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One. Two. Three. Lift. A wrangled scream. A scream of fingers curling over Adam's apples, of scalpels scratching against skin like pens on parchment, turning the white snow red, of legs dipping into raging lava as the dark turned to light, seeping and infecting, hands shooting to eyes. The shadow boys saw the light and it burned. It seared into their corneas like lasers, shrunken to the corner, sheet thrown over, hidden in plain sight; Phil had seen it once. The torture machine. He'd seen it on an inside mission. And he couldn't remove it from his mind.
Unfortunately.
The trapdoor hung open, the rusted metal fallen against the grass. And although Phil had seen that door every day, had passed under it and stared at the roof, hoping against hope that one day he would hear a light knock, and his heart would leap from the river, scattering silver fish and curving in joy, and Dan's eyes would reach his, his smile like a spotlight, cutting through the black; it looked different to him somehow. Older, uglier, more metallic like the rusting conveyer belts of old factories he had once rummaged in when food was short. Maybe it was just the way the light hit it, illuminating the rust as it glimmered, or maybe it was the grass that curled over the edges, bright and fresh, old meets new.
Phil was surprised to see the snow had melted. He had forgotten what the outside world looked like.
Light swung into the basement like a rope swing, with promises of happiness, of a laughter that floated on summer air, but Phil knew better than to trust promises. When you have grown used to the dark, even the light seems sinister.
A cry of laughter broke out. "We are literal vampires" Ash called, lifting his hands from his eyes for a split second before his palms jumped back to cover them up.
"What a great start."
"Right," Phil said, opening his eyes and staring straight into the bright light, in the hope that he would get over it. "Last check," he took a deep breath, "do people know the plan?"
"Yes boss." Drawled Ronan and Phil shot him a roll of the eyes, before turning back around.
"Ash, Yew, Forrest coming with me, Rowan, Cedar, Elm, staying here."
"Affirmative."
"This feels like an actual action film" whispered Ash,
"With significantly less sex." Yew called.
Laughter.
"People!" Phil shouted,
"Someone's touchy," Forrest said, raising his eyebrows.
"Right, okay, Ash, have you the rope?"
"Yes."
"Have you three got the walkie talkies?"
"Yup."
"Forrest have you got the spray?"
"Of course." Forrest said, rubbing his hands together.
"Binoculars? Lock picking kit?"
"Yes, yes"
"Rowan the cameras are hacked?"
"Yes,"
"And everyone's ready?"
Rowan put his hand lightly on Phil's shoulder, "everything's going to be fine."
Phil pushed off from the ground, hooking his hands over the edge and swinging himself up, landing rather ungraciously onto the dewed grass. He could feel the moisture seeping into his black camisoles, the cold air reaching down, caressing his face as if greeting a new son.
Somehow in the last two years he'd gone from pale nerd, to even paler, stronger rebel. He could feel his gun pressing against his upper thigh as he stared at the sky, the clouds moving softly as if drifting on a wave, as if it didn't even know what was happening below it. He prayed to god, to the stars, to anyone who would listen, that he wouldn't have to use the gun.
He jutted his arm down, hoisting Ash up, then Yew, and then Forrest in a joint effort. Each one of their faces set like stone, looking somehow both younger and older in their get up. Each one of them pretending to be brave, laughing away the nerves but unable to shake them. Each one knew each other too well to be fooled by the masks, but each one seemed to accept it silently, nevertheless. It seemed that human instincts never fully disappeared.
Their shoes crunched against the gravel as they scaled against rocks, against walls, against anything they could find, the shadows boys pulled towards any shadow they could find.
It was eerily quiet, as if even the elements were taking a vow of silence, the wind gone, the rain refusing to drop, the snow burrowed within a cloud, and not a single human in site. That was the scariest part about living underground for Phil; the lack of communication. They could be the last ones left on earth, there could have been a magnetic storm that turned people into cannibals, or a tsunami wave that buried the towns, a freak plague, or a giant all-mighty bunny rabbit who claimed the position of supreme ruler. At that point the prospect didn't even make him laugh. Anything was possible.
Their hands grappled with the rock surface, its silver tongue curling, whipping them back to the ground. But then there was land. And the sky seemed a little bit closer, but so much further away, and Phil knew where the humans were, if Phil could even call them humans anymore. They certainly weren't an entire human species, the women taken and locked away, no arms around shoulders, no children peeking from behind legs, space left in between bodies as if they were scared to touch, scared to trust; it was hanging day.
Gallows like trees, gnarled branches hanging down, craving necks, craving the snap of skin, the crackle of bone as their roots dug further underground. The gallows seemed to swap in anticipation. Would they be a screamer? Would they shout out in their final moments? Would they hang still or would they lash out in an attempt to fly free? Would they go fast? Or slow?
Bile climbed the darkness of Phil's throat.
The wisps of air seemed to form the portrait in front of him, like a recreation, like a play for entertainment, the kind with actors that once held glimmering statues as there words washed over people.
