Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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They had arrived at a river, it being so large they had to skirt about it. The waters were muddy looking, however the horses drank deeply. It seemed safe, so the men did likewise.
Gareth realized that with much of his adult and teenage life spent in prison, he had seen little of his country and honestly did not know where he was, geographically speaking. Neither did Dwayne, who likewise had spent most of his youth surviving conflict and knew almost nothing of his country or its history.
"It's the river Murray," Warren indicated. Greedily supping the water cupped in grimy hands. "This is where the Murray meets the Darling river. Just up here a little should be Wentworth."
"There was never a defensive base here at Wentworth." Gareth growled, annoyed as he shook Warren hard.
The inked ruffian was sure the fading man was addled, and that they had made the journey north for nothing but lies and phantasms.
Once more Warren's battered, black-rimmed glasses fell from the bridge of his nose into the sand, and as the thin and fading man grappled at Gareth's feet to retrieve his eyewear. He was still muttering repetitively that the base was a secret and not something the general public had the slightest clue of.
The sturdy man watched his pathetic charge and wondered. Surely Warren would not be so brave to endure all this for a story he had merely fabricated? He had seen men do such things when they had something to protect or were exceedingly brave. However, Warren possessed none of these agendas.
Gareth could not afford to return empty-handed, Bennett had placed much trust that the mission would at least be successful. Gareth had little choice but to continue, following the advice of a blithering captive.
There were ruins here, the first real substantial signs of human civilization they had encountered in many days. Gareth's horse clipped a tin can with its hoof, and the discarded item went bouncing across the broken bitumen to land silently in a dune. The animal shied, tugging suddenly on its reins, and glanced sideways almost bowling into the gelding that Warren had been riding.
Dwayne was sitting on his own mount up ahead, from his vantage point on the horse's back he could see a myriad of spent brass bullet cases littering the ground, and many broken and charred ruins lay ahead. This had been a large inland town once, however today it stood block upon block eerily empty, and in decay.
Slowly they pressed forward, weapons drawn, a white-feathered arrow sitting ready for flight in Dwayne's bow, but all was silent. Passing by the iron skeletons of vehicles that littered the road and had obviously been employed as roadblocks. There were many traces of struggle here, bones littered the earth, and it was easy to see there had been much bloodshed. Though all the signs pointed to struggles enacted long ago.
Through the remnants of Wentworth, they searched. There appeared to be no life here. Before the strife, there had been some eight thousand inhabitants in this small northern river town. Now Wentworth lay empty, a testament to a dream of long ago. Warren stated as they took in this somber sight that they needed to head out of the town and further north, and that he had to locate the road.
Through the late afternoon they scoured the outskirts of the town, going was difficult because of the vast amount of debris, and always a danger a horse would pick up sharp steel or glass, or perhaps just stumble and fall. Dwayne and Gareth had eased their watchfulness somewhat, the place appeared to be truly deserted. Sand dunes had claimed Wentworth in the majority, making passage slow. They did not locate any promising exits as Warren had described to the north. Just an endless succession of drifting sand obliterating any landmarks.
They camped in the lee of an old brick structure that looked as though it was once some kind of store, possibly a small supermarket. Warren sat wrapped in his tattered and dusty maroon quilt and reflected on the lure of real packaged food. This place must have been laden with it once. His mouth watered at long-remembered tastes. They had burned nearby wreckage for warmth. It was the best fire they had kindled since leaving on this mission and a welcome respite from the cold.
Gareth and Dwayne took turns to stand watch throughout the night, as Warren fell into a fitful slumber. The arduous journey had taken its toll on his wasted frame. Young Dwayne clearly nervous during his watch caused a small moment of alarm when he reflexively shot and killed a lone, marauding dog.
It died with the faintest surprised yip, almost unaware of its fate as the well-placed arrow sought its heart. Both he and Gareth stood over the rust-colored animal, it bore no collar or other markings of ownership, but it was large and well fed. The appearance of the creature had made both men uneasy. Perhaps it was just a lone animal that had somehow survived and not moved away? However, the presence of a dog usually meant men. The remainder of the night neither man slept staying alert for any signs of human interference.
There were no further disturbances during the night, and Gareth woke from a light doze; the kind a hardened sentry develops when he must stay on duty far too long, to the smell of dog flesh roasting over the morning fire. The bulky animal after all was a decent windfall. Wentworth thus far had been kind.
As he ate the inked man was suddenly aware there emanated the cry of birds. Something that elsewhere in previous dawns was peculiarly absent. This heartened him to think all life had not perished, it must be attributed to the presence of such a large river close by.
They ate and broke camp. Though Warren had slept he did not appear to Gareth particularly lucid. The frail man could not take much more and neither could the foundering horses, there had been little grazing along the way. Still, Gareth led them back to the river for another long drink, then they continued scouting about the northerly edges of the ruins for a landmark. Something to jog Warren's memory.
Warren clung to his horse, quilt draped about his shoulders, using it to funnel any residual heat that the big animal generated. Though he had congratulated himself privately for even finding Wentworth Warren Mc Callister had begun to fret that he had gotten so far to only fail.
He could not for the life of him remember the way to his former place of employment. There had been wrought just far too much change in the years he had been away. The trio spent all morning milling about on the dunes on horseback getting nothing but frustrated, cold, and tired.
The breakthrough came at noon. A familiar hillock, and Warren felt he was on somehow recognizable ground. It was hard to say why, and Gareth though he was not a patient man tried to bear with his guide. Dwayne ever watchful followed in the rear, constantly halting his horse to sit and look behind.
The dunes had cleared some and before them, a great bald hill rose from the otherwise unremarkable landscape. There were very few trees in this place, it appeared bleak and very uninviting. As though this vista uttered a silent challenge to any living thing that may venture there.
In the distance, Warren pointed his bony finger announcing through cracked lips. "It's there." All Gareth could see were two trees denuded of leaves and contorted by the relentless wind, and maybe the trace of a slight mound that stood between them.
Warren wanted to collapse with the sheer relief he had survived the hellish journey and provided all he had promised. He had proven himself to these men, he did not lie. He now hoped they would offer him the care and respect he should be accorded. He felt like a huge weight had been alleviated from his shoulders, and now he could finally rest. Enjoy the fruits of his success and return home to his love to live quietly unnoticed.
With this sense of elation, the three men pressed on, covering the rough terrain toward the object of their scrutiny swiftly. As they drew closer it was obvious the domed structure was indeed man-made, and way too large to be a simple artesian well cap or some lesser building. They could now also sight a large well-cleared square of area, that sported numerous vent openings and shafts that penetrated deep into the earth below.
They sat on horseback surveying the installation for quite some time. The shafts looked deep and possibly unscalable. Any seeming entrances were tight shut, the doors made of blast-proof steel to withstand most assaults. Well yes, they had found this legendary place of war, but how to gain access to its secrets?
