I slowly opened my eyes.

The rock against my back sharply dug into my spine, and it hurt whenever I attempted to swallow what saliva remained in my mouth. I struggled to sit up from the curled fetal position I found myself in, trying to understand how I had managed to doze off--how I had gotten to this place. I only knew I had been here for a while. It was raining heavily, despite wandering out underneath a cluster of trees and uprooted plants and weeds.

Meanwhile, the ocean raged and pulled and screamed against itself. The smell of moss and grass filled my nostrils and seeped into the roof of my mouth. My clothes were soaking wet, and drops of water fell from my hair and formed a puddle around my blistered toes. A ladybug crawled on a wilted flower; its brightly colored petals barely holding on. A calendula.

What alcohol remained in my stomach turned, and I knelt down behind a bush to empty its contents, sour bile rising at the back of my throat. As I was coughing and gagging, even in the mud, my beloved's band glowed in the dark light of the wilderness, amongst the whisper of the soft wind. Once I finished and I wiped my mouth with my right hand, lines of saliva trickled down my chin. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, feeling for Janice's letter in my pocket. It was still there, soggy and crumpled beyond recognition.

With a more clear mind, I neatly folded it up.

I pulled off my jacket and discarded it to the ground with shaking fingers, my soaked, muddy shirt glued to my skin. Despite how much I found myself shivering, my skin was numb---I could hardly sensed the rain pouring on me. The air was eerily silent though. The bombing must've stopped--hadn't heard it for the past few days. My pounding head was killing me; the aftermath of the last few nights' drinking had left me in the midst of a bad hangover. After greedily gulping down my fill of cold water from a shallow puddle nearby, my mind temporarily seem to clear up a bit.

Behind the hair over my face, I watched the shadows dance in front of me as I continued past their decaying forms. My bare feet were silent against the uneven earth and the slippery grass. I wrapped my fingers around the branches around me, trying to control my breathing as the trees closed all around me. The coral reefs were more visible, and I became more aware where I was. As I slowly crouched down to my knees, my toes curling around a rotten log. The wind had started to pick up again. Heaviness built up inside of my head, my skull, something very warm trickled down my nose and seeped further in my mouth.

A trail of ice spread out from my feet, causing the log to split and break into two. Pressing both of my palms against my temples, I bent over, trying to fight for control. The crackling sound of heavy frost forming on the earth resembled the sound of broken glass. As the air became chilled and the trees were coated in a white film, I buried my head in my arms, slowly counting in my mind. A method I had used ever since I was young---it seemed to only fail me now. Snow landed on my hair and face; my breaths were becoming visible in the air.

The sound of a dead leaf crumbling brought me to my senses. When I slowly looked up, one of the shadows was bigger. It was moving closer to me.

Covey had an arrow pointed at my face, his fingers delicate and sturdy around the frayed string. He was slightly shivering himself, under the wool cloak wrapped around his shoulders, where his gray hair stuck out from his ears. His clothes were layered with animal furs; the mocassins on his feet were coated with snow. Dark red and black paint marked his nose, beardand cheekbones, partially covering the K shaped scar located on his left cheek. His expression was motionless, dark eyes calm and focused.

I sat still. I think he had expected me to flinch, because he pulled harder on his bow, causing it to stretch at an angle that seemed that it would snap it in two. Wrinkles formed on his forehead, and his hand started to shake. Suddenly, he released the arrow--the whizzing sound almost silent. A loud thump occurred, and in the corner of my eye, I could see how it was lodged in the bark of one of the trees behind me. A stinging sensation settled on my right ear; when I reached up to touch it, blood coated my index finger and thumb.

Sweat had gathered on Covey's face, although his posture remained calm, his chest rose and fell. As he lowered the bow, the snow transitioned into sleet, and finally, pouring rain. Thunder rumbled above, and when lightning flashed against the sky, he slightly jumped, before fixing his gaze on me.

