Get With The Program - The Woods Of Woulds, No. 31
GeorgeBakken/BrooklynNY/August8th2025
Welcome deeper into The Woods Of Woulds, togetherness necessitates being apart prior. I’ll be your Writer.
“Uecker Utilizations proudly presents The Electro! A new device powered by microwave technology that heats up your food in no time. No matter how long it has been stored in your fridge…”
The televisions’s black and white flecks sprayed a digital buzz in the air, most of it landing on his face. His bedroom was dark save a tall thin curtained golden yellow lamp in the corner. He did not sigh. He did not blink. Just inputted. The mother, a blonde in her early 30’s with hair perfectly set, skirt perfectly straight and flowing, walk perfectly upright and proper - entered the living room from the kitchen with a a full plate of food in each hand. As they’ve always done, the two children, a girl with a ponytail and a boy with freckles ran in from the backyard, mud on their shoes and knees. A golden retriever following closely behind even dirtier. She gives them each a plate and then the front door to the house opens. There he is. 6’3 blacksuited, hair slicked, broad shouldered, shoes shining. The mother and father meet eyes for the first time in hours and both light up with smiles.
The man watching the commercial in his bedroom lets his own smile escape, not a norm. But it happens. He can’t help it.
Briefcase in hand the father places his jacket on the coat stand and sets his briefcase down next to the stairs. The mother places a heaping helping at the head of the table and waits for him to sit. She clasps her hands in front of her figure, smile still on. He pets the dog and sits at his place, beaming to his children.
The mother speaks to the viewer, “Being a mother isn’t as easy as it looks. Some days I need a sidekick. Thank you, Uecker Utilizations.”
The man watching is locked in. He doesn’t notice the youngling Gleep entering the room and sitting down next to him. He is panting from the run here. But then again he is usually panting. His wrinkly oily dirty skin rubs up against the crisp fibers of his black suit. The man still doesn’t notice his buddy’s presence. The eyes watch the television. The mother’s frozen smile face reflects in his eyes.
He moves closer to the tv. It has gotten stuck on her face. The first instance of this occurring. It always goes to logo and a product shot of the Uecker Utilization’s newest high-tech property, The Electro! Always with an exclamation point. Today though, she’s not moving. Nothing is moving besides the beating of his heart. It is the first time he feels something inside of himself. His face gets closer and closer, now on all fours. The high-pitched buzzing ring of the television has stopped as well. Each teeth perfect, each strand of hair avoidant of covering any angles on her face. Each eye perfectly symmetrical, a button nose that was neither too large nor too big.
Gleep yips a friendly screech. This breaks him out of it. He looks down and settles back onto his rear, giving the pet a gentle pet. The television’s ringing returns and the frames follow up one another. The logo and product shot with a striped pattern behind it. A chorus of gleeful singers deliver the motto before a fading to the next advertisement.
“Uecker! What makes a home a home!”
Gleep yips softer with a little less concern this time but not any less excited. It was time.
He helped himself up and then checked over his appearance in the full length mirror next to the lamp. Wiping the sides of his hair back, giving them a quick comb. He patted down his pants and checked the cuffs of his jacket. He need not worry about nosehairs, about dry skin, about bloating. Gleep made sure he was coming with before exiting the room.
“Willowbrook Wonders brings you a world where your wildest dreams never come true, but your nightmares do, it’s …” The man turned the dial, ending the portal’s reign of attention for the moment.
He walked over to the record player and knew the right choice was already sitting on it, waiting to be played. So he did. It was a soft sprightly tune, one not meant to be taken too seriously. To lighten one’s spirits. A healthy stack of records at least seven dozen deep rests nearby. All have been played well more than a few times. Charlie Parker’s “Just Friends” began.
Also 6’3, blacksuited, hair slicked, broad shoulders, shoes formal and posture perfect, the man exited his bedroom. Guided by a hungry Gleep, he strode through the center of the earth we know as Dividir Del Infierno. He calls it home. Gone were the remains of Gleep, Glorp and Glape’s mother who’d burned to a crisp. Gone also was their older brother who’d been slain in the same event. Gone was the sword he kept displayed on the shelf. These things he of course remembered but didn’t worry about. There was work to do despite what had happened. He did the work.
What still remained was lots of junk strewn about, including a skeleton dressed similar to him. He walked past it into another room. The lava was flowing with confidence as it tended to do. Nothing seemed amiss. Nothing was. He entered the largest room and walked right through it to a camouflaged lever in the wall. Gleep stayed behind knowing he shouldn’t come closer.
“Go get the others.” He said, turning the lever to the right. A human-sized door snapped open just a tad.
He shoves the rock in, opening the door. If he worried about temperature then he would’ve noticed a 80 degree shift as he entered. This man was privileged with not needing to worry about such trivial things. The freezer room was where he had previously prepared meals and sustenance resources for the living things he cared for. Stockpiled was meat and fruits and vegetables and grains from eras past. The room went back a few dozen feet. Lights buzzed on one section at a time as the door swung open. It bordered but did not lead into or connect to his bedroom.
As if it was routine (because it was) the man grabbed a box from one of the shelves, next up in line to be used. He opened the lid and grabbed a giant T-Bone steak and set it on the center preparation island. Shutting the lid, he put the box back up on the shelf. Walking all the way back to the deepest wall he grabbed the next loaf of bread in line to be used. Hundreds stacked up against the wall waited for further use. Red, Yellow and Blue dots flooded the space. WONDERBREAD displayed on their plastic wrapping thousand of times over.
He grabbed the T-bone with one hand and shook up the loaf of bread in the other. Into the largest room he went again, Glorp and Glape were now there with Gleep who’d been successful in retrieving them from wherever they’d been messing around. All six of those black eyes watched his hands. Excitement wouldn’t do the emotion justice. He simply walked up to them and placed it on the ground in front. Their body heat and the surrounding atmosphere would warm up each object in a matter of moments. As their food unthawed the trio licked the steak. Patience not yet learned.
He walked into the adjoining room and then to the right. Stepping over the giant log he found the door to his office. Inside was a classy wooden desk, a couple sitting chairs for guests, several filing cabinets lined the walls. Folders and notebooks and pens and a stapler and a lamp and all the items your father has on their desks sat on top of the room’s centerpiece. He grabbed one of them, measuring tape. The torch and lava light from the other room was the only thing aiding his vision at this moment. He didn’t even notice the titanic spider hiding in the dark corner. It opened its eight eyes one at a time upon his arrival. The man left for a brief second and the spider closed its eyes again, wanting more rest.
The suited man walked to the lava river in the adjoining room and bent down to it. Its orange glow highlighted his entire face. He measured from the surface of the ground to the height of the lava, searing the tip of the measuring tape’s metallic tail. He took notice of the number it landed at and then snapped it back up into itself. Back into the office he set the measuring tape down and grabbed a matchbook. Quickly he plucked and lit, walking to the furthest corner of the room and touching match to torch. He waited for it to catch and then blew out the match, waving it shortly a couple times. The torch took and lit up the room successfully.
“Three nights in a row Arthur? Make yourself at home why don’t you.” The man spoke to the spider while grabbing a carton of Marlboro Reds.
With automation he walked to the torch and put the dart in his mouth. He leaned in to let it light and then inhaled. The man brought the cig to life and then sat down in the leather office chair, looking towards the door and Arthur sitting in the corner. It was a wonder how he even fit through the door. The spider slowly woke up from its slumber and mumbled something.
“It smells like me? Huh.” He shrugged his eyebrows and his mouth U-shaped.
He took another drag, “Didn’t realize I had a smell.” - he bellows and smoke fills the office.
