Page 48 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

18

OUT OF THE GATES

Spirits ran high as we departed from the resort early next morning, the tall fence gate shutting behind us with a solid, metallic clank, the fresh mountain air thick with nervous agitation. We started our march by retracing the path that had brought me to the community two months prior but then deviated from it to trudge east to the nearest mountain refuge. We rose from the forested valley, then followed a solid path snaking along a mountain ridge, its rock edges jagged like very uneven teeth. Despite the persistent feeling of being watched, we haven’t met a soul. Nor a creature that used to have one but did no more.

Our progress was fast, and I struggled to keep up, constantly breathless and falling behind, irked to the point of greatly looking forward to encountering something that I could shoot.

The first refuge was at a flat mountain peak, a large wooden hut with a deep green roof reaching on both sides nearly to the ground in a wide triangle. There was a plain in front of the hut, rocky with tufts of grass here and there, and with tents scattered on it. There was no fence.

Strong wind whipped our hair around our faces and served not only to obliterate the stench of decay, but also to makethe four furies that lurked between the tents oblivious to our approach.

“You, Albert, Bastien, and Szandor,” I whispered to Einar, “to boost confidence. Let’s show everyone that someone other than me can do it.”

In time, I would start choosing the archers who needed the practice most. But first, I needed nervous apprehension to loosen its grip on my trainees. Until it did, any potential failure to hit a target would only serve to transform it into outright fear. I readied my own bow in case I needed to intervene, but I didn’t think I would.

To avoid being overheard by the roamers, Einar gave the order in signs rather than words, and the four men stalked closer and aimed. They didn’t disappoint, each shooting their assigned cannibal in the head. Einar then pried all the arrows out by smashing the infecteds’ skulls with his axe savagely until they were no longer solid, a sight none of us would forget too soon.

In fact, there was no shortage of unforgettable sights, provided by the bodies scattered between the tents. Bodies of infected who had succumbed to their injuries, as well as half-eaten bodies of uninfected individuals. Until looking at them, I hadn’t realised how powerful the alpine sun was. It wasn’t hot, but their flesh was falling apart from the bones like overcooked chicken meat, their dark flesh alive with maggots and insects.

Several people vomited in unison.

I didn’t feel sick. Perhaps because I bore responsibility for others and couldn’t afford to be weak, I subconsciously whipped my senses to indifference. Or maybe I was getting used to such grim scenes the same way doctors get desensitised to seeing the innards of a human body after a few autopsies.

We left the corpses lying where they had fallen. In a few weeks, nothing would be left of them but bones.

The next days looked much the same. Serrated mountains jutting against the blue skies, looming over us, unreachable and mysterious, still lakes resting in the depressions between them. Rocky outcrops that promised jaw-dropping views and danger, serene shrubbery growing stubbornly through debris. Air that was fresh but warm around us, clean and fragrant. Sounds of wind and birds resonating through our ear canals and burrowing their way into our brains so that we heard them even when they fell silent. Depleted mountain refuges with many dead and only meagre supplies to take away. Few live infected here and there, not a high enough number of them to provide sufficient practice for my pupils. Empty lands overrun by death and destruction.

I started dreaming of decomposing bodies, skewered with worms. I dreamt of yellowed eyeballs, the irises gone milky white. I dreamt of darkened bowels, coiling perversely out of abdominal wounds, indecent, improper, obscene. As we made our way across the northern mountain refuges, death was everywhere, invading not only our land but also our minds with the ruthlessness of a summertime fire.

As planned, we returned to Ascu every two to three days, staying for a day before heading out again, feeling refreshed. We checked off the refuges and human settlements in the region one by one, our progress satisfying on a map, but often gruesome and underwhelming in reality.

We finally reached the campsite that Dave, Josh, Kevin, Amit, Monika, and I had encountered when we first arrived. Most of us nearly collapsed with joy when we found that peoplewere still there, starved but alive. We led them to one of the bigger mountain huts we had cleared.

Einar then offered the newly established settlement a partnership deal that we had planned to make with any survivors we might encounter; they would get a certain number of our bows for their own protection in exchange for a number of their people joining our archers’ ranks for further clearing. Gathered supplies were to be distributed fairly—more or less—between settlements. They could not but accept. Our assistance was contingent upon their acquiescence, and it was clear they would not survive long without our provisions of weapons and a better shelter.

Gradually, we ventured further, staying away from our colony for four to seven days on end. We reached the northernmost point of the mountains where the peaks were of notably gentler gradient and covered by fragrant, long-needled conifers, where the dirt on the ground was the colour of sand, and the coast could be seen glimmering in the distance. Where the air smelled like a holiday.

“When do you think you’ll stop pushing me away?” Einar voiced that dreaded question into the silence of one balmy evening.

We sat next to each other at the edge of a rocky precipice, eating our meagre dinner from a can, gazing at the distant sea.

“Haven’t you tested me enough?”

I barely suppressed a groan.

“I’m not testing you. As I told you a million times already.”

“How much longer, Ren?”

I chased the last remaining bits of beans and sauce around the bottom of the can with my spoon, wary of replying. Einar had not yet reminded me of our original deal, of what myfriends’ place at the settlement and my own hinged on. But his impatience with me mounted with each passing day, and I worried I was perilously close to the day when he would.

“You promised to give me time, Einar.”

“I gave you time,” he grumbled, the sound potent like a brewing storm. “I’ve been extremely patient with you, all things considered. But it’s been weeks of this nonsense.”

I shot him a mutinous gaze, my face hot with anger, but he continued undeterred,

“Why the hell are you keeping us in this limbo?”