A guard poking his back with a poker. His eyes unable to look away. The old man's throat rasped, growing redder like blood spreading through water, like the blooming of a bud, like a thunderstorm through a summer's sky, like spilled pencils or the stretch of a smile before death. His eyes grew bigger. Whiter. His legs thrashed. Out of his own control. The rope tightened, cutting into his neck as the man stopped moving, his body still swinging in the wind, dead to the world. An empty cheer filled the square. Phil had felt it erupt from his own throat like a crack of lightning, a whip against will, as tears stung in his eyes. And he vowed he would never have to watch one again, he would rather let the darkness consume him.
Phil wanted to retch at the memory as tears grew in his eyes, falling to the swaying grass, to the beetles that crawled below, the creatures that knew nothing of capital punishment. He fell to his knees. He felt arms wrap around him, hands lifting him up, but he couldn't feel his own legs, his whole body falling back onto bodies as if he was the last one alive in a mass grave.
"Huck, Huck!" The name felt foreign to him, as he imagined the man with the beard, the red jacket and the hat, his hook glimmering in the sun, his face leering as he came closer, closer, closer again. "Huck!"
"Hanging…. Day…" Phil rasped as his support system became weaker, almost causing them all to fall back onto the dew grass.
"We have to go man," called Yew,
"It's so fucked up," Ash ranted, "so fucked up," He dragged Phil to his feet, and along the mountain, "we have to fucking go man, there's nothing we can do."
"He's right," Forrest whispered, "we have to get Gin, and carry on as we were,"
"And then what?!" Phil roared, causing Yew to leap at him, smothering him with his hand,
"They'll fucking here us."
"So what?"
"So what, so fucking what Huck have you lost your mind? So they'll string us up by the rope and watch us hang that's so fucking what!" he breathed, his face growing redder.
"And? They're going to get us eventually."
A slap. Pain stinging across his face. Ash stood above him, his lip curling in anger.
"And we can do something, we are doing something, what if everyone thought like that? What if everyone did huh? Then there'd be no fucking rebellion. Is that what you want Huck? Your family rotting away, tied to bars as their flesh melts? Your precious Gin with a bullet through his brain huh? Is that what you want Huck? Wake yourself the fuck up."
Phil's eyes widened. The world stopped. The grass stopped knocking against his knees. Silence stung at tear ducts.
He pushed off his palm, wobbling as he stood on his feet. He looked Ash in the eye.
"Sorry man."
"No, you're right." Phil scraped "Let's go."
"I reckon it's another half an hour." Murmured Yew, hoisting his backpack further onto his back.
The wall seemed to grow larger the closer they got, until it enveloped them, its shadow stretching for miles, each stone seeming like a mountain, each groove an individual path. Phil gulped.
"You got the rope?"
Ash nodded, "Man it's tall."
"I had forgotten." Phil sighed
"I don't think we can get all the way up there can we?" choked Yew, taking a small step back. Forrest grabbed him by the collar,
"Get back in the shade, we can't get caught," he hissed
"Rowan? Huck to Rowan?" Phil uttered down the walkie talkie,
"Rowan here," came the crackled voice.
"Is there currently sight on the wall?"
"One guard by the left wall" Rowan paused, "He can see the surrounding wall yes."
"Is he moving up and down?"
"Yes, along the left wall."
"How many guards in total?"
"Outside 4 inside we estimate around 30 people but only 10 guards." There was a pause, "it's hanging day," he whispered, "they're all at the town centre."
"We know," Phil said sadly.
Phil stuck his back against the wall, his fingers splayed. He was sure his heart was going to explode. It was beating faster than the wheels of a speeding train, around and around, he was sure he was going to faint. It wasn't the prospect of being caught, that had been hanging above his head for as long as he could remember. It was the moments before that terrified him. The moment where he leaped down from the wall and a head whipped around, the moment where his eyes met the eyes of the enemy, where he turned the corner, his head hitting the rotund body of a guard. It was that moment. The moment where everything was on the line. Life or death. Escape or capture. A grey line, like a tightrope, with no choice but to run across, his legs pumping, his heart failing, all the time knowing that it was no good, the breath of the enemy in his ear, climbing the skin of his neck. The moment where the survival instinct kicks in, where everything gets blurry and yet everything focuses. The grey line. He was terrified of it.
And Dan had become the grey line. Something he was both obsessed with and terrified of, something he both loved and feared. Because somewhere in his mind he knew that the Dan he had known, the one he had kissed in the plain moonlight, whose hair he had stroked as their legs tangled in a sleeping bag, who had listened to his spilled mind; somewhere he knew that that Dan had been erased the moment the guards' arms had wrapped around him. In his mind he knew that the Dan he could see today would be different, the stars would no longer settle in his eyes, his lips would no longer tilt the same. He just didn't know how different. And it was killing him.
He gazed down at his wrist, 'moons' scratched across. The lights had gone out in his sky.
"Okay," came the crackling voice again. Rowan. "you have two ropes right?"
"Affirmative."
"Take one to the wall on the other side. Hook it. Run and hide in the woods. Distract the guard. Hook it where you are now and climb."
