ground began to shift, like she stood atop an enormous balance board. The large beast that was shifting the weight? It was the creature from her canvas, a demented goat looked at her with a curious grin, peeking out like a rising sun. The bear drove its paws down onto the ground, curving the landscape forward or downward, or whatever it was. Whichever was the truth, she soon found herself falling, then, rolling onto the dirt-ground, nearing the bear.

   She felt the limbs of her body bent unnaturally by the limbs of the trees. She did everything she could stop it, clawing her fingernails into the dirt, clutching every branch she could. As her momentum worsened, she felt the back of her head strike harshly against the dirt. Her blood-filled eyes looked on as her body sped toward a large branch. Her body staked itself on the wood, puncturing wholly through her stomach. As her eyes shut for the last time, she stared back at the large, hateful goat, in its dead black eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction behind them.