Chapter 14

Under the spotlight of the sun, I abandoned the volley of questions swirling in my head. A cloud of dust arose from the satchel when Tomorrow tossed it at my feet. There was disrespect in the air from both of us. Out of frustration, I picked up the bag and walked forward without looking at him.

Hopefully, if I return alive, I can be rewarded with the truth. Further ahead, I saw three inmates running naked, flailing their arms wildly. Too much movement to check if they were claimed or not. That was my main concern, being caught without any tags. No proof that I was in cahoots with the Vipers. I kept a meaningful distance between myself and Serene, prepared to throw anyone into the poison lake.

When I passed by a smaller group of chanters, only four members, I looked at their flesh showing underneath the sash. No tattoos on them either, but perhaps the words: O-M-N-I was their flag. Their gang. I redirected my gaze, not wanting any static this early into the trek. I beheld the beauty of the horizon, and couldn't see any mountains at all in the distance. Nothing but dirt, and a few short naked trees at the vanishing point. One of them looked like a decaying hand rising from underground, trying to pinch the sun.

The heat was quickly becoming insufferable. I was barely one hundred yards from Hornet, and could still smell the Meskle being cooked inside. No clouds to shield me and the brightness made the flatland look like a vermillion desert overrun with psychos. I pulled the flap back on the satchel, reached in to find water, but the only bottles inside were filled with Blue Diamonds. Underneath the clutter of vials, I felt a cold handle. It was square-shaped and metal. When I gripped it, I discovered it was the handle of a gun. What kind of mission is this?

My strut changed, knees bent a little more, relaxed, shoulders swaying, knowing I was in possession of such a powerful weapon. Although I'd gone at least two miles deep by then, none of the inmates around posed a threat anymore. The heat had kept most inside their caves, prepping for the nighttime. A few were headed in the opposite direction, completely dehydrated, a group of zombies. Dry, blotchy skin, even drier mouths. One of them collapsed near Serene and cupped some of the water in his hand. I kept silent, watching him lap it up.

Though the water was lethal, I envied the fact that at least he drank something.

Aside from thirst, the only obstacles I charged into were the mirages. They came on slow, momentarily the entire flatland looked like vibrating water. Every now and again I'd sprint towards it, watching it dissipate. The desert-like environment was void of animals, but the savagery of man was wild enough. Still keeping my direction southwest, thanks to the compass that was inside the satchel, I stumbled upon a line of stakes curving downward with the path. Not only symmetrical but organized in both height and width. Whoever this killer was, he was organized. If he was brave enough to try me, I'd oblige him with a bullet.

I went onward, in awe of how long the row of stakes went, deeper into his web. About forty of them and each one had a head spiked on top. You could see the wood inside the victims' open mouths. Looked like all of them died screaming, or he dabbled in taxidermy. A grand buffet for the crows if there were any. At least four of the heads looked like they came from the same family. The brazen display made me weary and irritated my day-long headache. Bullets may not be enough. If this was done by one man, he's lived through gunshots aplenty.

Curiosity brought me close to one of his sick trophies, marveling at the malice. The head was sunburnt, rotting, empty sockets where the eyes once were. Spaghetti thin strands of black hair draping down, and something brown moved inside. I edged in closer, and a tarantula crawled out from within its skull. I jumped back in shock, having discovered that at least spiders were here, moments before stepping on a sidewinder. The snake struck me on my calf muscle. I yelped and dropped the satchel. It slithered away in its unique style, the crab of the sand creatures. I rubbed on my calf to sooth the pain. If I catch another one, I'm going to skin it and eat it, I thought to myself.

The pain of the bite grew into a deep burning sensation. When I rolled up my pants leg, I saw that the wound was swelling. Chills ran through my body when it dawned on me that sidewinders were venomous.

The following mirages came on stronger, which is what they call a 'Fata Morgana.' No doubt supported by the blazing heat, and sidewinder juice was swimming in my blood. Sitting on the ground, sun directly above, I saw what I thought was the top of a famous casino in District 2, called Venus Delight. A squared roof with bright golden trim and dead center was an exquisite marble guava dome. I'd spent nearly six thousand ruvens the night I got married there. My father spent nothing but drank about two hundred ruvens worth of liquor.

During the reception, his neck was like that of a toddler, barely in control of his motor skills. He'd drank himself into a stupor, and reversed time till he was one year old, drool and all. My embarrassment grew into anger, watching the guests' point and laugh. Side conversations about how long till he throws up, placing bets on the exact time he'll black out. Deep down, I knew even before inviting him to my wedding that he'd transform into a jester. A town drunkard beloved by the citizens, their punching bag. How does a grown man live this way? Forever floating in a sea of whiskey, sailing closer and closer to death.

Before my head exploded, my bride quelled my fury with a barrage of wet kisses. She hadn't spoken much the entire day, aside from the vows, but overwhelmed me with physical expressions of love. Once even-headed, I attempted to have a word with my old man. Searching for some ancient wisdom only age could teach. Hidden gems about marriage and fatherhood. I'd set myself up for failure though. Every word he spoke sounded like a foreign language slurred and said backward.

The liquor contorted his face with rapid eye movements, he must've seen three of me. While struggling to stand, he made strange inflections on words he mumbled. All the while spitting in my face. The only sentence I was able to hear was 'Make sure you don't forget your bag.' Suddenly, a blur of orange crossed me, snapped me back. Quick sounds of footsteps in front of me. I looked to the right, the satchel was gone. When I looked up, a body, framed like that of a teenager was dashing down the path with it.

"FUCK!" I screamed out loud, lifting myself up.

I whipped out the box cutter and ran after him. Squirts of blood stained the lower part of my pants, where the Sidewinder had bitten me. However, the fear of failing the mission overpowered the simple flesh wound. I raced on. Eventually the speed I built up too turned all the spiked heads into a continuous stream of flesh in my peripheral. As I closed the distance on him, the ground rose and fell, like it was breathing. The teenager appeared to be running over splash-less water, while heavy sweat dripped into my eye.

I reached my hand out to pull him into the blade. Just inches away from him, running, harder and harder, and then... SNAP! Concealed beneath the dirt, the teenager stepped into a bear trap. The pointed steel tips touched through his shin, right below the knee. It took me a second to slow down and come to a halt. The teenager released a vicious blood-curdling cry, almost child-like.

"Ahhh, it hurts! I'm sorry! Take it off!" he yelled, face down on the ground, dust billowing near his mouth.