Beads of water fell from the ends of my hair as I stood up. The winds were bending and swaying the trees like blades of grass, and thousands of green and orange leaves swirled around us. I slowly stepped forward, but he turned and rushed off, his feet sloshing in the rising water and gray slush from the melting snow. I listened to the pattering of rain falling upon the calendulas.

With a shaky hand, I pulled out the arrow sticking from the tree bark.

* * * * * * * *

What was left of Flanders was a pile of rubble and thousands of pieces of concrete, brick, and rusted metal. Similar to the blue and white flags I had spotted at our own camp, they were placed at each border, from east to west. The stench of decomposing bodies filled the air, partially buried underneath the layers of floating dust and soil.

I managed to find a rusted shovel and started digging in the swollen earth, despite the sudden heat settling upon my sweat soaked back and shoulders. Using my left bare foot, I pressed the bottom of my sole against the warm, curved metal edge to push it past the compact soil, which was quickly being dried up by the sun. With the peeling flesh of civilian men and women, I placed each one in the shallow holes I had dug, before pushing mounds of dirt over them. I did not look into their motionless eyes or faces--to do so would be disrespectful. Coated head to toe in dirt, I scooped out more red earth and pressed my palms to flatten the surface before placing rocks on top.

For the ones who had a uniform on them, I let the vultures circling high above to do the rest.

Shadows had begun to form on the shattered buildings, in the now quiet and empty city. As the sky began to grow darker, fireflies became visible in the humid air. My shadow became visible in the empty street, lost in the fog of dust and gray asbestos that once lined insulation of buildings on it. After tripping twice on the ground, I leaned my head against a broken wall, my knees giving way. Slowly, I slid down on my back to the ground, my heart pounding as fast as a drum. I curled up into a ball and gritted my teeth, fighting the burning sensation in my eyes.

* * * * * * * *

Something wet sloshed against my ankles, mud bubbles cold against my skin. It was pitch black, although stars littered the sky above. A soreness had settled on my shoulders, and the sound of a child giggling made me look up. Mist had settled in the air, causing me to sneeze and cough heavily.

"Where's your raincoat?"

The voice made me jump and quickly raise my head. The little boy stood in front of me, his glasses too big for his nose. He kept using his hands to push them up higher on his face, and carried a bright yellow umbrella over his head. Yet he was dressed in a white shirt and swim trunks, but was barefooted, like I was. It made no sense to me---there wasn't another person for dozens of miles, and such a distance from the camp involved days of walking. For an adult the ordeal was taxing enough, it was hard to imagine how a child could go through the same predicament.

"What did you say?" I whispered.

"Your raincoat, sir," he replied, holding out his umbrella. "Where is it? Here, take this."

I got to my feet, blinking twice.

The boy started to laugh again.

"You will catch a cold."

I stood there, remaining motionless. The child wandered over to me and immediately grabbed my left hand, leading me forward. His footsteps were tiny compared to mine in the mud, and as we walked side by side, I could feel the rain on my face, traveling down my hair, my neck. Slowly, I knelt down in front of the boy, slipped off my dirty jacket and draped around his shoulders in my best efforts to keep him dry and warm. He looked surprised, before smiling again.

"Don't be frightened," I slowly said.

He adjusted the umbrella in his hands.

"I just would like to know where you're coming from. This isn't a place for young'uns; it's dangerous. You shouldn't be playing out here around all these sharp metal bits and concrete. You could really hurt yourself, you know."

The boy stared at me.

"Where are your parents?" I softly asked. "Are you lost? What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"I know where they are," the boy answered. "I'm waiting for them to come to me. They will."

His reply confounded me. What kind of people would leave their son out here in the rain? "Don't you have any relatives? Aunts or uncles maybe? They must be worried sick, so you need to get back to them. I'll help you get home. Do you live at the camp? It's not too far from the beach."

"I like the ocean. We played there together." When he turned to look at the empty street and crushed buildings, a faraway, forlorn look in his eyes. "We went surfing. Me and my brother once."

"You have a brother?"

"Yes. A twin. He's two minutes older than me."