The spider bleeped.
“All things smell. I like that one.” The man leaned back fully, swiveling in the chair.
Moments passed as he thought to himself. The mother feeding her children. The working father. Their smiles. The Bird played on from the other room. The current track ended just as his current cigarette ended and he rubbed it out in the glass ash tray. Grabbing a pen from the coffee cup holding a dozen of them and the largest notebook on the desk, he didn’t pay attention or say a parting word as the spider’s massive form left his presence. He flipped to a page very deep in and jotted down the height he’d measured. He looked to the square white clock on the wall and then jotted down the time as well. 7:15.
He stared at the worm farm on the table against the far wall. They burrowed and dug around in different random patterns. What a blissfully devoid of stress existence he thought. He crouched down next to them with the notebook and marked their progress. One of them looked still, unmoving. He tapped the glass and it didn’t react. The others dug to high heights and deep lows while this particular worm remained lifeless. “6 DEAD” he wrote on the page.
He was gone from the office by 7:19. Clutched in his palm, strap dangling to the ground was a whistle. He’d had very little practice with it, having just discovered it a few days prior. One of the artworks on his wall, that of a woman and presumably her daughter holding hands and walking down the street in watercolor had become askew during the visiting of that group from above who’d taken life. He went to adjust its straightness to perfection when upon looking closer he noticed a seam in the wall. A square vault lay inside. The logo of UU (for Uecker Utilizations) displayed raised on the bottom right corner. Above the vault in black text on a simple white label was an instruction in all caps “ONLY YOUR CURRENT ID WILL OPEN THIS”
He cranked through the numbers to find the 7, then flipped it back to the left to find the 7 again, then back to the right for the 6. He went back to 0 but it didn’t open. Nothing happened. The lock kept on going. Current? Current? When else would there be?
He turned to the door and through it could see all the way through the side room and then into the open doorway of another beyond, where he could see the two feet of the suited skeleton. He then tried 7-7-5 instead of his own 776. No dice still. Maybe this isn’t how the lock works? Seems like a basic locker type of lock. He thought of the TV commercials set in high schools. The adolescents with their books and ponytails and sneakers. Jocks wearing their football and basketball jerseys. Matching sweaters for a group of girls with the same color and styled hair. Balding teachers. Freshman getting picked on. Hoodlums in their leather jackets and wielding switchblades. Every locker he’d ever seen in one of those commercials had a lock like this. 7-7-4 and then 7-7-3. Still nothing. Annoyed, an extreme rarity, 776 tried one more time. Really focusing on the numbers he was dialing in, the caretaker of Dividir Del Infierno skipped all the way to 7-6-0. It worked. The vault snapped open and inside was the whistle he held in his hand at the moment along with a manual. Wasn’t a lengthy read, just a couple dozen pages. Felt as if it had never been read before. The pages were stuff, completely white, staples still intact and binding perfect. The black ink and pictures still held deep colors. He held the wooden whistle in his hand, inspected it.
He’d changed up the music once Charlie’s current record ended. He grabbed the first Righteous Brothers album he could find in the stack. One he played at least once a day, usually when he was talking to her. Just Once In My Life. Through the underworld he walked calmly, dim torch in one hand and aforementioned whistle in the other. The long walk, although long wasn’t tiresome or stressful.
Olympia’s mostly preserved skeleton still had a few strands of that trademarked long white hair, as you’ll recall from our first adventure down below. She was still tied to a branch that had fallen chaotically to the bedrock. Her dress covered her form, stained with blood. Dried mud also conflicted the white fabric’s purity. He sat on his rear across from her, legs stretched out. He waited for the record to end. 776 tilted his back and looked to the split above. A sliver of bright blue spanned from as far left as he could see to as far right as he could see. He wondered when the last time she’d seen that same blue sky was. It was the still the same sky that she’d been living under before she’d been thrown down here. The sky doesn’t adhere to the rules of time, doesn’t need to. It simply exists. It will always be there.
He looked to her strands of hair, how colorless they were. The torch flickered on the ground nearby, tinging her orange and casting a shadow up on to the wall she rest against. He could see through where her eyes had been. 776 reached forward and touched her chin fondly, cupping it in his left hand’s palm. He really looked into her eyes, maybe she could see him too. Leaning back up against the wall, his focus didn’t leave her face. He thought of the muscular blonde sword thief who’d made significant eye contact with him. Curiosity of what life was like above was gaining momentum. The long-haired boy who’d burnt the mother to a crisp. Why would they want that sword so badly? How did they know it was down here? Who did this to you, lightning-haired woman?
Did they know who you were? Does anybody up there still know who you were? One day I’ll be the other suited man just sitting there in the other room without flesh, without eyes, without lips, without ears, without hair. Unable to speak. Unable to look. Unable to hear or smell. One day.
This was not like 776. He didn’t feel these things. He didn’t feel anything. Not even the scorching temperatures of this underground system affected him. The music brought him company but had never invaded his strict state. Today something had changed, he couldn’t get the mother’s smiling face out of his mind. It was stuck in there. Her round nose, pointy chin, oval eyes and perfectly combed hair. She didn’t blink also, just as he. Neither did the skeleton in front of him. He thought of the sword thief again, she had blinked. Her eyes had closed for a split second as they stood there looking at each other.
A bat flew overhead in the darkness, it screeched a friendly greeting.
“Just one?” 776 whispered to himself, confused.
The bats calling these channels home always traveled in packs. He looked back down to her and then to her restraints. Fluster rising he shoved the whistle in his pocket and leaned over to her again. Quickly he untied the rope around her wrists and she fell to the ground as literal dead weight. He threw the branch to the side and tossed the rope as well. He grabbed the body by the shoulders and corrected it upwards. He sat her up, straightening her broken leg forward at the knee. Both legs now pointed directly outwards at a 90 degree angle with her torso. Some of her hair was cascading down her face blocking her eyes so he placed them all either to the right of the left. Without any ears to pin them behind they hung freely. He flattened the dress, descrunching it the best he could.
Returning to his own spot against the back wall he took her in. This was a much better way to have a conversation. A worm wiggled out of her mouth and he launched for it, grabbing it immediately and throwing it into the darkness. Never had he shown such anger towards a living thing and he knew it. He soured, settling himself back down. He sat there in the silence, his own breath needing calming.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, ma’am.” 776 apologized.
It was hard to tell if he really did think she could hear him or if he actually thought she might be still existing in some way. Sentient. It was in this stretch of days that he’d begin to wish for certain things, hope for events to unfold. The largest one being this skeleton’s ability to converse or react to what he was saying. He talked and talked and talked. Mostly about his daily rituals or what him and Arthur had spoken about that day. What the growing trio of barbarians were up to. Most times he listened to the music with her. That was enough. At least he thought that would be enough. What irked him the most was the lack of feedback. He wanted to know more about her, what she was like, what her name was, who she had been, when she was from, what music she liked, what television shows were her favorite, where she’d grown up. He imagined what she’d look like with skin, probably not unlike the mother in that television commercial. When he found the whistle recently and had read the manual 776 got an idea in his head.
He would try and control her via hypnotization. The manual from Willowbrook was pretty straightforward. It had instructions on how to use both verbal commands and physical body movements to bring someone under your own power. Trance Tracing is what they called one of the moves, the one they suggested to use. It was using your pointer finger and moving it in circles in front of the subject, lulling their focus and attention. It would take some time and effort for fresh targets. Once they are linked to your voice and face and finger then overtime it would get easier to hook them. You’d soon only need to do short commands such as pointing your finger at them, hardly using the whistle at all or in short bursts or just saying the word “willowbrook” while looking them in the eye. Eye contact was pivotal, crucial.
