Life On the Fjords

Dead Things

I'm free...

I'm free...

We're free...

Those were the only words that remained in Jack's vocabulary. He gripped both of his siblings' hands, the trunk was hindering their hike uphill and the satchel caused Jack's weight to shift to the right. They were lost in darkness, at the mercy of the brisk November air and only a small lantern to light their way.

Jack noticed none of it.

I'm free.

I'm free!

He felt his face crumple and Jack suddenly dropped both Jamie and Mary's hands.

"Jack?" Jamie shivered. They watched as Jack wandered, his mind gone. His face stared into oblivion, gazing blankly.

He could still feel the grip of the gun around his fingers, the heat from the kickback. Silently, Jack looked up and watched the snow fall from the sky like tears. He asked himself how did he ever end up here. Instinctively, to get as far away from the village as possible, his feet continued to carry him, his brother and sister trotting parallel, forgetting the trunk behind them.

Finally, like a sinking ship, Jack stumbled to his knees. His heart was pounding in his ears, the euphoria and terror of liberation, the shackles around his neck breaking. Jack did what he could to stifle his sobs, but it was painfully obvious to his siblings that he was now a mess of tears, his hands clutching the frost-covered grass beneath him as his fingers went numb. Try as he might, he couldn't staunch the flow of tears from his eyes, not for a good solid minute.

Then, as if it had never even happened, Jack wiped his face dry and got back to his feet. "We need to keep moving." He reminded them with vehemence and picked up the trunk.

Mary was hugging herself, trying to stay warm, "Where are we going to go?"

"I don't know." He said, "But we'll find somewhere to sleep tonight. Somewhere safe." On a much warmer night, he'd willingly rough it there in the wilderness until daybreak. But he had no option when he could hear his sister's teeth chattering. He took them both by the hand again and walked farther from the place they'd called home.

Jamie kept trying to turn his head to look back, but the urgency of the situation required zero stops.

I should've brought mead. Jack was already kicking himself—it would've kept them warm; he had no time to contemplate the morality of feeding a child alcohol, but all it would take was the smallest dose to fill their bellies with fire that would buy him more time before they started to go hypothermic.

It was too late. No turning around, not for anything.

In less than ten minutes, they were orphaned and homeless. That house could go to Jack, but he didn't dare show his face there ever again; the way he'd left it, it was obvious it was a crime scene. He'd be lucky if anyone who came across the house believed they'd been robbed and then kidnapped.

I wish I'd spit on him. Jack found himself snarling. One last remark as he drew his last breath to say 'fuck you.' May the Devil take you. He said silently, words more of a prayer than a request.

...

An old, empty shed out in the woods would be their inn. It was once used for storage purposes but was long-since abandoned.

Jack did everything in his power to keep the cold out by pushing the trunk against the door. The lock was broken and it wouldn't bolt shut, so they'd have to deal with the chilly breeze. It was better than nothing. The twins sat by the lantern, covered in their father's coats which now functioned as extra blankets. The gravity of what they'd gone through showed in their faces, trapped in thousand-yard stares.