A chill ran down my spine. Water dripped from the edge of my nose and chin. "Is he with you?"

The boy shook his head, clutching on tightly to the plastic handle of the umbrella. His teeth were slightly chattering. The pattering of the rain grew louder against its faded, torn material. "He hasn't come to me yet. Neither have my mom and dad. But I'm not worried, because they will come soon."

Thunder rumbled across the sky as we sat under an abandoned bus stop for refuge, settling side by side on a rusted bench. The boy set down the umbrella. Puddles gathered around my bare feet, cause by the dripping of my soaked clothing. My wet hair was plastered to my face. "Tell you what."

"What?"

"You say your folks are arriving soon. I'll stay here with you until we see them. We can wait, okay?"

"Can we play a game?"

"Sure, why not? Which one you want to choose?"

"I dunno," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

With my right hand, I picked up a stick and began to draw a grid in the mud. "How about tic tac toe?"

The boy eagerly nodded, clapping his hands in delight. Despite how impossible it seemed for me to do so lately, I faintly smiled. This kept him entertained for a while, and soon, his attention was diverted to sight seeing and observing the decaying buildings. For a moment, we watched the water violently crash against the destroyed asphalt surface. He badly flinched and clung onto my soaked shirt sleeve every time thunder echoed in the sky, snuggling in the jacket I had given him. I looked down at his shaking form.

"Don't be scared. It's okay."

"It's very loud," he whimpered.

"I know, buddy. But it'll pass."

"You can stop it."

"Pardon?"

"The rain. You can stop it."

My throat went dry. "I don't know what you're saying. It's just a bad storm. Nothing more."

"It doesn't have to be like that though. You can change it." He suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Why won't you do so? You must like the rain."

"I...." I shook my head. "People can't control the weather. If they could, there wouldn't be much use for shelter and buildings, hmm? We'd be sleeping outside under the palm trees with perfect sunshine and clear skies. Homelessness wouldn't be so much of a problem, which is pretty nice. But I think the same temperature would get pretty boring after a while, don't you? Needs some variation."

The boy burst out in fit of laughter. "See? You can change rainy days."

"No, no, no. I'm not a magician, now."

"But you can stop them." He pushed his glasses up his nose again and giggled. "You can! I've seen you move water before. I know you can do it."

Immediately, I rose to my feet, stumbling backwards. The boy remained seated, a calm expression on his face. It was suddenly very hard to breathe--and my chest rapidly rose and fell.

"Can't you?" he solemnly asked.

I couldn't say anything.

"We went surfing. I saw you move the waves. I saw you. I was on the paddleboat you made for me. It was a game. We were playing a game. Don't you remember?"

My heart was thumping hard in my chest.

The boy gave me a long look, his legs swinging from the bench.

I remained in a daze, my face wet.

"You wanted to teach me how to surf standing up." He giggled and climbed up on the bench, extending his arms. "See? No hands."

A sharp pain directly settled in the middle of my abdomen. I bent forward, my hair falling over my face. I rested my palms on my thighs, my breaths heavier. Suddenly, my limbs seemed very heavy, like they were made out of metal pipes. Ringing settled in my ears. From my peripheral vision, I could see the child remain still and stare at me, his glasses foggy so I couldn't see his pupils.

The ground started to flood with inky water. Waves splashed against the walls. Like garbage rising to the surface of the ocean, everything began to bubble up to the top and spill over the rims. I collapsed to my knees, melting away in the rain, which was growing heavier. With my hands, I blindly began to feel around, splashing on the ground. Crawling on my hands and knees, my searching fingers felt an arm floating above. A lifeless form. I tried to reach out, but sank deeper.

I did not open my eyes. There was only the howling wind, the squeaking sound of a door hanging off its hinges near a destroyed building.