He had tried this for the last few recent days and thought that it would now work better with her positioned this way, straight up and looking right at him. But no. Still nothing.
He only tried once on this day to hook her. This conversation was already a sour one. Inside 776 struggled to make sense of what was going on inside his own mind. He put the whistle into his pant’s pocket and then stayed sitting there. The already weak torch fizzled out. Now in complete darkness against the hard rock wall, the suited man sat in silence.
Moments later the rest of the bat bunch came his direction. A cacophony of bat wings and yelps dominated the space right above him. Hundreds of the cave creatures he knew as acquaintances flew from right to left, blocking his view of the bright blue sliver of sky.
That’s more like it he thought to himself.
Once they’d passed he stood and brushed himself off. He grabbed the flameless torch from the ground and began the journey back to his living area. The path became very narrow as it always had been and he shimmied his way through with ease. He knew the hallways of this place to a T. Could probably walk through most of it with his eyes closed or at least torchless. He was nearing the last stretch before the main room when he heard noises. Talking.
Were they back? Have they returned for more killing or thievery?
He slowed his pace and creeped towards the voices. Ahead he saw torchlight, much of it. He dropped his own, maybe he’d need to use his fists to defend himself or the younglings. The orange became stronger the further we went. They’d stopped their advances. Around the corner he could see up on the rock walls the glowing of their guiding flames. They talked in hushed but strict tones.
“Be ready to run. Watch our backs, Brian. Strike if needed. Don’t let anything bite you. Nothing.”
776 neared the turn in the path’s structure and eked one of his eyes around the corner just so he could get a good glimpse. 4 humans. All armed with swords or large blades. None of whom he recognized. A completely bald man was giving orders to the rest. He did not seem like a natural captain upon first glance but the others nodded in agreement. They obviously had spotted the gigantic room ahead. The main room. Where she had burnt up. 776 stayed looking, observing. One of them, Brian most likely, a hulk of a man with muscles bounding from his form turned back towards him and that’s when 776 dodged back behind the turn. That man could probably rip him to shreds. He looked mean, honed and toned, determined to not let harm befall upon him or his group. Even without the sword he carried the man was a threat. He felt in his pocket for the whistle. Maybe I can hook him the man wondered. If he could get that Brian’s attention and turn him against the others maybe they’d flee his home.
Each Alwaysian was drenched in their own sweat, all were dehydrated, all were sore. It had been an extremely long and stressful journey beginning three night’s previous. Virgil was running on only adrenaline, even that fuel was running on E. He had hope for the room ahead, looked to be inhabited. Torches were lit, which meant that a human had lit them at some point. The Finder’s stories had been true. The Helper was trying to amp himself up. Confidence was not apart of his natural self as is fully known by this point. He cleared his mind, bounced his shoulders up and down, took a couple deep breaths. He wiped the sweat away from his eyes and looked straight ahead to the entrance. The others mimicked his actions, also trying to prepare themselves for what lay ahead. Surely it couldn’t be any wilder than what they’d already encountered, right? Right?
“Alright.” He said simply and took one step forward before an existence altering scream arrived from behind.
776 sprang around the corner again to see Brian with Arthur’s large sharp venomous fangs buried into his neck. The others were too stunned to start attacking the ancient arachnid. Arthur slid his fangs out rapidly and then lifted Brian up into the air. The spider ascended via his sturdy string of web. Brian screamed the entire way, blood dripping out of his neck to the floor below. Nobody in his group could do anything. Seeing them distracted, 776 whipped out his whistle and revealed himself.
Virgil’s attention shifted from high above to down below as the rumored now real suited man walked into the pathway. He recognized the object in his hand as one matching a possession of his own. He reached for the whistle that hung around his neck. It had been George’s, stolen from his desk prior to their departure. The Leader hadn’t noticed. The suited man began his finger’s tracing towards all three of them so Virgil countered with his own. He stuck out his pointer finger and began with huge fast swift urgent circle shapes. The suited man’s circles were smaller but quicker. Virgil grimaced, the man grimaced back. The pair locked eyes.
A duel had began as Brian’s screams halted above.
776 was going after the bald one, the only one with a whistle amongst them. How curious, they too have a whistle? Does everybody have a whistle up there? Trying to remember what he’d read in the manual, he just tried harder and harder. Moving his finger in the air in different variations of what he’s seen in the diagrams. The other 2 humans looked at him confused but did not attack, not fearing for their safety. All he was doing was waving his finger in the air. The pair turned to see Virgil doing the same thing too and then looked to each other perplexed.
Unable to trace trance the man while he was also trying to trace trance him, Virgil went for it.
He screamed - “Willowbrook!!!”
It had no effect on 776 who blew into his whistle with courage. Too harshly and out of control was the result. But this did do something, springing the other two to attention. They went back straight and dropped their armed hands to their sides. They stopped looking to each other and looked to where the whistle came from.
Seeing this, Virgil knew he was in trouble and blew his own whistle as loudly as he could for a short second. The pair turned completely around towards him. The suited man blew his whistle in a lower pitch and for three seconds and the pair turned all the way back around towards him.
“Hey!” Virgil screamed but it didn’t work so he blew his whistle with extreme force for close to 7 seconds.
The pair pivoted once again back to their fellow Alwaysian.
The suited man then also screamed, “Willowbrook!” Almost just as loud as Virgil had screamed it.
The yell’s echo carried throughout the chambers of the underworld. The Woulder on the left looked to the yeller but the one on the right did not. 776 blew into his whistle shortly and Virgil did so as well mimicking the strength and duration. Both whistles rang throughout Dividir Del Infierno. The sound reached every corner of the chasm and even to The Burned Bunch above.
Again they reared back for another effort simultaneously.
For half a minute the two blew that one excessive note until Virgil gave up needing air. The Woulder tried hard for it but couldn’t find any. It was too hot, too claustrophobic down here. Little squiggles of bright yellow came into his view. They meandered around with extreme speed and flashed. Some grew while others shrank. In front of him his 2 Alwaysians became 4 then 8 then 16. They dissolved into each other and faded away before appearing again. He dropped the whistle to the ground and started falling when he was caught. An opening had enveloped him before he was able to hit the ground with the back of his head. It was moist, smelly, had sharp edges. It got dark quickly and he heard a chomping.
That was the last thing experienced by Virgil The Helper. A man of no confidence who for a foolish fleeting instant thought he’d return a hero to his city.
776 jumped in shock and dropped the whistle from his mouth as Glape began his devouring of the bald man’s noggin. Not long after the other two hypnotized members of his group were leapt upon in the same chaotic fashion by Gleep and Glorp. The three baby beasts had the heads removed within a minute and were sucking chewing licking every fiber they could. Blood still dropped every few seconds from above, pooling in the middle of the scene between 776 and the feasting. He grabbed the bald man’s whistle from the ground and shoved both of the weapons into his pocket.
The man left the bodies where they lay for now and went to check each room to see if everything was still there. Entering into the large room from the pathway he didn’t notice anything out of place in there. He first checked the freezer room, lifting the camouflaged handle and turning it. The door opened and upon doing a quick scan he knew nothing had been stolen or moved. He speed-walked to the other side of the room as the three younglings dashed in with the three heads still being carried in their respective mouths. He checked his bedroom all the way in the back. Everything was in place. The suited skeleton was still lying in his own room. The large log was where it lay. Nothing in his office looked out of the ordinary as well. He concluded that they had just arrived down here, that his perfect timing of bumping into them before they could do anything to his shelter was coincidental but factual.
