Into The Wasteland - a dystopian journey

Chapter 3

Light hits my eyelids; I am instantly awake. I blink for a moment, regaining my bearings, the events of the past two days flooding in on me. I poke at my memories, pressing to see further back than that white, sterile hallway.

Nothing comes.

It is as if I did not exist before that point in time.

I climb from the stiff mattress, moving to the shuttered windows and pulling them open. The town is already in motion below. A farmer trundles in with a cart full of turnips; a middle-aged woman leads her horse by the reins out toward the main gate. The sun is just peeking over the building opposite me.

I stand, facing it, the golden glow warming my skin. I close my eyes, lean my head back, and draw in a deep breath. Slowly I swing my arms out at my side, bringing them up to meet, palm-together, over my head. My body throbs with pain all over - an aching pull deep in my calf; a sharper twinge in my right hip.

I draw my hands straight down to hold for a moment at my chest.

Aaptaniya.

The word tumbles around in my head and seems to fit, even though I have no idea what it means. I let it settle into place.

I roll my shoulders, then move to the dresser and push it back away from the door. At the bottom of the stairs, the bartender glances at me as I walk into the room; he holds up a thick glass. A question shimmers in his eyes. I shake my head and walk out to the street. The pair of boys are back on their watch by the main gate, and one of them salutes me as I head out into the crisp morning. I return the salute, then head north.

My mind sorts through the figures as I follow a narrow dirt path along the side of the curving river, following its rocky banks north. Ragnor had said this gate of asylum was two-hundred-fifty miles north. It was autumn, and the temperatures were reasonable. My leather jacket held off the soft chill of morning. By afternoon I might even be a bit warm. The terrain seemed reasonable, and, accounting for river crossings and denser woods, I imagined I could manage an average of about three miles an hour. Say ten hours a day, to allow for gathering food and getting ample rest. I wouldn't want to drive myself so hard that I fell into a dead sleep and risked being taken unawares.

So perhaps nine days total before I reached my destination.

I nod in acceptance, my legs taking the path at a slow, steady pace. No need to rush. Those who raced burned themselves out early. The quick-starts rarely finished the course. If I take each day as it comes, I will make it there. I know I have to.

A burst of red comes into view ahead, and I draw to a stop by the chokecherry bushes. I pluck one, rolling its crimson shape in my finger before popping it in my mouth. I suck at its meat, being sure to spit out the toxic seeds.

I fill my pockets with them, eating my fill, and then press onward. A gentle breeze blows along the river, and a flock of snow geese streams overhead, honking in chorus. The river runs almost straight north-south in this stretch, and the sun eases its path overhead through a brilliant blue sky. Across the way, a great blue heron stands stock still in the reeds, his eye focused down into the depths of the water.

There is a movement to the far right, and I freeze, my hand dropping to my hip. A dark shape moves onto the gentle rise of a hill. It is a stag, twelve point at least, the antlers swept out in majestic strength. His ears are cocked forward, and he sweeps his massive head slowly from left to right, surveying his domain. The only other sound's the sweep of the tumbling water moving past my feet.

Then he raises his nose in the air, gives a snort, and is gone.

Afternoon fades into ruby evening. The river has turned northwest now, moving in long, flowing loops that remind me of a campfire smoke trail in a lazy wind. I finish off the chokecherries, washing them down with the cool water. I feel keenly the lack of a proper knife. I'll have to remedy that, the next town I come across. I have no way to whittle a spear to catch a fish; no way to easily clean any game I might trap.