Phil paused. This was real. It was happening.
"Thanks." He breathed.
"What's the chance of the distractor getting caught?" muttered Ash
"Getting seen is pretty high." Rowan gulped, "But actually getting caught, I would say is low."
Each of them looked around, their faces brave but Phil knew that below their facades each one of them was melting with fear.
"I'll go." Nodded Yew, his black hair billowing in the wind and his face utterly unreadable as he shuffled forward, grabbing at the second rope from where it was looped around Ash's forearm.
"I'll go." Ash said, moving his arm out of Yew's grasp.
"I will."
"I will!"
"I will!"
"Boys" Phil urged, "We don't have time for this, Yew you go. Ash hand him the rope." Ash reluctantly held out his arm and Yew took the rope, taking a final nod before turning around and running the length of the wall.
Moments. Of. Agonising. Silence.
A crackle.
Go.
The boys jerked to life, like puppets when darkness descends, hurling the rope into the air, feeling the metal hook fasten onto the wall. A slight tug. A breath of air. Phil held onto the rope, his palms sweating as the twine dug into the lines on his hands, forming their own patterns, falling down grooves of time. His feet pressed firmly on the wall, he could feel Ash's eyes from below. His chest began to swirl, his feet shaking as small beads of sweat formed on his forehead, rolling down like raindrops in the mid-day sun.
Think about Dan.
Think about the way his hair falls into his eyes, shining with a healthy glow like a moon riding on a wave. The way his lips tugged when he smiled, his cheek sinking to form his dimple. The slight tilt of his head when he was confused. The scrawl of 'stars' across his wrist, a drunken promise of forever.
Think about Dan. The top of the wall was still miles away.
Phil's fingers grappled at the top brick, his muscles screaming as he forced himself on top. His eyes sowed themselves shut, afraid of what they might see, afraid of the red dots scattering the ground, the sweeping silver cameras, the monsters that lay in the depths. In the distance he could hear screaming as three more red guards ran out. Slam. Phil lay flat against the wall, his own breathing pounding in his ears as his heart tried to push against the wall.
The distraction had worked.
Guns pressed against their thighs, walkie talkies pressed against their stomachs as they set their first foot on solid ground. Phil felt dizzy.
"Guards?" Phil mumbled into the device,
"Only 2, one out front, one out back. None should have sight of you." Came rowan's voice.
"Go from the side," Cedar added, "use the spray."
Phil gulped, his eyes growing whiter. "You got the spray?" He said turning to Forrest, focusing on his green eyes as a form of distraction.
Forrest led the way, his shaking knees causing him to waver from the path, Phil's breath catching and dying in his throat every time his foot nudged against the grass.
The corner. Eyes peeked round, hands gripping onto the wall like a friends scene, each of their heads falling atop of each other's. One guard all in red. His eyes seemed to wander, looking up at the clouds with interest. He twiddled his thumbs as he marched, his feet falling to an irregular beat. Because the guards were just humans too. And Phil forgot that sometimes. He dressed them up as monsters, their red jackets the pooling of human blood, their black boots deaths own wake. But the reality was that they were humans, scared shitless to set a toe out of line, maybe lured their by the promise of their lives back.
But all promises were empty. Phil knew that.
Closer. Closer. Phil shut his eyes, his ears picking up the noise. The spray had gone. The man slumped against the wall, his eyes firmly shut, the same smirk of worry written upon his face. A face like the moon. Pale, it seemed to glow. Phil tilted his head in wonder as he saw the man being lifted, arms hooked under his armpits as Ash and Forrest carried him.
"You know you could help." Ash muttered, snapping Phil from his trance.
They dragged him behind a rather large rhododendron bush, Phil hoisting the man's legs up absentmindedly. He didn't even know his name. But then again, maybe the man didn't even. It was easy to lose such things nowadays.
The sky was growing blacker, the blue watercolour being flicked with grey salts, and Phil feared that soon the grey salts would reign down on him. Then again, maybe it would help; nature's own camouflage.
His eyes caught on a window, about three floors up, rose's crawling up the walls like a ladder, and Phil was immediately reminded of something romantic, something scrawled upon pages of the past, the word 'thee' lingering for effect.
And that was before he found the eyes.
The eyes he would know anywhere; through the hailing beat of a storm, as the rain lashed against his skull, demanding for more, more, more as the wind howled and leaves ripped through the air, like birds taking flight before being torn like a page, as lightning cracked the sky like a scar, ripping the sky open to hear the cry of thunder, through the dimming fog as it crept closer and closer, wrapping itself around his legs like rope, like ties bounding him to the forest; he would still know the eyes. And he would follow them to the end of the earth.
They shone like stars.
"What are you looking at?" Forrest asked, becoming increasingly more worried at Phil's seeming paralysis.
But Phil could not speak, only raise a shaking finger, letting the boy's eyes stretch and fly up the wall and to the window; where a boy stood with his head pressed against the glass, his eyes slightly duller than before.
I have not forgotten about sharpest lives ! it will be up soon. Stress. Thanks for reading !