776 returned to their decapitated bodies. He noticed the clothes they were wearing to not be anywhere near what he’d been wearing, or the party of humans who’d traveled down here recently. These clothes were of a different material, thinner, more colorful. The previously bald headed man’s shirt was deep red in color and his pants were of a brighter blue, their material coarse. The two next to him were wearing the same sort of pants, one of a darker blue and one of the same type of bright blue. The color of the sky most days. Their boots were finely made, detailed, crafted. Now that he thought of it the clothes they wore resembled something similar to the clothes people sometimes wore on TV, especially the children or older youths. It wasn’t exact match but it was close. He looked up to Arthur still finishing off his meal for the day. He wouldn’t be hungry for another couple days. The freak gorged on the intruder, some liquids still drooping slowly to the ground below every now and then.
He wanted to discard of the bodies before the three younglings also got greedy and started coming after the rest. It was an easy process in theory and in solution. He was do what he was told to do with the suited man’s form upon his arrival but chose not to do. Wanting to keep their clothes for himself, he stripped them of what they wore and folded the items neatly. He placed them inside his bedroom on the floor. Firstly, he dragged the captain’s body by the feet. The flesh of his back grated against the hard hot rock. Tug by tug, Virgil was forced into the largest room and then to the right towards the room with flowing river of lava. He set body parallel to the eternally burning liquid. 776 looked to the unimpressive corpse before him. How average this fellow seemed. This surely would not be a man who worked in the city and commuted back and forth from home on the train, conversing with others of his kind. He wouldn’t walk through that door to a smiling yipping K9 or two children happy to see him. A wife who had dinner prepared upon arrival. This body before him would never look into the camera with a smirk and deliver a line. He’d never slick his cropped black hair back. No favorite television shows or radio programs. Never been to a concert. Going to church every Sunday morning. Taken a sip of fine smooth whiskey. Mowed his saturated green lawn, aced a test, drove a car through the winding mountains of the west.
What a life. He thought. And then kicked. All at once Virgil’s plank of a person entered. The lava swallowed him. Only a “plop” was heard.
At one point in the timeline of us all she would be referred to as The Finder. Wendy, long of blonde bright young hair pulled the cart with two buckets of Lake Well Being’s almighty water, past a couple suspicious Peacers and around another settlement. She passed her father’s Collector workshop and headed straight to city limits. And beyond.
It wasn’t an easy task but one that needed doing, as were most. Into the thick she went on Where It Leads. Unsurprisingly she was the only person using this path today. It wasn’t a very popular path, lead basically to nowhere unless you were headed towards a small settlement outside of city limits. Summer’s very minimal greens faded with each moment. Her red cloak stood out amongst them like a thumb missing on a hand full of fingers. The water sloshed and swayed inside the two large wooden buckets. She moved slowly on the dirt path as to not make them tip or lose any of it out the top.
Eventually, the unarmed young Woulder reached where she was going. A secret improvised makeshift workstation her father Wesley had set up. She was confused pulling up to it, he now gone. She’d just left his presence before heading into All Of A Sudden to retrieve his hydration for the next few cycles. He was too busy at work to take care of himself, once he was in these moods it was hard to pull him away to being a functioning member of society with a safe sleep schedule and healthy energizing intake. This discovery, made aware by a Beenhere who was out for a pleasant afternoon walk was not one to be taken lightly. And Wesley didn’t.
Of a secretive nature for a couple reasons, hiding it from The Cleaners being the largest. He knew that if The Leaders or Wonderers or Cleaners themselves came into knowledge of it then the alien artifact would be surely burned and in short order. The Cleaners loved to do their job. Some of his supplies were there, his tool belt and giant pack of equipment. She saw his jacket and boots, both empty of the one usually wearing them. Where had he wondered off to?
She stopped pulling, searching the trees for any sign of him. No footprints around left any clues. She heard nothing either, just the breathing of the trees caused by a slight late summer’s breeze. Before her lay in an obvious manner the discovery he’d been obsessing over. Lying along on a small foldable table he’d set up days prior was an old bar of chocolate. On the front in large silver letters it read HERSH- until it was cut off by the opened end of the wrapper. Half eaten, dropped in what had to have been a hurry, the chocolate itself had been preserved. Where it and other things of its kind came from, The Collector had always wondered. Not that it mattered, what did matter is that it was here now. In The Woods Of Woulds. Upon first telling her about it, she’d wondered what it would taste like.
“Probably the forest floor.” He answered.
“How do you know it is chocolate? What even is that?” She asked.
He flipped it over with his tongs and showed her the tiny words and numbers on the back. She squinted to read them.
“I’ve been reading.” He answered.
That was days ago. The current issue was where he was now. Wendy noticed his gloves on the ground nearby as well, also vacant. She felt a warmth, no, a heat. It became urgently her focus. She twirled around to where she felt it coming from and behind her lay her father, fetal at the base of a tree. His toes were on fire, it spread to the balls of his feet and then his ankles. Wesley was sleeping peacefully, naked. The man had no awareness of the burning of his flesh. Wendy couldn’t even scream. Her eyes went wide and her mouth followed. His whole body went aflame in one sweeping whoosh and a spark landed on her cheek. Reflexively she slapped her own face.
Gasping inward, The Finder found herself in a small cabin shelter. The fireplace roared in front of her. No sign of the father that was seated next to her when she began this session. Distant screams alerted her mind to danger nearby. She spun around towards the door, surprisingly already standing and out of her chair. George her Leader stood in the open doorway, observing what unfolded in front of him in the stark daylight. She could sense his hesitancy to leave, in fear of his own safety. Even from behind she could see him shaking. The hand holding the door open wouldn’t stay still.
“Beenheres be!” Escaped his lips as Wendy looked around for her father.
“Where is he?” Wendy asked George who ignored her frantic question.
There was nowhere else he could be, Wesley’s house was on the smaller side. Nowhere to hide. Maybe he’d left mid-callback? Joined whatever chaos lay outside? Without waking her though… George left where he stood and disappeared quickly to the right in a hurry. Wendy followed him out. She saw a Woulder on the top of their house looking around, screaming for the person they were searching for.
“Mother! Mother! …” They screamed over and over.
Dozens more were going from house to house, person to person, window to window, trying to find their specific person. Chaos compared to their usual monotone states.
“Brother!” “Jacob!” “William!” “Quake?” “No! No No!” All their screams huddled into one.
Wendy could hardly leave the front step of the cabin she’d last seen her father in. Would he return back here to find her? How could he have left? The fire behind her was far too hot, it threatened to leave the wall and jump out at her.
“Wendy!” She turned to her right, thinking she heard George’s voice but it was just another Alwaysian, a Beginner boy.
“Adam!” He came out from behind the shelter, afraid all over.
“My brother, he was right there…” The boy trailed off, looking into the distance.
“I don’t know what’s happening.” She reached her hand out and saw people running for the forest, fleeing.
The boy, Adam, The Beginner, The Woulder, the one who’d approached Berry so bravely when this city was just a village, grabbed her hand.
“Gerald! Gerald? Gerald!” “Mother!” “Brother!” “Sam? Sam?” “Vince! Vince!” Wendy whipped her head around. All these names were flying out of mouths, but they were more than that. They were memories. People that these who screamed their names out had clung to.
None of that had been real.
Pandemonium flourished. One by one each Woulder belonging to George and Virgil’s master plan was coming out of their daze. A bronking horse dashed down the city’s center trail like a bat out of hell. It neighed frantically, warning those in its path. Those not fleeing were very confused and trying to calm everybody else down.
“Hang on tight, Beginner.” Her grip tightened as she broke for the main path.
