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Walking Into Hell: Ronan

I am not a superstitious man and, even with the limited information I have about myself at the moment, I can say I’m not really the poetic type either. I look at the facts and speak in actualities more than anything else. These are things that I know to be true.

But after we set up camp for the night, I can confidently say that I could write sonnets about Silene if I had to. A woman I’ve dreamt of twice in less than twenty four hours. I know more about her than I know about myself, and if given the chance, I would write verses about how her hair falls down her back in dark chocolate waves, something that could bring any man to his knees. The way her whole demeanor changes when she laughs could destroy and rebuild empires in her name. Her voice, so enchanting, is more beautiful than any siren’s song. Her will would be my every command, and I’d follow it into the darkest pits of hell as long as it meant I could stand by her side.

But most of all, the way she looks at me like I’m somebody worth knowing…I know that in itself will always be my undoing.

These are the thoughts that have haunted me since I was woken up for watch duty. The ones that still plague me as we walk through this forest. Nate has been quiet since we left the house yesterday. We might be better for it. Though it does seem odd, considering he appointed himself leader. He was the one to explain the situation to us. He is the only one who actually knows more than he’s telling, though how much, is still unknown.

The air around us is thick, though the fog has mostly settled, giving us a better view of what we’re working with, and what we’re working with is a whole lot of forest. Green as far as the eye can see, somewhat muddy earth beneath our feet, and silence. So much silence that you wouldn’t believe there’s any form of life around us, but for the sake of our survival, I’m going to have to believe that isn’t the case. A forest this large, there has to be a food supply. There has to be something somewhere. But it remains unchanging for a while, the absence of life becoming more and more harrowing with every step we take.

No one talks much other than Nate. When he does speak, his voice, which had been clear yesterday, now ripples in between breaths. He mumbles so quietly that he’s near incomprehensible. We stop frequently, and I assume it’s in search of signs of life. I can only assume that’s what he’s looking for as he examines the Earth beneath our feet. What else would he be searching for if not footprints, human or animal alike?

Other than these small breaks in the silence, no one else utters a word. Maybe it’s because there isn’t much to talk about, though the silence often makes me wonder if that is when there is the most to be said. In the chaos of all that is still and quiet, wouldn’t that be when you desire your voice to be heard the most? When there is no other choice but to be heard, to speak the truths that no one else has yet learned, to beg someone to tell you what and how they know?

I wish to speak, though to truly understand, I must wait in the silence. To learn what my companions wish to conceal, I have to listen when there’s nothing to be heard. After all, that is when we often speak the loudest. To know what we are too ashamed or guilty to admit.

And right now, that’s what we all are. Too guilty or ashamed to speak about what brought us here. Even if we don’t know the “what” yet, we will eventually. No one is branded with a death sentence without reason. We all have secrets.

Secrets, waiting to escape us completely until not even time remembers they had ever existed. And I will wait as long as I must to discover what they are.

Next to me, a deep voice breaks the silence like a million shards of glass yet when he speaks, his words come out smooth like freshly melted chocolate.

“Do you know what exactly we are looking for out here? Feels like we’re just walking to walk, but if there’s a purpose, you should tell us. Now. I’m not one to blindly follow someone like a dog.”

Fair. He’s being fair. Direct, yes, though that’s what we all should be right now. There shouldn’t be dancing around truths. Our current situation is bleak at best.

“You’ve said nothing to us since we left the house other than to divide up the shifts. Now what? What’s the plan?” Nate’s jaw ticks for a moment as he lets a deep breath escape him before finally looking toward us.

“You’re right,” he starts, and let me tell you, those were definitely the correct two words to begin with. “I apologize, I’ve kind of just taken the lead and haven’t explained much to either of you, and it was wrong. Rather than offer you the respect that I should have, not just as two grown men, but two grown men who seem much more equipped to handle things out here than I am, I left you both as far in the dark as I could. Granted, I don’t know much, but I do know what I’m looking for and who we might run into, and I haven’t spoken a word about it.”

He speaks with sincerity, his voice even, as his gaze flickers between us. While Nate seems much thinner than us both, his baggy clothes make it hard to tell. The way he navigated down the roof and jumped off was done with far too much ease for him to not have at least some training. I tuck that observation away for the time being though. Despite the silence leading up to this moment, he seems genuine in his apology, and I’m willing to listen further before I decide my next steps.