* * * * * * * *

When William entered the dark conference tent, he slightly hummed to himself, filing through a pile of papers he held, dampening the edges with his index finger. I sat down in a corner, my knees bent, cigarette placed between my index finger and thumb, trying not to pay attention to how my hands shook. I exhaled, letting the smoke rise from my mouth. When he finally caught a glimpse of my shadow, he ended up dropping all of the pages on the ground, causing them to scatter across the lumpy dirt. I watched him behind my hair, the wet strands hanging over my vision.

He placed a hand on his chest. "Goodness."

Silently, I tapped the end of my cigarette.

"Where have you been?" William asked. He released an exasperated sigh. "We've been looking for you for weeks. You can't be disappearing like that and just show up out of the blue. Rufus is already as stressed enough as is."

I slowly stood up and began to pick up the papers. Some were written with a type writer, others by hand, and a few consisted of maps. When I finished and held them out, he snatched them. He cleared his throat and tossed the stack on the table with a heavy thump and folded his arms.

"Care to explain, Mr. Bueler?"

The smoke from my cigarette filled the air.

He leaned against the table. "We've reinforced Flanders's and Navu's borders so far. Our men our located on the easter and western fronts, and hopefully, we can get more guys down, since we anticipate the Red Mambas will attempt to recapture those cities. You do your part, we do ours. It's simple, really. Make sure the land surrounding village near the coral reefs is clear of soldiers and spies. Clear. At. All. Times."

I shoved my shaking hand in my pocket.

Willam scoffed and stepped forward. "That's odd, isn't it? Due to you being nowhere, we had to alternate between two different groups switching out." His voice rose. "Doing your job. You know, doing the one task that you had begged us for? No one told you to go to Flanders. No one told you make these decisions without consulting us first. You've skipped almost every meeting, half of the time you're not even where you're supposed to be. You invaded a city too early, and now we have no choice but to over exhaust what limited supplies we have because you didn't listen. It's the most selfish thing I've ever seen from someone. And then you have the nerve to leave?"

"I'm sorry," I quietly said.

"Sorry? Is that it? That weak word? You might as well put a small bandage over a gaping wound." He slightly chuckled, before banging his fist on the table. "Sorry doesn't erase the hours of planning and training for our men. Sorry doesn't take away the number of dangerous missions that we had been forced to undergo to keep up with our ammunition supply. We've bent back over heels to accommodate your wishes, Mr. Bueler, so I don't think that a mere apology does much in the state of affairs."

"It was wrong of me to take off."

"This isn't a one man show, in case you weren't aware. We are supposed to be a team." He placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. "From now on, everything you plan to do, even what you think of doing----it goes through everyone else. What the hell were you doing this time, anyway?"

"I ended up south. Flanders."

"What do you mean, ended up?"

I couldn't make eye contact with him. Instead, I threw my cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with my left heel. More smoke rose from my nose.

William wrinkled his nose. Disgust was written on his face. "You've been drinking, haven't you? You reek of alcohol. Lay off the spirits a bit. It's okay to have a whiskey every now and then, but everyone has their limits. Even for a big guy like you. You’re not the only one here who needs to deal with their own mess. All you do is mope around, disappear for a few weeks, and then show up at the worst time. I’m sick of it, and so is everyone else. Some help you turned out to be.”

When he turned to walk away, I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

He turned around with shock. “Don’t touch me.”

"Wait," I said, feeling a knot settle in the middle of my stomach. "Do you recall seeing a woman some time ago? With a baby? A newborn?"

"What?"

"Rufus told me that he had spotted them when a few of you were scouting Navu together." I slowly exhaled. "Can you tell me what direction they were heading from that place? And if there...." A chill ran down my spine. "...if she mentioned to anyone that she believed she was being followed."

"You're talking nonsense." William tried to pull his arm away. "And let go, won't you? That hurts."

"Please," I whispered.

He gritted his teeth. "East bound, to the best of my recollection. We tried offering help to her, but she refused. And if you don't unhand me this instant, you won't be finding anything else later. Now if you excuse me, I need to speak to Rufus and two other comrades regarding the current state of Flanders. Unless you want to get a tongue lashing from anyone else on this camp, who I am confident feels as strongly about your irresponsibility as I do, I suggest you get back to the coral reefs. Or else I'm through with you."