Her cloak flapped behind her as they split the difference between two houses. They were right on track to intercept it. Throwing this child on the back of a moving horse wasn’t going to be easy but she was going to do it. They needed to get out before any of this got any uglier. False Hope and Vern needed to hear about this.
“You’re gonna grab her hair and keep grabbing onto it.”
Adam couldn’t be more uncomfortable with this plan but like Wendy knew, he also knew that it was going to happen. She grabbed him from behind by the pits and threw him up onto the unsuspecting animal. It screamed as the beginner wrapped both legs around its broad back. He clutched the white hair with all his might. Wendy grabbed the leather reigns and leapt into the air. Her left boot didn’t make it all the way around at first but with a second effort she was on sitting upright. A second later she almost bucked off but slid herself back into position. Adam looked behind to check if she was alright and she nodded. She handed him part of the reigns to hold onto. They rode through town, to the left and the right were their own Alwaysians trying to make sense of anything at all.
“The Leader! Look!” Adam yelled to her.
He pointed to the left and Wendy shot her view that direction. George was hiding behind a shelter close to the treeline. The two met eyes and she pondered whether or not to get off this horse and go after him. George looked afraid of her, unsettled and fraught. Seriously considering the option of going after him, she fought it off. Before they reached the city’s end she saw a few calm and obviously still controlled others reaching him to make sure he was alright. The woods welcomed the pair of recently-come-to Woulders on horseback. Both could tell that the horse was going through the same thing, it too was confused upset lost. Wendy kept it on the same path, leaving the panic behind, confusion taking over her decision making.
776 clutched his own whistle in his hand as he watched the bald man’s whistle disappear into the magma, joining the bodies in becoming no more. He threw his own into the river or red as well to the same result. He fished the manual out of his coat pocket and looked to the words he had already read moments prior. Each eye scanned a couple sentences and he silently mouthed the words. He nodded, assuring himself that what he’d just done was the right thing. The right thing. He flipped the manual into the magma as well. It immediately took a flame and went asunder.
The Grower was getting smaller. Hoyt twirled the end straws of his mustache, beyond bushy at this time of the winter. Needless to say the needles of his face had become unkempt due to other priorities taking up his time. Winter’s wind eased its way into the open door to his right. He was thinking, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before departing. Only a dwindling candle illuminated the cabin. Hoyt looked to the bed he slept in the previous night. A lone pillow with the middle dented. Two wool blankets crisply spread from side to side on top of one another. His fingers moved from his mustache to his jaw’s cliff. He was annoyed with his own skinniness. He clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue and moved to the candle, wetting his fingers. The tips extinguished its flame and the light died gradually. Winter’s blue now evident coming in through from the open door. He turned to exit but noticed something in his peripherals. On his bed was a women. Upon his view landing to the corner again he jumped back before realizing who it was. A familiar face he know not where from but one that he felt comfortable with looking towards. She was in her winter wears too, hat and gloves on, ready to leave with him but also had an idea in mind. She inched her finger towards him, pulling it back, wanting him to come to her. A smirk stretched.
Hoyt knows this isn’t real. It can’t be. She starts to fade away, the dim light makes it hard to see her form. Trails of her motion follow behind the subtle movement she makes, her existence not aligned with time’s. A face appeared the window above and one of his Growers tapped on the window to get his attention, they needed to leave now. Hoyt nodded to his man and then looked back to the bed. The woman turned from the window in response to the tapping that she’d just heard, delayed.
“Keep it warm for me, hey?” Hoyt asked of the stranger before shoving a glove on his naked hand.
As you are aware from our previous excursion into The Woods Of Woulds, poison was the route The Nutritioner’s Block inhabitants were going down. Willingly but not without hesitation. There was plenty of debate about it, lots of guilty chagrins, plenty of late nights and early mornings not being able to sleep. They of course knew how to create this poison with help from others but did not know the consequences. A city’s worth of Woulders could die from what they were about to do. Just like anything that has been done though, it was going to be done.
Frost crunched on every step as he and four others left the vast expanse behind. In a symbolic but also very real sense, the dark unexplained unexplored unknown depths of the south eastern unnamed lands worked well for their current purposes. Hidden craftsmanship that none of the artists ever wanted to remember again. This would be one and done, they’d take down Always, who to be fair had been blatantly taking over most of the entire southern region of the known map, and then be done. They’d make enough to infect and debilitate over 100 Woulders and close up shop.
The Sun broke the horizontal plane and they were still walking. Hoyt looked to The Beenhere, it still being dim enough to stare straight into. A breath escaped his lungs and plumed out of his mouth, into The Sun’s splitting golden rays. Mostly nothing was said the entire time they walked, knowing the way and also not needing to say anything to each other. He could tell the others were getting lighter as well, their footsteps not making the same sounds as they used to. All of his Growers and the other Nutritioners had distinct sounds to each of their steps. He knew who was approaching from behind when they did. On this morning however, he noticed the difference.
They arrived at their destination, a lone settlement. Four fur covered giant tents forced themselves into the surrounding cramped barely there front yard. This shelter was not freshly built. It itself was settled into the floor of the forest. The foundation blended into the fabric of the environment on which is was built. Grey smoke with a blue tint spewed out the chimney. Expected talking inside could be heard more clear as they neared.
“Let’s get going.” Hoyt said quietly to those he walked with.
They all took the order, nodding. One of their own greeted them, he’d been watching the door all night. A lookout.
“Morning, Leader.” He waved at the oncoming pack of wolves.
Hoyt and the others all waved back. “Are they back yet?” - He asked.
“No.” He opened the front door for them, the house swallowed them up one by one before he closed it again to resume his watch.
The answer didn’t make him worried. If they were meant to return they would. If they’d run into trouble along the way then, well… a shame it would be.
“Morning, Hoyt.” Jared greeted him without a wave, busy sifting.
Lead Grower Hoyt didn’t return the greeting but inspected the area, seeing how much progress had been made since his last visit. They had grounded up the bird droppings into a paste, diluting it with dirt and water which had created a powdery substance. Most of the people inside, including The Beenhere Jared wore coverings over their faces so as to not inhale the substance directly into their nostrils. One of the men he traveled with handed Hoyt a leather mask to loop around each ear. 10 Barrels of the powdery poison already filled up sat near the door ready to be carried out when the time came. The time had come and past, they were running late. The plan was to leave at first light.
“I assume our deal still holds up?” Jared mumbled through his mask.
“Of course. We could use your wisdom. As…dangerous as it can be.” Hoyt answered.
Jared stood from his workstation, fixing his waist-length grey hair into a tie that had come unraveled.
“Excited to return back to the popular region?” A Grower asked him.
“Aye. Excited to see what I missed.” Jared answered, hair successfully controlled.
“Meh, same old same old.” Hoyt said to which the rest chuckled (knowing it had not been the same as old).
He bent down to inspect one of the barrels, running his gloved hand along the wood exterior. A weapon was just on the other side of one inch of wood.
“Donkeys?” He asked to nobody in particular besides the one who would know the answer.
That grower answered, “Ready, Flick is bringing them up from the corner. I’d guess a Counter’s ten minutes.”
“Watchout, sir.” Hoyt moved away, one of his Growers came in with a fresh batch, pouring the bucket of fine grand concoction into the eleventh and final barrel.
“We’ll be able to get one more when they come in, then we’ll be set.” Jared said, cleaning off his spindle in the wash basin.
“We leave as soon as that eleventh barrel is full.” Hoyt said, an order.