“I’m looking for any signs of life at the moment. Whether animal or human, both could aid in our survival. Answers would be helpful, but won’t do us any good if we don’t stay alive long enough to get them.”

“So food then. We’re looking for food,” says the man next to me. He sighs as he looks around, no doubt seeing what we’ve all seen the past several hours: nothing.

“Food and water, preferably, yes. Though information is valuable as well. I would bet money that the other two found something, and that’s why they ran. Should we find them first, I’d still count us lucky.” This time when he mentions them, I notice how he slowly lets his gaze travel away from us and scan around with something keen to curiosity.

They. Them. The other two.

He still has yet to say a name, regardless of his apology about leaving us in the dark. Has still danced around the truth, and I wonder what exactly there is to hide. Wonder if I should speak or if my words are better left unsaid to slowly pick and chip away at my desire to know more. I need to know more. I need to know that I’m right. That the voice I heard on the other side of the stairs is her. I would recognize that voice anywhere, yet a part of me doubts. Not really. My dreams might just have her voice because it was the last feminine one I had heard, but even if that were the case…

It has to be her. It has to be her, and I have to do whatever it takes to make sure that she’s okay, because the last time—

The last time what? When was the last time and why do I have a feeling it didn’t end well? That there were lines that weren’t just crossed, but completely shattered, the pieces so small they may as well be grains of sand weathered by the ocean crashing down on them. The line doesn’t exist any longer, and I hate not having the knowledge of how it all went wrong. I let myself drown in those thoughts, deeper and deeper until I am no longer anything but the sea that has carried them away.

A pale hand on my shoulder pulls me out of its depths.

Blue clashes with brown as his eyebrows furrow, and his head tilts in an unspoken question.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have lost myself for a moment. What was the question or the decision?” I chuckle, trying to sound lighter than I feel. Both men stare at me, though their thoughts are impenetrable as I try to read them.

“We decided upon a vote.”

“A vote for—”

I don’t get to finish the question as I’m cut off when Nate moves, quicker than I would’ve imagined possible, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me out of the way while spitting out a quick, “Watch out!”

Stumbling over my feet, I lose my balance for a moment, but not before turning my head in time to see an arrow shoot through the air where I had been standing. The sound slicing through the static noise that fills my senses. Time seems to slow down. None of us were hit, but I’m tracking the direction of the arrow, looking for the source. The fog, while lighter, wasn’t completely gone, and the shooter is using it to their advantage.

Ducking behind a tree and staying low to the ground, I look toward the other two men, and see that they’re already doing the same. They start aggressively making hand gestures at each other and, while I’m not a genius, I do know it’s most definitely not sign language, but instead a silent argument to see whose plan we’ll follow. Fair, but I’m not going to just sit and wait. I know the rough direction it came from, and the angle wasn’t harsh. They’re on the ground somewhere, probably heading closer now. There’s no time to waste.

Patting the ground, I start feeling for rocks or twigs. The shooter will expect us to move, and I’m hoping they’re ready to fire upon any movement. I find a large stone wedged into the earth beneath me. Thankfully, the ground is till soft beneath my fingertips and easily moves away, allowing me full access to remove the stone I had found. Taking one more glance towards my companions, I see they are still engaged in a silent and useless argument—-progressively getting more and more agitated.

Useless. The arguing is useless. I start ruffling some of the leaves and branches around me as if I’m working to stand, purposely making noise. Hopefully, when I throw the rock, the sounds will make the movement seem convincing. They’ll either shoot because they’re ready, or they’re not ready and are just watching us in hopes that someone is idiotic enough to emerge right now. Either way would be good and tell me everything I need to know about the attacker in the forest with us and how we should react. The other men don’t understand as one gives me an inquisitive look and the other glares at the noise I’m making, but I don’t care much. I smirk, wink and then let the rock roll out of my palms and through the air—still somewhat low, but not at a steep angle.

Not too soon after it leaves my hands, there’s a thwarp sound as an arrow whizzes by and makes contact, telling me everything I need to know.

Whoever the shooter is, they’re ready and watching.

They shoot with precision. One misstep, and we’re dead.

The shooter is closest to me, because the arrow wasn’t shot at an angle.

