Walking the Ruins

Words, and someone sobbing

I follow the path that the young people from the bunker took as they jogged off. There's no trace of them. The woods around me are quiet, I'd be able to hear anyone from afar. My months as a hunter have given me strength, stealth and a sharp ear for the sounds of the forest.

A few minutes along the way, I hear voices from ahead. Quickly, I leave the path, scampering uphill where shrubs and rocks promise cover.

I hide and wait, but the voices don't come any nearer.

They seem to be stationary. Curious, wondering what they are doing, I continue parallel to the path, at a safe distance from it, threading my way through the bushes and rocks. After a while, I reach a small plateau that provides a good view into the valley. It's mostly covered with tall boulders, a few trees growing between them.

The four youths are close to the edge of the plateau. The girl with the long hair sits on a fallen tree trunk. The two men and the pistol-carrying woman are standing next to her. They are looking at her and discuss something. The one sitting emphasizes her words with jerky, agitated gestures.

I cannot hear what they say, the distance between us is too large. I scan the surroundings, but there is no closer hiding place.

The curly-headed guy sits down beside the woman on the fallen tree and places his hand on her shoulder once more as he did at the bunker entrance. She pushes him away. He rises and looks at pistol-carrier, then shrugs. He turns back to the sitting woman and says something, his hands towards her with palms up in obvious supplication. She shakes her head. She waves towards the general direction of the bunker entrance.

Pistol-carrier does likewise and points back into the direction they came from, with gestures apparently prompting the others to turn back. She says a few words to curly-head. He hesitates, and then he nods. The group starts moving. Only the sitting woman remains where she is, staring out into the valley.

They are coming closer to where I hide, not jogging but walking slowly now. As they approach, I can hear their voices.

"Anna should calm down," says pistol-carrier.

"She's pouting. She always does." This statement comes from the man with the mustache.

"She has good reasons," says curly-head. For someone so pale, he is surprisingly handsome. "We shouldn't leave her alone out here. There may be dangerous animals."

"No one got eaten yet," pistol-carrier says. "She'll follow us soon enough when she has cooled down."

Curly-head stops and looks back at the woman they left, knotting his brows. "Anna!" he calls. She does not react and continues to stare into the valley. "Anna, we're leaving," he repeats, louder. "Don't stay too long."

The woman, Anna, turns her head to towards him. "Yeah," she calls back to him. "I'll follow in a moment. Just give me some space." Her voice sounds tight. "Don't worry."

Curly-head looks back to pistol-carrier, who has stopped, too. "I don't like this."

"Oh, just let her. She'll come when she's ready. It's not far. She needs some moments alone."

She turns, following mustache, and curly-head joins her. They disappear into the forest. The noise of their footsteps quickly tapers off. The only sounds that remain are the murmur of a nearby brook and the hysteric chirps of a flock of birds hidden in the pine trees.

The woman sitting on the dead tree, Anna, still stares into the valley, her head resting on the palms of her hands.

It's just her and me now. She looks vulnerable, weak. Why do I feel sorry for her? These people are holding Steve and Jenny captive, somewhere in the depth of that bunker. She's one of them. She deserves no pity.

And this is the perfect opportunity, a unique opportunity.

I begin to move, silently approaching her from behind, my hands clamped around the spear I stole from the village.

As I get closer, I see her shoulders moving in the irregular rhythm of a gentle sobbing.

This won't help you. I place myself behind her, gripping the spear tightly, its tip a hand's width from her spine.

"Don't make a sound," I hiss, "or I'll stab your guts!"