Fear
Chapter Nine
Disclaimer: I don't own Animorphs. Period. So don't sue.
Arnie's second trial was pathetic. The whole thing was taken care of that same night in about 20 minutes. Why would they need any longer than that to convict someone already under suspicion? He was given the worst sentence possible for a Yeerk. The fate given to all traitors; death by starvation.
Yeerk executions are painful, long, and public. The condemned and his host are left in a small cage beside the pool, between the two piers. That's how, two days later, I found myself hunched over in a too small cage, weak from dehydration and bruised from the kicks of passers-by.
There is simply no way to deal with one's own death. I didn't feel fear; Arnie saw to that. But neither could I process what was going on. The Yeerks simply locked us in a tiny cage. Over and over, my mind told me what would happen. I was going to die. Arnie would die in three days, and then I would be executed as well.
I was about to die. Die. Cease living. No longer exist. Kick the friggin bucket. Nothing made it sound better. Nothing made it sound worse. And I couldn't comprehend it. I tried. All I could see was pain. Pain, and then nothing. A nothingness that I couldn't begin to comprehend, but which I wanted to avoid with every fiber left to me. Death. I simply couldn't wrap my head around the idea of it. So I didn't even try.
They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. Maybe it's different for those with only a few seconds left, but for me, it was more like I became obsessed with my life. There were too many things I wanted to do with my life. Too many things I hadn't done or said. Too many things I wanted to take back. To fix. I wanted to tell Samantha how brave she was. I wanted to tell my parents how much I loved them. I wanted to talk to Jenni, to come to grips with her Controlling. To fight for her, even if fighting meant losing. I wanted to take back every mean thing I'd ever said to Arnie.
And more than anything, I wanted to go back to the battle. I wanted to go back and change the last thing I'd ever done in this life. I wanted to go out doing something brave, not running away like a coward. It shouldn't have mattered. I would die no matter what I'd done. And yet, it did matter. Huddled in a small cage, with nothing but thoughts to keep me company in Arnie's silence, I was ashamed of my life. I'd done nothing. I'd tried to run and hide like a coward. I would leave and no trace of me would remain, because I'd done nothing.
The shame made me almost welcome death.
Stop it, Connie.
Arnie had been listening to my thoughts without my realizing it.
You said you wouldn't do that anymore.
I lied. He sighed. A long, heavy sigh that didn't sound sad, just...defeated. I'm sorry.
Just don't do it again, I grumbled sullenly. My mind felt like mush and I just wanted to go back to my blank corner like I did with Nasha, but every time I tried, blood and screams invaded my thoughts.
Not that, Arnie grumbled, then he sighed again. Well, that too. But I meant, about...
About getting us killed?
Yeah.
We were silent for a long time, not really thinking, just sitting silently.
I'm not mad at you, I finally told him.
How can you not be mad?
Because I'm not, okay?
Even though-
It's not your fault.
We were both weary. I could hear it in our voices and feel it in our words. But I had to keep talking. This, here, was one thing I could still set right.
I don't hate you. I'm kind of mad at you, but you're a good guy, Arnie. And it's not like you wanted to get me killed.
Anrie cheered a little bit. You're just saying that to make me feel better.
Well, yes, but that doesn't mean it's not true. You just won't admit it.
Then I guess we're pretty much alike.
How do you mean?
You keep obsessing over that battle –
Was it really only two days ago?
That doesn't matter. Let it go already. You were braver back there than most people I've met.
If you hadn't been there, I would have run away. Or did you already forget I was begging for my life and crying?
No. But you also stopped. You stopped screaming and asked what to do and you calmed down in spite of being scared shitless. Just, the whole thing was over before you could do anything brave, so you don't believe me.
No, I don't.
Well, fine then. I'll think you're brave and you'll think I'm good and in a few days it won't matter either way, will it?
And with that last bitter jab, Arnie retreated from me and refused to hear any of my apologies. Even at the edge of death, we were the same. Stubbornly hanging onto our faults. Living and thinking and feeling. Nothing was normal, but few things had changed.
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On the third day, the pain started. It started as just a vague longing that pulled at me from deep inside. From nowhere and everywhere at once. Longing grew into desire, desire to need, and that to a desperation that left my addled mind reeling. Nothing hurt, but everything ached. Arnie refused to cry out. He sat silently enduring the torture.
I felt Arnie's pain. I felt it because his mind was connected to mine, but at the same time I knew he was shielding me. What I was feeling was nothing compared to Arnie's plight. I thought, for a moment, that I might comfort him, but how to comfort a dying man? What do you say to someone who knows, without a doubt, that he will live though pain beyond words, only to die at the end of it?
The ache stopped aching. It turned to fire. Every part of me burned. Still, Arnie didn't cry out. He didn't scream or beg. He sat, staring at the world.
What are you doing?
We were both suffering from my starvation as well. Dehydration was taking its toll on me. I was too weak to think, to fight. So while I knew that my question made no real sense, I also didn't really care.
I'm sitting.
You're strong.
I can't let them see me weak. I won't give them the pleasure. Dirty bastards.
