Home (Trench inspired fic)

The Traveller

"Tell me about the traveller."

Home. It's a funny word. A funny word with funny meanings. To me, it represents a lot. A place where I can be comfortable and feel... safe. To others, it may mean something else. But here, it means each other. Home is where we are together, breathing and becoming one mass collection of beings. This place that they are so frightened of coming is home to us.

It all started when a lonesome traveller hiked through the trenches and searched for a place to rest. Pitch black caves and rocky slopes acted as shelter, but not a place to stay and be safe. Safety in this world is a priority, even before food and water. I learnt that quickly with the rest of us here. The traveller stayed as low as they could to avoid being seen but soon realised that by staying low they would become a target from above. They could watch and wait for the right moment, like a vulture spying on his dinner. They would dive, just like the bird of prey, and pull you kicking and screaming until they had you contained.

To be safe, and stay alive, the traveller had to climb. From the rocks at the bottom of the trench up to the tips of the sunrise in the east, he climbed. Bloody fingers would grip onto the frozen cold rocks. Footing holes would be just deep enough to tiptoe higher, but one small slip would open up a trapdoor to the bitter end. He did it, though. He got to the top. Bruises and blood and sweat and tears. Some say an angel gave him strength and others, a force which only few can understand.

Once at the top, the sun was on the edge of setting. He knew that he would be safer up here in the open than down there in a cage and it was true. Night fell and he was soon in darkness with the only shelter coming from old metal wreckage. An amber glow enticed him to the edge of the trench, only to be greeted by his worst enemy. The traveller was right. Down in the cage, they were hunting. Searching. Praying that they would find him. There were 9 of them that day, but he knew that there were many more.

The traveller stayed the night in safety and carried on the next morning. But, that is where my story ends. Not one soul knows what happened next. No one knows where he went, if he was captured or if he is still alive. We hope he is, but we know that the chances are slim. Still, we hope. We celebrate his successes. We stand on the ground in the very place he sought safety.

There's this place. A place beyond the red, the blue, the yellow. Beyond colours and the dust which gets under your fingernails. It's a place where we exit our tents and are greeted with nothing but understanding. Our friends are our family. That's one of my favourite things about it. Just... the people. This mass of human beings in this one place for this one thing.

Leaders are non-existent here. Instead, we work as one. A brave few will often speak up, giving guidance or advice or just an ear to listen. But they are not leaders. A mutual agreement between us forbid them, as we do not want to create status. These brave few... I guess you could call them soldiers. They venture into the trench with nothing but their minds as weapons, hoping to find another clue to the ultimate answer and to follow in the footsteps of the traveller. To be brave.

My name... you don't need to know. Name's were taken from us a long time ago, but we didn't mind. We would rarely talk, but we knew each other. We didn't need a name to identify each other. Just a connection. Brains on the same tracks and thoughts in an identical bubble. We had the same fears, the same hopes and the same attitude towards life.

We hurt together. We celebrate together. We are one.

That day was no different. Survivors arriving at our camp is like finding a needle in a haystack. They exist, but they are not a luxury. Sometimes, they aren't even a positive thing. They turn up, torn clothes, covered in ash and dirt, often not there. They stay and find a place to sleep, but they don't last long. After a few days or so, they vanish. They leave during the darkness in hopes of finding something bigger and better for them. A hope of finding a cure to the shadows that wrap them up when in reality, all they need is right here.

Hands covered in dirt and raw skin, this survivor emerged from the smoke. The hollow coughing from hiking through all sorts of chemicals was prominent, waking the camp up and grabbing their attention. Few greeted the survivor with clean clothes, water and food. The survivor thanked them silently and accepted the gifts, almost collapsing in exhaustion as they gulped the murky liquid.

"Where have you come from?" I asked as I approached them with caution.

They looked to me, bloodshot eyes and marks on their neck. Black marks. Claws. I knew then that where they had come from wasn't a good place. All they did was simply point into the distance, an uneven line on top of the hills giving me goosebumps. They had come from the towers.

Kneeling down in front of them, I took note to give them space. Getting too close wasn't an option.

"How did you do it?"

The confusion on their face asked for more.

"Escape, I mean."

A deep breath was taken in, shaking as it escaped their lungs.

"A distraction. I didn't stop running. I felt the fire in my chest start to char my bones but I didn't stop running."

Their voice broke at the end of the sentence, truly conveying how terrified they were. How we all were. Leaning forward, I carefully placed my hand on their shoulder for comfort. Their eyes met mine in solidarity and thanks, a lump in my throat growing.

By now, a group of people had gathered around us. Some were in shock at the words that came from the survivor's mouth. Others shook their head in disgust at what was taking place in the tower. One started to cry.

"Come," I whispered, taking my hand off of their shoulder as I stood up. "Let's get you settled. This is your home."

They stood with me, stumbling over their own two feet. I almost heard them wheeze with every breath. It hurt to see another in pain. It always did.

"Hey," I prompted a fellow camper in a nearby tent. "Is there room in there for one more?"

A pale, dirty face appeared from the green flimsy thing we called a place to sleep. Their blue eyes looked at me and then to our new friend, a blank expression. Nodding, I thanked them in silence.

"They arrived this morning. Your hospitality is appreciated."

They nodded again.

"Thank you." The survivor whispered.

I pulled the flap of material back to reveal their new spot of comfort; a spare sleeping bag and pillow rolled up beside the other messy bed. A few tin pots and pans stacked up by the entrance and a knitted blanket neatly folded beside them. It was beautiful. Colourful. In this place, it was a prized possession. A luxury.

The survivor looked to me and nodded in thanks, bloodshot eyes begging for rest.

"Make yourself comfortable. There's always a fire going for warmth and food. If you need anything, just ask. We can help." I explained, stepping back.

"I appreciate it."

"Oh," I started again, "and they don't talk much, but it doesn't make them any less of a good listener," I told them, motioning towards the soul below in the tent.

Not everyone here spoke. We didn't question, just respected. Speaking was sometimes too painful.

As I left the survivor to rest, I took in a deep breath. The thought of being locked away in darkness over the hills shook my bones. Thankfully, I'd never been there. Only stories had snaked their way into our brains, the black tar sticking itself to us. We knew it was bad, but the reality was much worse. It was sometimes hard to think about that.

Dust settled and the commotion from the newcomer had eased. People went about their activities, the fire crackling and keeping the heart of the camp beating. Young kids skipped around the flames, laughing and yelling. A smile found my face as I walked past them. Laughter, as you can imagine, was rarely heard here. When it was, it was from the younger members of our family. Worries weren't a thing for them, and I admired their careless actions. It was something to work towards in this uncertain time.

Just a little bit of laughter.