Jared grumbled, annoyed. The two had their differences and it was known. Hoyt stood and left the room, removing his mask and rejoining the cold morning air. He heard footsteps coming and reached for his belt, just above his knife. Through the dead dense came three of his Growers and Vince trailing them. Each carried a gigantic backpack, each waved upon seeing him.
“You’re late.” He said, waving, frowning.
“Apologies.” One Grower said.
Vince evaded the disappointed man’s eye contact, following the other three into the cabin. The sacks on their backs were large, heavy. Hoyt knew he had to be hard on them but maybe not quite this hard. This was tough on all of them and they were risking life and limb going back and forth from that garden. Or what used to be a garden. Hoyt turned to the cabin, the smell of the droppings they carried came in through his nose. He sniffed, still not used to it. It had a sting brought on by the digested flowers. Jared called it Signi. He told The Growers that’s what the book he found called it. Written by a long ago florist of some type or another. Most of the book was destroyed, he also passed on.
But that’s another story. This story is the one we’re focusing on. Vince patted the watching Grower on the back and thanked him. The other responded in matching kindness and headed inside. Vince shut the door behind him and turned to Hoyt, acknowledging. The Lead Grower could see the redness in his eyes even from their current far away distance. Hoyt approached the cabin, saying nothing but wanting to. Vince knew what he was thinking on. He went to reach for his mustache when the former fighter spoke.
“Jared says it’ll just hurt them badly, won’t kill ‘em.” Vince offered.
“I know what he says, can’t trust him more than a shadow in the dark.” Hoyt scoffed and Vince chuckled.
“We’ve talked this to death, beaten the horse and its entire family. The situation is settled, decisions made. We gotta take them out.” Vince said.
“I know I know.” Hoyt stretched his arms out and also his thoughts.
“The rest of the woods will thank you for it.” Hoping that would partially convince him.
“I’m worried.” The Lead Grower admitted, softly so that nobody inside could hear it.
Why he usually trusted Vince, a practical newcomer to their kind with his innermost thoughts and not those he’d known for a longtime escapes even my understanding of the man.
“There ain’t no way to go about it other than this. They’ve got the weapons, the numbers. Even if we wanted to save anybody from getting hit we’d risk the whole operation by making ourselves known. We can’t sneak in.” Vince talked the beaten horse to death even more into the ground, stomping on it.
“We could be killing Beginners.” Hoyt went hands to hips and turned to face Vince still sitting there.
“Yeah well… it wouldn’t be the first time. Beginners have been getting killed here accidental or on purpose since before you and I were even thought into existence.” Vince said sourly.
“What happened to losing and being ok with it? Sleeping soundly at night.” The “t” bit hard at the end of his sentence.
“Hoyt…” Vince annoyed, put head into hands.
“Yeah.” He ripped his hat off and beat it into shape unnecessarily.
He let the constant cold air hit his uncovered head for a while. The dented pillow. How many other Woulders are thinking about dented pillows right now? He wondered. Asking himself twice. Maybe all of them are.
“Leader.” The incorrectly used term but now commonly used amongst those in the block broke him out of his thought train.
He turned to three of his own and five donkeys. How they’d snuck up on him in the quiet was odd. He should’ve heard their hooves from far off. They all waved to him and he belatedly in return. They tied the donkeys to nearby trees and dispersed into the tents, exhausted. As was planned and as how it went, each of the donkeys would carry a barrel on one side of their guts with a rope attached in the middle. The largest would be responsible for three of them, there being eleven. Hoyt inspected the crop from a distance. They’ll do just fine.
By the time The Sun had reached the center of the sky the last batch of dung had been filtered down and diluted, dumped into the eleventh barrel. A Grower nailed it shut with a hammer and four nails. Jared escaped outside, taking his mask off gingerly and breathing in the air with much relief. Barrel after barrel was brought out as he inhaled and exhaled new oxygen into and out of his system.
“Ah, morning.” A revelation to the man who’d lost all track of what was happening outside his home.
The Growers and Nutritioners lined up the eleven in a straight line next to the donkeys. Vince coiled the couple dozen feet of rope around his shoulder and walked out of the shelter. The last to leave.
They made way for him and he uncoiled it down in between the line of Woulders and barrels. As he did, the furthest on the left grabbed an axe from their belt and chopped away at the rope until it severed. She handed it to the Grower on her right. They raised back and swung downward with all their might and cut the rope in one go. He handed it to the woman on his right who accomplished the same. Then the fourth took a few tried and it severed with a few chops. Vince reached the end of the line and left the coiled remains on the ground. A Woulder who wasn’t either Grower or Nutritioner or Vince made their way through the pathless trees.
“Guider?” Hoyt asked, waving and unsure.
She looked it - “Yes. You must be Hoyt.” The Guider said, waving to him and the busy rest.
“Any trouble getting down here?” He asked.
“Much.” The Guider replied, taking in the scene.
The eleventh split had been cut. The Woulder farthest to the right put the axe in his own belt. Vince grabbed the leftover rope and set it next to one of the tents. He looked to Hoyt talking things over with The Guider. She was made of the right stuff, he could tell just by looking her over. It wasn’t her first go-around either, she had experience. He looked to the blue smoke leaving the chimney. And the birds whose leavings they collected. What was once part of them was now back up in the same air that they’d be flying in.
“I’ll see you back in the block?” Jared asked and Vince came back to the ground.
“We’ll see. Ain’t no guarantees how this’ll turn out, Beenhere.” Vince said before departing, the barrels were being placed on the donkey’s backs one by one.
Jared smirked, he liked being recognized for what he was. It had been a very long while since anybody treated him with respect. Of course, without parting words or due thanks to the has-been, the party was off to do bad deeds with the best intentions.
The Guider would need to find Take Care, which had lead her to The Nutritioner’s Block earlier this morning. She of course spearheaded, Hoyt right behind and Vince in the back trailing over a dozen Growers and Nutritioners and 5 steads in between. Warmthness arrived to their bodies as they heightened their pace and remained in constant activity. Blood was flowing and so was The Sun’s rays. Groupthink convinced some of them that spring wasn’t that far off. Very little was said between any of the travelers and they didn’t stop for anything, eating on the go. Those needing to relieve themselves did so and then would catch up. By the time pinks and purples had entered the sky they were quite a ways down Take Care. They gave the donkeys a break and set up camp.
Hoyt looked out into the black, his visibility ended where the torchlight’s reach did. Orange turned to lesser orange which turned to black. He stared into it. Half of the group took watch, one looking out at each direction and then directions in between the major four. The cold had returned as expected. His stomach rumbled and he heard it clearly despite the three layers of wears. Hoyt turned back to the rest of them, a few huddled and sleeping around a haphazardly constructed firepit. The Guider and Vince slept soundly. This time tomorrow night they’d be bringing an end to those who took advantage of them. Bagged them, robbed them, froze them out in the night’s darkness. He angered just thinking about it. Something serious or deadly could’ve happened to any of these people he cared for.
Eventually it was his turn to sleep. Those who had been dispersed themselves around the border. Vince looked to the left down Take Care, then back to the right. All he saw was path and illuminated trunks of trees. Hoyt closed his eyes and let his body do the rest. A long day behind him. He was the first to open his eyes. Feeling as if he’d never slept, the fire drying out his eyes. Deep blue covered the sky above. One by one he woke up the sleeping members of their camp. This might be the last day of their lives and he’d be the first one they saw upon waking. Poor them, he jokingly thought to himself. Within a few minutes they were off, The Guider leading the way again.