Simple sentences. We were reduced to simple sentences and simple thoughts. Pain. Revenge. Life. Death. Things that philosophers have spent centuries thinking on, but which are really quite simple in the end. Pain hurts. What else do you need to know? Revenge is defiance. Defiance against death. Death is the end of life. Everything becomes simple when you're about to die. Why can't living people see that? Why can't living people just see what is and be happy with that?
Yeah, I whispered. Dirty bastards. You show them.
The hours passed. The burning turned to ripping. My body was being torn apart by the need for sustenance. But it wasn't my body. The pain was in my mind, which was connected to Arnie. But what does that matter? Who cares that my body was really sound when I still felt such pain?
That was when the division between Arnie and Constance began to crumble. I saw his thoughts, which were as weak and feeble as my own. I saw his memories, which I didn't want, but which poured into my mind anyways. Memories of an insane Gedd and a bitter banker. Of a child Hork-Bajar and years in a Pool Ship. Memories of watching movies with an intriguing host. Memories of me.
I don't hate you.
I know.
I love you.
I know.
And he did know. And I knew. And for a few precious minutes, everything was as clear as it could be. Love was not something that was limited to romance or families or genders. Love went beyond all that. Love bonded across hate and bitterness. Love made two people, for we were both people, want to protect each other. To make each other happy. To do anything, even die, for the other person. It wasn't sullied by trivial things. By romance and friendship and all those things that we tack on to make it more comprehendible. It was simply caring more for someone else than you do for your own life. I loved Samantha. I loved my parents. I loved Amanda. And I loved Arnie.
And then, everything fell apart. The needing, the burning, the tearing, it was all gone. Eclipsed by a pain that went beyond my power to describe. For me, it lasted about 2 seconds.
The sudden absence of pain was painful in of itself. The shock rocked my mind, leaving it completely blank. Even after that, my dehydrated brain took a few extra minutes to figure out what was going on.
'I could control you so completely that you'd never feel a thing, even pain…'
Stop! Stop it, Arnie! You can't do that!
Arnie couldn't hear me. He was lost in his own mind. In the pain. I couldn't feel a damn thing. Not the slightest hint of my body. My mind was trapped in quicksand. Stuffed with cotton. So fried it would hardly work, but nothing mattered. Arnie was in pain and I had to help him. Nothing else in the world mattered.
I used to think that those stories where the hero found all his strength in a single moment of greatest adversity were a load of bull. Strength doesn't come like that. It has to be built. It has to come, bit by bit, encouraged and cherished and made to grow. When the world is on the line, people don't change. They can only work with what they've got.
I was right, but when the world is on the line, nothing can stop you. My world was being taken from me and no boundaries hemmed me in. No obstacles stood in my way. No fears. No doubts. I found the strength I'd been unconsciously hoarding and ignoring. Adversity doesn't create strength. Adversity finds it. Sets it free.
Pain tore through me. I felt every bit of it. I couldn't take it from Arnie, as he had from me, but I took back my body. I took the pain that was mine and I kept it. I didn't scream. I was beyond screaming. I didn't cry. I didn't have the strength for tears. My mouth opened in a silent plea for death. My eyes stared at nothing. My ears heard only the silent sound of my own pain.
And then, I was tearing. Being ripped into a thousand pieces, but here was pain I could understand. A lesser pain. A human pain. The tearing became burning and I screamed. Only then did I feel the hands wrapped around my arms. Hairy hands. Hands that were way too big. Gorilla hands.
The pool had been attacked. The Andalies had broken into my cage and dragged me out just as the dying Arnie had used the last of whatever he had to crawl out and onto my lap.
The gorilla tugged me to my feet. I wondered vaguely if he remembered throwing me into a sand dune only three days before.
Only three days?
Arnie fell to the floor and I stopped and looked to him. He looked like he was about to melt.
"Please," I whispered, my voice rough and dry.
The gorilla raised a foot as if to stomp on the dying Yeerk, but I screeched for him to stop, tears spilling over, and darted in, kicking Arnie into the pool which was only a few feet away, praying that I hadn't killed him.
And then, I was done. My legs were shaking too badly to hold me. I couldn't even find the power to speak. I was utterly spent and had no immediate reason to fight for anything. The gorilla supported me with one hand; more carrying me than anything else. The host cages had been broken into and people were streaming out though the exits, on to freedom.
I was passed along from one pair of helping hands to another, caught up in the mad rush for the street. I didn't really have any control over where I was going, just followed along with the crowd.
Outside, everything changed. People split off, running in every direction, but it made no difference. I saw the change as soon as I reached the open air. San Francisco was different. Only a few people responded to the hysterical screams, and they were quickly distracted and rounded up by Controllers. The city was more taken than free and I didn't care. I was too tired to care. I wanted to run from the doomed city, but I couldn't. I could only stumble into a nearby alley and fall over behind a dumpster, too utterly spent to realize everything that had just happened.
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For the next week, a homeless lady took care of me. She found me and sat with me while the Yeerks cleared the area and somehow, she must have kept them from getting me. A few hours after my collapse, she forced me to wake up and drink some water. I was still too dazed and delirious to really question her.