There may be more than one shooter. While they possibly heard the noise I was making, there’s no guarantee, meaning, multiple players could be ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

We’ll be lucky to make it out alive.

The three of us look between each other a few times, silent words and commands passing through each of us, small agreements with the slightest of nods. We know the stakes, but we’d rather fight and die than wait here like cowards. Inhaling deeply, I mentally go through my plan, ensuring it’s flawless through and through—that there’s no version of what happens next that ends with an arrow through my chest when I hear it. Five words. Short and simple, but ones I know I’ve heard before with the way my chest constricts as if the sheer memory is painful.

You do not die today.

I will not die today. Not now.

Not ever.

Not without you, Killer.

Looking to my right, I make eye contact with the bulky man whose name I still don’t know. If we don’t make it out alive, then I’ll never learn the most basic identifier of a human being I’ve been around for at least the last twenty hours. Someone who is trusting me with his life, and I am doing the same. The thought is as sickening as it is comical, and I know the first thing I do if we live is going to be asking for his name, even if I’ll look like a complete asshole for going this long without knowing.

We share a brief nod and I mouth one word. Simple and short.

Run.

He doesn’t waste any time as he books it away from us, body low and steps quick, covering a short distance before he slides down and stops behind a different tree, curving his hand around the trunk to halt his momentum. In the time it took him to make it over, two arrows were shot in rapid succession, though at an angle and not while he was standing, but after he already dove to the ground.

They weren’t ready for him, is the thought that races through my brain. There’s no way there can be multiple shooters. Not when they were so unprepared for him to move.

They’ve set their sights on me.

Our chances for survival, in my opinion, have increased slightly now that we know what we’re dealing with. He looks towards us, his face like a stone that gives nothing away—even as his chest rises and falls heavily, and then he angles his head to better see what’s happening behind us. Now that he’s a few trees away, he’s at a better vantage point to see the attacker.

He remains looking back for quite some time before looking toward us again, beginning the worst game of charades I’ve ever played in my life. One shooter. Twenty feet away, getting closer. Two arrows already nocked. Moving around to the side of the tree. When he signs that last part, I start shifting my body around the trunk, but he holds up a hand to stop me. Eyes darting back and forth from me to the other, I wait for his go ahead to move.

Slowly. I move so slowly, it’s almost painful when he finally dips his chin and mouths the word at me. With my eyes fixed on him, I didn’t notice that Nate had moved from behind his tree to mine, but I definitely do notice when my foot knocks into his, startling me enough to swiftly pin him to the tree by his neck.

His body tightens with tension as his wide gaze settles on mine. He brings his finger up to his mouth in a way that says “calm down and keep quiet” without actually telling me to get my shit together. I squeeze a little bit harder for a moment, glaring at him before ripping my hand away. I look over my shoulder to see if we’re still good from the other man’s perspective.

He brings both hands up to point at the two of us and motions for us to both go around the tree on either side and attack simultaneously. He quickly holds one hand up signaling for us to wait. He looks around for a moment, before grabbing a couple of small stones and twigs, and then mouthing “five seconds.”

I watch as his free hand counts down.

Five, he’s already crouching rather than sitting, meaning he also plans to move when we do.

Four, he’s looking past us again toward the shooter before checking the rest of our surroundings again.

Three, Nate and I position ourselves to take off in our respective directions.

On two, the man tosses the handful of stones and twigs in one direction while booking it in another, effectively drawing the attention away from us as we both hear the snap of the band.

On one, we’re both running while the shooter looks at us in shock, scrambling to ready a new arrow. Neither of us back to make sure our companion is unharmed as we dart toward our attacker.

A woman, and I shouldn’t be surprised given how light on her feet she had been. She’d practically been the slightest breeze on an already cold day, going unnoticed as she went in for a kill. A good skill to have, but you need to never miss if you’re going to use it. Stealth only gets you so far if you can’t make the killshot.

Her blonde hair is in a long braid that flies behind her as she turns around and begins to run in the opposite direction, continuing to try and nock another arrow She looks back and notices how much distance we’ve gained and releases a groan of frustration, skidding to almost a complete halt as she swings her body to the left, her right arm holding the bow coming up before she thrusts it back down, hitting Nate in the shoulder. I don’t have time to assess the damage because she’s already using her left hand to grab a dagger sheathed at her waist, spinning and slicing at my approaching form while Nate groans in pain. I dodge the blade, hearing it swoosh through the air as time seems to slow down, watching as it misses my chest by less than an inch.