I slowly dropped my hand.

The man gave me another hard look, before snatching up his papers and pushing past me as he exited the tent in a huff. The flaps of the tapestry rose halfway, before gracefully falling like a feather in the air.

* * * * * * * *

Someone was shaking my shoulder, saying my name. How did they find me in this place? It was cold. It was very cold.

”Adlai. Wake up.” They were patting my arm.

I rolled over on my side—rather, I think their arms did the task. My head was on fire, and as I peeled my glued eyelids open, there was a blur of colors. They bled into each other like a watercolor painting. Rufus peered down at me, and I realized he was kneeling. Then his hand was tugging at the glass bottle that I found my fingers glued to. He slightly grimaced at the scent after taking a quick whiff of the contents, abruptly setting it down. I felt his arms supporting my back.

“Come on. Sit up.”

My headache worsened. I realized that my shirt was soaking wet and unbuttoned, and I had pissed my pants. I slumped forward again, but he reached out once more before I could land on the ground, lightly slapping my face with his fingers. He wiped his forehead—a dark ring of perspiration had gathered on his face and sticky hair.

“You alright? I was just looking for you. Came in here and saw you on the floor. I think you must’ve bumped your head.”

But I knew and he knew. I stared at the broken bottles on the ground and instantly put together what had happened—what I had tried so hard to prevent. After helping me to my feet, Rufus glanced around him. He then exhaled after breaking the silence.

“Let’s have you sit down, first. Want to make sure that you can keep down your liquor.” He hesitated, before closing his mouth for a moment. “I’ll bring you some water, yeah? Something to eat too.”

“No…I’m alright. Really.” When I spoke, my words slowly slipped out my mouth and fell onto the ground with a splatter. My voice was slurred, but I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You’re very pale.”

”Pale as a ghost, huh?” I murmured.

A concerned expression fell on his face.

”I’m…I’m…sorry.”

He wrinkled his eyebrows. “What for?”

“I…I haven’t been much help to you.” A sharp pain appeared behind my throbbing temples. I didn’t understand his apparent lack of frustration with me. Perhaps, like the others, he too was hiding it well from me. “I wish…people didn’t look at me…and…and scream. Or…run away. Why…why do they have to go? Everyone always…leaves.”

Rufus began to yank up the sheets on my bed and drape them around my shivering body. “Try laying your head down for me.”

I suddenly reached out and grabbed the half filled whiskey container. A broad smile fell on my face as I whispered the next sentence. “I see things. I don’t know if they are real or not. But…I see them. I try to understand them, Rufus.”

He reached for the bottle. ”Let me just—”

”You have to believe me! Please. I’m not lying.” My voice trailed. “You know…I wouldn’t….lie to you. I…I wouldn’t.”

The sound of shattering glass made him jump. I slowly looked down at the smashed bottle between my shaking, bloodied palms. Oddly enough, there was no pain of any kind. Several pieces fell to the ground.

A bewildered look fell on his face. He stiffened up, and without a word, removed the remains of the whiskey bottle from my fingers. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and tightly tied it around my palm, although the blood soon seeped through the material, dripping on the sheets.

“I’ll be right back,” he quietly said. “Some nasty lacerations there, but as long as we can clean them out properly, you should be good. I’m going to get some disinfectant and some bandages. You don’t move.” He sighed. “No use bothering William over this.”

“William.” It came out in a hoarse whisper.

Rufus stood up. “You severely need some rest. You’ve been overworked—and I don’t want to keep assigning you mindless tasks. Whoever’s been giving you a rough time, I’ll deal with them, okay? I just hadn’t taken the time to check up with you. That’s my fault.”

I managed to get to my feet, pressing a shaky hand against the wall. This made him flinch as he noticed the bloody print on its surface. “They’re…they’re not mindless.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I….I know I messed up—”

”The last thing I need for you is to stress.”