No Wordless had come upon them during the night, that was a relief. He spit onto the path, saliva joining the ashes of Woulders’ past and the dirt of Woods’ present. Not a whole lot is to be said about what happened on Take Care during the day. The weighed down donkeys slowed down their pace. They stopped to feed them every once in a while to keep up their strength. The Guider was successful in keeping them safe until reaching Always just past mid-day. Several large spaced-out clouds had floated in, blocking The Sun for moments before carrying along. The southern section of the popular region was a land of no movement. Always’s reach had spread far and thoroughly. Every village or settlement or lone shelter they passed was empty. From the moment they left The Nutritioner’s Block to when they stopped at an arm’s length from Always they didn’t encounter any Woulders.
At a standstill and resting, the others watched as Hoyt approached the pack of 5 donkeys. By himself he lifted the barrels off their backs one by one. His strength was unexpected but not surprising. The burliest of burly went to help him but was waved off, a click of the tongue towards him. The fifth and final donkey which held three barrels was the last to be relieved of the weight. Hoyt grabbed the main connecting rope and the tandem attached to the third and with a humph of the mouth took them off of the stead. The Lead Grower went to the animal’s front and looked him in the eyes. White hair strayed from his nose’s bridge in front of the brown portals. He saw the fatigue in his eyes, red line darting from end to the other, yellow gunk built up in each corner. Hoyt grabbed the left ear and played with it, rolling it between his fingers, scratching behind it, feeling the folds and dirt imbedded. He did the same with the counterpart ear. It was then that he knew.
He grabbed the lead and brought him to the nearest donkey in line, tying them together. Then the next, then the next and finally the first in line. The 5 donkeys stood bunched. Hoyt pet each of them on the ends of their noses, thanking them with a stoic nod.
“Take the long way round, obviously.” He turned to The Guider who collected the lead knot from him.
“They’ll do what you say as long as you keep them fed.” He joked a bit and she chuckled to lighten the tension, debating with herself for a short moment whether she should stop them from doing what she’d brought them here to do.
She began down Take Care with the 5, a cloud placing them in shade. It took some getting used to but eventually the group found a rhythm and kept to it. Hoyt watched The Guider and her payment depart, stopping a smirk from coming to his face before turning back to his people. They all were either seated on barrel or ground.
“Find a stream, get your fill.” He said to The Grower in charge of hydration.
Continuing, “Go get us food.” He said to Vince before sitting up against a nearby tree off the path.
Getting off his feet felt incredible. He took off his hat and played with in his hands. Vince took the freshly made axe from The Grower who had it and went off into the woods to find anything at all for them to feed off of. If he was lucky the prey would be an easy kill or maybe he’d find some eggs in a nest. Hoyt could feel the existence of his own bones as he sat there. The cloud passed and Sun came over his being. He untied and ripped off the boots that were glued to his feet. Gangly they stuck straight up into the air pivoting at his ankles. The nails needed cutting. He wiggled his big toe and could see the bone moving underneath the skin, wiggling back and forth. A ghost under a sheet. She had wanted him to join her. The look on her face deceitful. Might it had been a trap? Or a more innocent offering? What did she want from me?
The day resumed, they were waiting until evening to get closer to the city. They’d not built a fire so as to not attract any attention. The Sun set and Moon rose. Cold.
“So…” He started out, addressing all of them at once as they looked to the colors above.
They all returned their attention below and behind to their Lead Grower and soon Leader. “Vince, Flick, Bernie, Patch, Babe, Mink, Rebecca, Walter will all come with me in a Counter’s five minutes. We’ll be sneaking in using any force necessary and grabbing any Beginners or newborns or any younglings we can find, bringing them back here or anywhere outside the city limits.”
They all looked to him surprised but not upset. His conscience had gotten the better of him.
“The rest of you will get close but not too close, at the ready incase we need you. There is clearly something at work here and I don’t think the more than likely killing of over a hundred Woulders is the answer. As upset as we- I may be. It is not them that is doing this, someone is using them. I don’t know if it’s a Beenhere or a Leader or a Healer or what! I should’ve known that Woulders aren’t capable of such strange madness.”
“Some are.” One of his Growers cut him off, Hoyt looking right over at him.
Correcting himself, “Yes, some are. But not all of them. Not those children, that’s why we need to get them out of there.”
“How do we find them? They’ll be sleeping inside. It would take all night.” One asked.
“Then all night it’ll take.” He said, looking up and down the line.
“Might I suggest something, sir?”
“Of course.” He responded to a woman Nutritioner.
“Bring all of us. We’ll be able to search the houses faster. By my math if each one of us search five houses that should be more than enough. They’ve only got just above a hundred citizens, many of them sharing shelters. Bring us all.” She offered up a more than wise new plan.
He accepted it, “I didn’t want to risk losing all of you. This could mean death. They’re armed, they’re trained, they’ve got a bear for Sun’s sake. If all of us don’t make it to tomorrow than The Block is surely finished.”
“We grow together. We feed together. We sleep together.” One offered up, the others nodding.
“We don’t fight together. With the exception of just one of us, none of have fighting experience. Even he is rusty.” The rest looked to Vince to see if he’d take that jest lying down and yes he did, shrugging his shoulders.
“If you give us five more counter’s minutes before departing we can all grab something sharp out here and use it if we must.” The Nutritioner was pushing the issue successfully.
“Ok, alright. We prepare some weapons. Only fight if you must. If you must.” He nailed in the point further, literally pointing out to them.
The colors in the sky faded to a dark shade of blue, strands of pink and purple no longer reminding us of the day that was. Growers and Nutritioners and Vince spread out trying to find worthy wood to make a weapon out of. Hoyt stood center on Take Care by himself, thinking. The light faded around him. Fixated on the path itself, he considered very well the possibility of them joining the remains they stepped on daily. Who would be the ones walking over my own ashes?
The revised plan was afoot. Interestingly, they need it not. Upon reaching Always they soon realized that they would not need any of the sharpened branches or the three newly made axes they carried to break the city’s border. They wouldn’t need to punch or kick or defend themselves from anybody. With only moonlight aiding their vision, Hoyt and Vince walked side by side with Growers closely trailing onto the main path. No torches were lit as was usual along the path, nobody kept guard, nobody was present.
“Start searching.” Hoyt simply ordered, pointing to each row of houses and structures beyond.
Growers and Nutritioners dispersed quietly on their tip toes to each shelter, first looking into the windows for any sign of life inside. No Windows glowed yellow orangish light.
“Stay by me.” Hoyt ordered Vince who complied, stabbing stick still at the ready.
They walked all the way down the center aisle to the largest structure, where curiously a faint yellow light was visible once close enough. He saw it through one of the windows just barely and underneath the door. This must be The Leader’s house. There was life inside here. Vince looked behind him to the rest of the village, their people returning to the main path to exchange whispers, no children being carried or in tow. Hoyt got down on all fours and tried to look under the door to see who was inside. No luck. If there was anybody inside they were either fully in bed or in another room. He gently popped back up to see Vince peeping in through the window. Vince looked to Hoyt and suggested inside with a nod. Hoyt joined him and peered inside with one eyeball ever so slightly. There he was.
Inside a Beenhere, one they both knew. George The Leader was sitting straight up in bed on top of the covers shaking, tears streaming down his face. He hugged a bottle of lotion. He looked frozen both in temperature and emotion. His eyes open, he plainly looked at the wall on the other side of the room. A dying candle was the only source of light inside. Soon to go out.
Hoyt and Vince ducked below the window simultaneously. They both looked to the main path far off, a couple members of the group brought children from their perspective houses peacefully. So it wasn’t empty, there were still Woulders here besides this old man.
“What do we do about him?” Vince whispered over to Hoyt.
“Seems not a threat right now. Let’s take back what we can. Go for the fields and carts.” Vince nodded and the two scurried from The Leader’s estate.
