Wounded Beacon

Adapting

One foot dragged after the other. Although hours passed, marked by the position of the full moon, time seemed to move at a snail's pace since becoming a liability. Moments like these made me wonder what kind of man I would be if I was the one who took on the responsibility of assisting another. Why was Aiden helping me? The thought nagged at me, but I never questioned it aloud, afraid that if I mentioned it, he'd come to his senses and move on without me. Not that I wouldn't crawl the forest floor alone to claw my way out, but there was something about his company I didn't want to part with. Not yet.

"Thank you." My voice was just above the sound of Aiden's large blade chopping at low twisted branches in our path.

"Thank you." Aiden patted my hand on his shoulder with his fingertips. "I was prepared to make my bed in that cage and lie in it. You know?" His voice dragged and caught. A hint of sadness?

"Why? You guys didn't deserve that." It was true. "Santos and his lap dog are just power hungry, locking you up because nobody's got the― the balls to stop them." That had been my job, to prevent unnecessary cruel treatment of people, to watch over the innocent young men and women and their mothers, to provide food, shelter, and hope to those who'd come in search of it. Still, that wasn't the first time I had failed.

I've done many things throughout my life that ended in disaster. I pulled from every fiber of my existence to stop vivid visions of my first camp from replaying in my mind. The camp, similar to the one Santos had now overtaken, was home to the only people I'd ever cared about. Sure, some were strangers, but all were family.

Incomplete structures, little food, cold nights― never a worry when there was Christie and Samuel. Because of them, my confidence soared and no matter the obstacle, I had faith we'd overcome it. Christie and the contagious giggle she possessed entered my thoughts. The thought of Samuel, too, made me mimic his grin despite the surrounding devastation.

My breath caught on the lump in my throat, and I pressed my knuckles against my aching chest.

"You hear that? Smell the salt?" A trace of enthusiasm blended in Aiden's hushed tone. "It's the ocean. We're close."

"Being on the coast doesn't mean we're out of danger," I pointed out, thankful for the distraction away from my crippling thoughts.

"It does."

The sureness in his tone perked my curiosity. "How so?"

"It means we're farther from camp. Farther from Santos. That's our goal, right?"

I attempted to open my eyes again, and decided against it when tiny bits of debris scratched under the lids. "We need to rest soon."

"Now's good as ever." Aiden paused. "There's a big rock to your left you can sit on."

I kneeled, arm outstretched, until I found the smooth surface beside me. Exhaustion seized me as soon as I sat. Lack of food, water, and sleep was starting to take its toll.

"You didn't have to let us go, you know," Aiden started.

"What, you wanted me to leave you in that hell hole?" I scoffed. "For Santos to do god knows what to you?"

"No, I'm glad you did, but..." The scratching, dragging sound of his shoe scraping the dirt gave away his unease. "Why did you?"

"Is it strange to hate human suffering?" I asked. "Do we need a legitimate reason to keep people from unnecessary pain?" Was that kind of thinking a sign of the times?

"Yes. Nowadays people are fucking cruel just because. One day they're your saviors, the next they're―" His fidgeting stopped. "I wasn't suffering."