“I messed up,” I whispered. “But I’m tired of making mistakes. I want…I want to be good. I’ll do better this time. I swear, I will. But please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

“Let’s just get you to lie down, yes? You’ll feel better soon.”

”Would you listen to me?”

He took a step back, startled by my outburst. The veins on the side of his neck bulged, and I weakly dropped my hands in my lap.

”I…I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

He stood there, stunned. His eyes got a little moist around the edges.

”Don’t…don’t leave me here,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Please I…I want you stay here and talk to me. Talk…talk to me about anything, I don’t care. Just don’t leave.”

“You need to rest,” he firmly said. “You’re a bit drunk. We will talk later, once you’ve sobered up some. In the meantime, I don’t want you leaving that bed and hurting yourself further. The last thing I need is for you to wander outside and break your neck. You’ll stay this time, will you?”

I began to chuckle again—-which turned into a full fledged laugh. Then a raspy cough seized my lungs. When I caught my breath again, he was still motionless. Trapped in time and space and matter and energy.

He looked away.

“You’re…you’re a good father,” I softly said, running a bloodied hand through my hair. “You’re a great father. I….I wish…I…”

Rufus bit his lower lip.

“…I wish I were like you.”

“I’m going to get those supplies now,” he said. “You rest, okay? Sleep it off. You’ll be thinking more clearly tomorrow. I don’t like telling you what to do, but I strongly suggest you take off a couple of days to recover.”

He left without another word. And I wanted him to stay for a moment longer, although I knew he was busy and doing a million things at once.

* * * * * * * *

It continued to rain a lot during those days.

The interior of my bamboo hut was covered in large cobwebs and spiders when I finally decided to do something about it. When I was cleaning it up, I didn't want to hurt the little critters, so I scooped them up on a leaf and carried them outside, watching them crawl on the grass and dirt. I swept up the glass bottles. Under the tightly wound bandages on my hands, my skin had started to itch.

I didn't see Rufus that often. Only early one morning, when he and his men left to observe the current state of the borders around Flanders. He and his comrades would go one direction, I would go the complete opposite way.

I made sure to attend all of the meetings that they held, although no one made eye contact with me, as my betrayal had been evident to every man in that room. William avoided me, although I made sure to say hello to him whenever we happened to cross paths. I didn’t blame him. Attempting to make general conversation with the others proved unsuccessful, so I gradually stopped trying. And soon, with such loneliness, there was no warmth, no companionship, not a smile from any kind.

I ate my meals alone, usually on the beach, where I shared pieces of dried bread with the seagulls. This was away from the prying eyes of the crowd, from their droning voices. All that week, the urge to drink was overwhelming, so I attempted to distract myself by staying as long as I could from the camp and down to the coral reefs.

George had begun to expand the village; more bamboo huts covered with palm trees littered the ivory sands on the beach. I made sure to not get too close, but there were a lot more people settling there from before. I only had to eliminate a few more soldiers, who were starving and fighting disease on their own, and doing so ended their suffering. But the trees were becoming less dense---more villagers were using up the wood, which meant more exposure, due to the thousands of tree stumps that littered the ground.

I found a torn toy elephant in the city ruins near an abandoned factory while salvaging for gun ammunition; an order I was given. His stuffing was discarded and spread across the ground, his trunk torn into shreds. One of his button eyes were missing. I don't know what came over me to take it back with me to my hut, but I did. Cleaned him up good, filled him up with straw and sewed him up the best I could manage with a needle and broken pieces of string. Attached and secured new brown buttons to his eyes. I spent the whole night sitting on the side of my bed, caressing my odd creation between my large hands, drops of warm salt water splashing upon its stretched fabric from the tip of my nose.

Wanted to give something nice to my boy.

Based on the day that I had received Janice's letter, I reckon that my child had only been a few months. It bewildered me that I hadn't even decided on a name yet---unless his mother had picked one out already. I did not want to do so unless it was made more clear to me that she had not. I missed her beyond what was I could imagine what was possible. Her soft hands, her laugh, the sensation of her body against my own. And now, my son, who was mostly over a year old at this point, was the only family I had left.