She narrows her black eyes at me, her face twisted with wrath as we circle each other. I watch Nate approach her from behind, rolling and rubbing at his shoulder before taking his place across from me, the two of us circling her as she continuously adjusts her body to keep eyes on the both of us, still holding her bow and dagger. I watch her like a hawk. The second I see her tighten her hold on the dagger and fix her gaze on Nate, I know she’s about to make the first move, and pretty soon we’re in a battle of kicking, punching, and slashing.

She moves like an experienced fighter, able to hold her own against two men much larger than her. If she weren’t trying to kill me at the moment, I’d probably respect her rather than want to twist her head all the way around like an owl and see if the last word that leaves her mouth is “Who,” while the rest of her sentence gets cut off as the deafening sound of her neck snapping echos through our minds. Regardless of how satisfying it would be in the moment, it would be nothing but a taunting realization that we had murdered the first chance of answers that came our way.

“We can’t kill her,” I grunt out as I’m dodging almost every hit that comes my way. I check how well Nate is faring, but the second it took cost me because her dagger grazes my left upper arm, the wound stinging as blood rises to the surface.

“I know that already, did you not!?” Nate grits out, exasperation lacing every word, possibly perplexed by the thought that I even felt the need to even say it.

“Just making sure!” I push out as all my breath leaves my body when she lands a kick at my stomach, though I manage to wrap my hand around her ankle before she can pull away. Turning my body to the side, I yank her leg toward me and then knock her other leg out from underneath her. She falls to the ground with a soft thud.

In an instant, I’m pinning her arms over her head while Nate holds her legs down. It’s then that our friend decides to join the party—unharmed, might I add. “So, where have you been, Princess? Too good to fight or what?” I ask the man who, in fact, does not look like a pretty little princess, but I’ll call out the behavior if I have to. Mammoth of a man that looks like he could snap my body in half like a little twig or not.

He keeps his focus on the woman, his body loose, as if he’s unbothered by the whole situation as he responds, “It looked like the two of you had it under control. I’m the one that risked death to give you both an opening. I deserved a good show.”

Unbelievable. Truly.

Would I have done the same?

Almost definitely, but that is beside the point.

“Okay, Princess, I was going to feel guilty about not knowing your name if one of us died, but now I realize that I don’t need to.”

Silence. From everyone. Even the woman that had been trying to break free from our hold stills and angles her head toward me. I look at each and every one of them with one of those “If you have something to say, go ahead and get on with it,” faces. Mister Princess’ whole body just shakes with laughter so boisterous that you’d think I just told the world’s funniest joke. Suddenly, everyone is looking toward him rather than me while he gasps for breath and doubles over with his hands on his knees, shaking his head.

“You really were out here not knowing my name this whole time?” he asks, still breathless from his laughter. My mouth breaks into the biggest grin, and then I’m laughing right there with him. The split in my lip reopens, and the bitter taste of blood dances across my tongue as I suck my lip into my mouth. I’m still chuckling when Princess kneels down beside me and roughly grabs my injured arm, and the dull pain quickly turns into a deep, throbbing one.

“The name is Adonis,” he starts, and his humor fades as he squeezes my arm, thumb digging into my wound. He drops his voice even lower and adds, “And if you call me Princess one more fucking time we’re going to have an issue.”

An issue? Did we—just become best friends? I think we did. It definitely feels like it. So despite the pain now pulsating through my arm like its own heartbeat, I give his own arm a few pats, mimicking his movement. I give him my best smile and say, “Sure thing, Donni.”

He levels me with a glare before we both look back to Nate who looks borderline horrified at the whole interaction but clears his throat and looks down at the woman. He unsheathes every dagger she has strapped to her thighs and hips, dropping them on the ground next to him, but keeping hold of the last one before handing it to Adonis, who just balances it on one finger and keeps his gaze fixed on her. His presence is large—deadly, something even I acknowledge, but she doesn’t flinch away from him either. Even as his deep voice, lower than I’ve heard it yet, cleaves through the now dreary silence with only one word.

“Speak.”