The idea of her. That’s what he was setting out to find. He sat on the ground in front of the TV. Gleep, Glorp and Glape surrounded him with glee. He pet all of them, their slime intertwining with his fingers. On the TV commercials buzzed. When the mother came on he paid attention, fixed. She set the plate down and in walked the father, just as he was supposed to.
She spoke perfectly, rehearsed, “Being a mother isn’t as easy as it looks. Some days I need a sidekick. Thank you, Uecker Utilizations.”
It froze again, as his had that one time. Maybe it had been yesterday maybe it had been weeks ago, 776 wasn’t sure in this moment. He stood up from the affection fest his friends were gifting to him and went to the bed. Laid there were all the non-bloody clothes he could gather from the visitors. Blue jeans, a red shirt, boots that wouldn’t fit him exactly but might keep his feet a lot warmer than the dress shoes he wore. He’d found clothing in their bags too for warmer weather which he was going to take with him. He knew leaving this place in his suit would cause a confusion with the first person he encountered. He couldn’t be wearing this up there and fit in if they weren’t wearing this up there. So far none of the people he’d seen did. They also sweat, they bled, they feared. He did none of these things. But maybe one day he’d learn to. Affection itself was brand new and an oddity to feel in his everyday life.
He removed his suit piece by piece, standing there naked. The three young beasts looked up to him, the commercial resumed playing. Is that what the father looks like naked? He looked down to himself, examining the grooves curves divots and pivots of his legs, arms, chest, knees, feet and shoulders. He grazed a hand across the pelvic bone poking out of his hip. He poked it, rubbed it, making sure it was bone underneath there. Part of him doubted what was underneath that layer of skin.
In those blue jeans, that red tee and the ill-fitting winter boots he left his room behind, shutting off the lamp first. The TV played on.
He bent down to the skeleton, still suited for the most part. Inside the eyes he could see to the back of its skull. Had this man saved the previous suited man’s skeleton and looked upon it just like this? How many of them had there been? At least 16. He fished through his pockets but there was nothing there to be found. This wasn’t going to be him someday, it had been decided. He was going to leave this place and find a life up above. Where the trees grow, the birds call, The Sun shines and The Moon glows. Up there, he could find his own TV family. His own wife and golden retriever. The Electro!
He dare not try to say goodbye to Arthur. He knew the spider would be successful in convincing him to stay. He turned his office lights off, leaving his journals, stapler, pens and pencils, everything that he’d lived for previously behind. Precious necessary crucial routines.
“What kind of dog would you get?” He asked, the question receiving no immediate or delayed answer from the bones he spoke to.
“I think a Golden Retriever but obviously that’s the obvious choice. Maybe a Beagle. I think they’re funny looking, the kids would too.” He chuckled to himself, thinking of the floppy ears bouncing around on each side of the animal as it would run from the backdoor to the grill or the pool or the swings of their playground.
“Or a Shitzu. Maybe a German Shepherd but they are probably a lot of work.” He looked down the dark path to his left, expecting music but realizing he hadn’t put any on.
The void seemed to go on forever but he knew it didn’t. All paths end at some point. Even down here.
“Well, if you do get the chance, try Revolver then Rubber Soul. Yellow Submarine is their latest but it ain’t my favorite. Maybe you’ll think different.” He wanted to reach in and touch her hair or touch his fingertip to her nose but he restrained.
The non-suited speaking man left the non-consenting listening woman behind, torch held out in front of him as he walked. He had constructed the ladder incase he needed to escape in a quick get. Reasons being many. This not being one of them. He looked above to the split in the formation of the earth. Not once had he considered how it was created. It was dark above but now was the moment he’d be leaving no matter if it was day or not. Not being able to climb without two hands, he blew out the torch and set it down on the ground. He’d have to adjust his eyes and feel for the right rungs as he went along. Shouldn’t be too hard, they were of equal spacing. One last look back and he was off. He ensured that the giant pack on his bag was tightened around each shoulder. Both hands went to the same wood rung and then his left foot. His right went to the second level and he pulled himself up. 776 repeated this motion without fault for the next very long while until reaching the top.
Hand grabbed dead dirt. The Moon lit up the trees with a silver glow. He hoisted himself up from the ladder and 776 stood tall above ground for the first time since he’d been functioning. He breathed in and out, the cool night air went into his lungs but he feel the sting of it not. The Moon looked closer than ever. He looked from all the way up in the sky to all the way down underground, the chasm endlessly dark below. He took a couple steps and looked around into the forest on all sides. Dead trees and vacant flat spaces took up most of the view. The possibilities were endless and yet he had no idea what to do next.
They scurried hurriedly down the main path. Several others came and went to other houses resuming the search.
“Jake once we have every house searched I want you and Rebecca to bring the children back to Take Care. Keep them warm however you can.” The pair nodded, Rebecca already holding the hand of a Beginner.
Their stare lasted forever. Almost like a sleepwalker’s expression. The other child, standing next to Jake shared the same look. Another very young child, not even a Counter’s year old was being carried by Petra, a couple blankets swallowing her. Hoyt ripped off his hat and gloves, giving them to Jake for the children. And then his jacket.
“What of us sir?” Mink asked.
“On me.” Hoyt darted to the right in the direction of their growing fields.
Vince, Mink and 7 others followed as if magnetized to their Lead Grower’s body. Making their way passed shelter after shelter, Vince grabbed an empty cart along the way. They’d need four or five more at least if they were going to recoup everything they’d lost. Seven more is what they found at the large supply shelter. Along with them they found all of their growing and nutritioning equipment, many of their own clothing items, gloves, hats, boots, shovels, hoes. A couple dozen of their seed bags revealed themselves, some still unopened. Smiles spread wide on all of them as they lit a nearby walled torch to see inside.
They moved quick, the cold getting to them and also the fear of getting caught. Mink kept watch for any of the citizens that might come up on them while they shoved everything they could into the carts. Hoyt shoved on a hat that had a peculiar shape and feel but found quite the comfort in wearing. It angled and bent and had a brim around all sides. This would be great for a sunny day in the vast expanse. Wouldn’t do much for the cold but spring was just around the corner. Upon seeing it on top his head Vince gave a look of “not bad” towards his Lead Grower. Hoyt smirked with confidence.
Nobody did catch them, all of the citizens present still being controlled to sleep at the given hour. They’d filled up each of the 8 carts to their maximum. Carrying all of them with their own tired and weak strength would be a crazy thing to attempt but they did have adrenaline on their sides. And adrenaline is what they used to lead the carts through Always back onto the main path and out of town. Hoyt was last, carrying a bag of seed over his shoulder. He turned and looked at the largest estate on the other side of town. He thought about confronting The Leader before leaving, maybe he could end all of this right here. An axe to the head would be all that was needed. Then he thought of his own words from earlier that night.
“If you must.” And must he not at this point - must he not.
The ground shook and he tried to steady himself. The bag fell off his shoulder and the ones pulling the cart stopped and worried. Vince looked around trying to see what could be the cause. He’d only felt that once before, during All Of A Sudden’s fateful day, when All At Once tumbled. This shaking had much more brooding, deeper within the ground, heavier. All Hoyt and others could do was sit down on their butts to keep from falling over.
“Look!” A Grower of his own yelped in a hushed tone.
Hoyt turned back to her as the rumbling stopped. She was pointing up at The Beenhere above. He darted his view up to the night sky and saw something that must be a trick of the eye. This couldn’t be happening.
“Oh…” Escaped his lips upon witnessing The Moon split into two equal parts that slowly began drifting away from one another.