Using what little information I had, I kept searching at nights, where people did not suspect. I tried to remember Janice's features; did she look older, or the same? I wanted to ask these questions to the others, but no one seemed to look my way. After endless weeks of coming up with nothing in the dense countryside, I decided to try with the next major city located more to the east: Portia. I wondered why Janice would take him there—perhaps the woods were no longer safe for them as she had to flee her home.

I knew that the place where I was would not be fit for an infant, nearly a growing, running toddler, but I simply wanted to take the boy and go. Then we would both move to a different place. I knew that I had been strongly forbidden to enter such large, inhabited cites. But I so badly wanted to see him and hold him in my arms that I hardly cared anymore---the loneliness was driving me mad. I could not take another day of watching children in the camp rush to their parents arriving at the end of the day and witness the joy on their faces.

Every time before I dozed off, I gazed at the stuffed elephant I had made for my son. It leaned against the bamboo thatched wall; its floppy ears hanging downwards. It probably was as half as big as him, and I imagined him holding onto it with his tiny hands or dragging it all over the place. I planned to make a crib for him of some kind. Use some material to form a makeshift mattress, until I could find something better for the boy.

While these night visits only started once in a while, they became more frequent throughout the months. After again stumbling on nothing, I knew that I couldn't go through some places because the Red Mamba guards there were checking identification cards. I only knew the description of my son based on the letter. Returning to the camp with no information and being sent down south again had me die inside. Nor could I eat or focus due to being invisible to those around me.

And soon, after many failed attempts, everything changed.

It was dawn—right around daybreak. The sun had not risen yet; but I had been wandering up and down a funny little back alleyway, getting ready to accept defeat. There was a rusted playground, one that was still standing. It had been so long since I had seen one that it struck me as a foreign object. The wind blew the tattered swings that hung near the peeling paint from the circular monkey bars.

The sharp sound of crying and wailing caught my attention. I turned my head to side to see a woman cooing, bouncing a fussy child up and down in her arms. A normal occurrence. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and looked away, internally preparing myself for the anguish that would soon wait for me at my empty hut. Just as I began to turn back, something caught my eyes.

And suddenly, a fine strand of hair flew upwards. Like a flag blowing in the wind.

Although it was dark and hard to see--a long white braid hung down her back. Her strange eyes pierced the light, and when I recognized her face, my heart skipped a beat. She began to sing the young’un a song, rocking him gently. A tiny figure was curled up in her arms, a little boy. The earth seemed to swell and tilt sideways, and I stumbled behind them, taking slow steps. The woman continued to walk forward, her worn shoes crunched against the mulch on the playground. I couldn’t make out the words that came out of her mouth, but they were soft, almost hidden by the wind. She had set down a small lantern on the ground, its dull light stretched their shadows on the ground.

In the background, dogs loudly barked.

The child sneezed, and the woman used the edge of her sleeve to wipe his nose as she paced back and forth with him. Underneath the curly red hair on his head that stuck upwards in the air like a sore thumb, I could catch the glimpse of the freckles on his face, that was over his brown skin. Something was odd about one of his eyes; it was covered in a white film of some sort. Perhaps I was pushing my hopes too far and I was terribly mistaken. That it was impossible. It had to be. But as I gazed at the boy’s face, I realized what was in front of me soon destroyed these doubts inside of me. And I could no longer deny it myself.

I had to lean against a bent garbage can for support, because a searing pain shot through me, and I fought to make sense of it all. My face was burning; it was on fire. My son. My boy, whom, for so many days and night, I had feared I would never be able to find. Yet, this wretched woman had taken him away from me, my flesh and blood, the only valuable thing worth living for. I knew that Honda would’ve never forgiven me.

Logic told me to retreat.

To go back to the people. To wait, to plan, to observe. To avoid detection.