It went like that for the next two days. She would wake me up just long enough to make me eat and drink, and the rest of the time I slept. By then, I was strong enough to sit up and talk to her. She told me that the pool had been attacked, that most of the freed hosts had been recaptured and that the city was being openly attacked and systematically enslaved.
I went back to sleep.
By the next day, I was able to function almost normally. The woman, she called herself Nadia, made me stay in her 'home.' It was a rather comfortable corner of an alley, with aluminum siding for a roof and a shopping cart in the 'front yard.' She made a bed of coats and made me stay still while she continued to bring my mysteriously procured food and drinks.
I was glad for the chance to rest some more. Being free took some getting used to. So did dealing with the fact that my life had been completely rearranged. Again.
I kept thinking things, expecting Arnie to respond. I would forget to move my limbs or my eyes. Often Nadia would talk to me, and I couldn't look at her because I'd forgotten how to move. Or I'd be walking around the alley and stop suddenly, at a loss for what to do with my body. I was fine for a few hours at a time, then the freedom made me nervous, apprehensive, and, for some strange reason, guilty.
But that was easy enough to overcome. The physical aspects. The mental ones. My freedom was restored and for a while it meant nothing to me. Arnie was lost to me. Dead or not, did it really matter? My parents were gone, as was my sister. I couldn't even go home to the puppets they had become. For a while, my loss gnawed at me, resting somewhere in my belly and silently, painlessly, chewing an every widening hole in me until I wanted to collapse. What was left to live for?
Life.
After seeing everything so simply and clearly during my torture, I still retained that sense of clarity. After finding and using my strength, I kept it. It wasn't as strong. The clarity wasn't as clear. But it was still there.
I was alive and that was worth living for.
I was free and that was worth fighting for.
I was loved and I loved and that was worth dying for.
Nothing else mattered.
So I ignored the pain of loss and went on with my life as best I could. I couldn't banish my feelings, and would never again want to, but I also knew I had to work around them. In spite of them. I knew I had to get out, and together, Nadia and I worked out a plan.
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Nadia wasn't human. I figured that out fairly soon after I'd gotten over my short bout of depression. We were sitting the open 'house,' eating stolen Lunchables, when a man wandered into the alley. He wasn't homeless, for he was well dressed. And he didn't really wander; he was looking for something.
I stared at him with a mouth full of crackers and my throat too dry to swallow. Panic flooded me, but I didn't let it rule me. Nadia placed a hand on my shoulder, a silent command for me to stay put. After a few moments, the man left.
"What was he looking for?" I asked when I was able.
Nadia shrugged and made a ridiculously large cracker sandwich. "People, I guess."
"So why didn't he get us?"
"He didn't see us."
I stared at her while she took the sandwich apart and rebuilt it in more edible sizes.
"You're not human, are you?"
"No."
"Will you tell me what you are?"
"No."
And that was the end of that. Nadia never told me what she was, and I never asked again. All I knew was than when I was with her, no one saw me.
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At the end of the week Nadia decided I was strong enough to travel. She produced a pack from the mess of her 'house' and filled it with food and clean socks. I don't know why she gave me socks and didn't bother to ask. I would have preferred underwear. She snuck me out of the city, which wasn't really hard, and accompanied me a few miles down the highway. After the suburbs thinned out a bit, she gave me a map and a quite a bit of money. The plan was to walk, hitchhike, and bus to my grandparent's house upstate.
"Take care," Nadia said, giving me a quick hug. "And remember to act inconspicuous. People can see you now. In fact, try not to be seen until you're a bit farther from the city."
"I know, I know." I smiled and hugged her back, refraining from telling her she sounded life my mom. The thought would have been too painful for me and too awkward for her. So I took the advice in good stride, picked up my pack, and walked away, never once looking back.
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That was my war. I left, and I left the war behind. After three days, I reached my grandparents house and they welcomed me with open arms and tears. We lived in peace and fear, watching the news and making a normal life. Five weeks and three days later, the Animorphs landed in the Mall and the war was over for everyone.
But it was never really over. It couldn't be over. I relived my one battle, my fears, my failures and my triumphs, again and again. In my dreams. In my waking hours. Not constantly, but for the rest of my life. I'd known pain and loss and fear greater than most people would ever need to. Felt it and overcome it.
The only thing I couldn't overcome was how I'd failed Arnie. He was gone. Most likely dead. I'd thrown him back into the pool, but if the kick didn't kill him, surly his fellow Yeerks had. I reunited with my family, my friends, hell I even made peace with Brian, but Arnie was lost. I'd given absolutely everything I had, but it wasn't enough to save him. My best would never be enough to fix this one failure.
But never again would I fail at protecting my loved ones. Never again would I run and hide. I loved and I hated and I cried and I laughed.
But most importantly, I lived.
The End
A.N. Don't worry, you still get an epilogue to look forward to, but this is, officially, the end. Thank you to every one who reviewed and supported me. Especially my sister, who inspired one of my characters, and my beta reader, who keeps pointing out my mistakes. Ah well, I love 'im anyways.