Logic told me to immediately return to the camp and to inform Rufus and the others that we needed to secure the borders of the coral reefs, because this woman would lead the Red Mambas straight to them, to all of us. I suspected that she had spent merely a few months down with them, before hunting down Janice and taking the boy from her. She knew about as much information as I did, perhaps even more. Logic told me to reread Janice’s letter, because even though I didn’t remember much of her, I knew that she wasn’t a fool. I knew that there was absolutely nothing that the harlot in front of me could’ve said or done that would have convinced her to give my son to her.

My son.

The young’un released another cry, his face scrunched up. The noise broke me from my thoughts, and I sorely wished I had my gun at the moment.

”It is alright, my sweet boy.”

She kissed his face and gently wiped his wet nose. The gesture seemed to calm him. As he began to suck on his tiny fingers, I could not stop looking into his round eyes. The nose, the mouth, the chin—all of it was Honda’s. All of it belonged to her. The way he tilted his head to gaze upon his abductor’s face demonstrated that he had already put his good eye to use. It was as if he almost didn’t need the other one.

The infant was dressed in a bright blue shirt, with the hemline completely stained with saliva and wore a thick white diaper. His little legs, which were covered in freckles, kicked upwards on her lap, wrinkling her skirt with his bare feet. And yet he was so very small, snuggling in the crook of her arm. He reached out with a hand to grab at her braid, which was white as snow. She looked at him in such a way it made a deep knot form in my stomach.

Get your slimy, filthy hands off him.

A tingling sensation washed through me.

Only a feet away from her, stood ten guards, their hands resting on their rifles, their eyes blank as paper. Their faces resembled stone as they stared out into the morning air.

Had they driven out here from another location? Where are they staying? What living conditions is my son staying in? Are they doing tests on him? Do they have him on several unnecessary medications? His undeniably small size caused something to erupt inside of me. What if he is malnourished? What if he is sick?

It took everything I had inside of me to not maim every adult in sight and strangle them. To try remain still. I was going to snap their necks like toothpicks and scatter their bones across the street so they could be trampled under the feet of the people. I was going to stain the grass with their blood. And I almost did so, at that moment. But as I was about to take a step forward from the shadows to tear my boy out of the woman’s arms, she slowly set him down on her lap.

Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out a small knitted sock puppet, making funny faces and causing him to giggle, showing his pink gums. This seemed to distract him for a moment. His large eyes eagerly looked around, and she took out a wrinkled paper napkin and began to wipe the snot and crust that had gathered around his bright red nose. He had been crying—I wanted to scream and ask what she had done to him. When he reached upwards to her for a hug, she scooped him up as he reached out and began to play with the buttons on her coat. As she placed a kiss on his forehead, he released a high pitched squeal.

My eyes were wet. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, like someone had wrapped my lungs with their fist. A spit bubble gathered on his mouth, and the white haired woman quietly chucked as she popped it with her finger.

“Silly cookie,” Svetty murmured.

My baby boy pointed to the monkey bars, revealing a few front teeth that had begun to come in already on his upper gum. He waved his thin arms and giggled. “Up.”

She smiled and looked down at him. "We will come back tomorrow, won’t we?”

"Ma'am," one the guards barked. His breath was visible in the cold air. "Your five minutes is up. I wouldn't want to keep them waiting any longer.”

A downcast expression came on Svetty’s face. "He just needed some fresh air. It's too hot in there for him.” She began to rub circles of comfort on his back, and he leaned his head against her shoulder as she bounced him up again in his arms. His eyelids were partially closed. “You don’t like that room, do you? Don’t worry, my sweet cookie. We’ll move somewhere else soon.”

"We need to go now, ma'am."

Svetty sighed, placed a kiss on the boy, who had begun to fuss again. With her other arm, she picked up the lantern off the ground, enveloping me in complete darkness.

As their shadows slipped across the ground, I stood still. Energy coursed through my veins, and a crack started to rumble. My face was hot---like someone had poured lava on my skin. I could hardly breathe. A trickle of blood fell down my nose, seeped into my mouth. Blue light began to seep through my fingers as frost and ice crystals started to cross across the ground.