CHAPTER TWO

Why are you still alive?

The voice was never silent for long. It always returned with scathing remarks and accusations that bit deep into his mind. It filled his every waking moment and reduced any attempt at sleep to a fit of vivid nightmares. He wished that it would leave him alone. But instead it gave him brief moments of quiet that only served as another torment. Perhaps it was right. Natalie and Sophie were dead. It'd been entirely his fault. His wife and little girl had been brutally murdered in the desert because of him. Perhaps that cross had been a just fate for a failure like him. It would've been better if he'd died in that exposed desert valley with no one but the rustling desert grasses for company.

At least you would've fed the bloatflies.

John sat on the edge of the lake with his head in his hands. It would be all too easy to walk out into the lake. It would be deep enough out in the middle and if he filled his pockets with big enough rocks he could drown himself. It would be a kindness to the world. What good could a useless wretch like him possibly be? What sort of man put his wife and small child in danger? What sort of man couldn't fight hard enough to save them? The voice in his head told him to do it. It urged him to let the lake take him. What right did he have to life when so many others had theirs stolen from them? It would be for the best. Who would miss him?

He would have to leave soon. He'd been a burden on Mathias and Eliza for too long. They'd been so kind to him and it was only because of them that he'd survived. Eliza had nursed him back to life and Mathias had helped him get around the homestead. He'd tried to help them as much as he could as his strength slowly returned. Though he wished that they'd just let him die. It would've saved them the time and effort. They didn't deserve to have a weak stranger leeching off them. It would be best if he walked into the desert and let the heat take him. Then at least he'd be feeding the geckos and coyotes. The nightmares and constant waking torment would finally end.

Eliza was worried about him. Mathias was too. He could see it in their eyes and he heard it in their voice. But how could he explain it to them? How could he explain what it felt like to have your own mind turn on you? To endure the constant inner accusations with only the briefest of reprieves that were themselves only fresh torment. To be forced to witness terrifyingly vivid nightmares that saw you wake screaming in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. How could he explain how it felt to hear the screams every time he closed his eyes? To be forced to see their blooded beaten bodies so carelessly thrown in the dirt over and over again. How would he explain that his every waking moment was torture and every breath a new torment? They'd just think he was mad.

But perhaps he was going mad. How much more could his mind take before it snapped? He wouldn't be the first to go mad in the wastes. There were many things that drove a man to madness and he was pretty sure that he qualified. Even if it had been his fault. He deserved this. Every moment of it. Madness was too good for him. The voice reminded him that death was what he deserved.

"I buried them."

John turned to see Mathias leaning against a tree no more than three steps away. He'd done his best to hide the fact that the suddenness of the remark had startled him. But Mathias didn't miss much. He would've noticed the way it'd made him jump. Would he think him weak because of it? That he'd been startled by mere words. How had he failed to hear him approaching in the first place? Mathias was surprisingly light on his feet for a man of his size but would've surely made some sound.

"The woman and the little girl," he added "I gave them a proper burial. The man who brought you to us told me where he'd found you and told me about them. It is not good for the dead to be left to lie unburied. So I made my way to the place the man told me about. The dead cannot rest until they have been properly buried. They deserve that right."\

John noticed that Mathias' gaze hadn't shifted from him. He stood watching him silently with some distinctly indiscernible look in his eyes. The young Paiute was the most perceptive man that he had ever met. With enough time he seemed to be able to sniff out anything you might be trying to keep hidden and work out what you were feeling before you knew yourself. It was a quality that some would perhaps consider threatening. There was, after all, something rather unsettling about being able to be read so easily. But Mathias' friendliness offset such feelings.

"They were precious to you," he said as he lowered himself to the ground "and I know something is pulling you apart. I can see it in your eyes John. It's a look I have seen many times. You are fighting something very dark within you. You feel guilt and…something else. You have to fight John. No one else can do it for you."

"You…you don't know what I did," John stammered "it's…all my fault."

You can't even tell him what you did. Listen to you stammering. How pathetic.

John felt the darkness closing in around him. His heartbeat raced and his breathing quickened. It felt like a clawed hand was squeezing his insides and it was getting harder to gather his thoughts. What was this new torment? Had the voice found some new way to toy with him? It felt as if he would blow apart at any moment and there was nothing he could do about it.

"One cannot undo the past. It's what you do now that matters. You can allow the guilt to consume you or you can choose to do something with the chance you've been given. What would they want for you? You were spared. It's up to you to decide whether you will do something with that. You will heal in time my friend. But you have to choose to let yourself heal.

Mathias lowered himself down onto the ground next to him. One large hand reached out to pat him on the back. That one simple act was more comforting than John liked to admit. It was a contrast to the constant attacks and jeering of the voice in his mind. A simple pat on the back from a friend – something so ordinary yet so profound. The thought that he had a friend was a strange thought to him. Who was he to deserve a friend? The man who had tried and failed to even be a man. Perhaps fate had spared him and led him to Mathias and Eliza. As strange as that sounded.

"You feel like you failed them," Mathias said suddenly "I can see it in your eyes. It's a look that I have seen many times. So many damaged men and women have passed through these lands. You have a long hard road ahead of you John. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we just can't save those we love. It eats us up inside and destroys us. But you tried John. You tried."

Did you really? Then why are they dead?

Somehow Mathias just seemed to know things. All he needed was one look into your eyes and he'd figure it all out. There was a part of him that wanted to stay with Mathias and Eliza. While he was with them the voice was quieter. He feared that as soon as he set off out into the wastes again it would come back with a vengeance. After all, a coyote didn't easily give up on its prey. It hounded it and took quick lunges at it until it'd worn it down enough for the kill. The accuser in his mind might have quietened down for now but it would be back. It always came back. The lonely nights spent out in the wastes provided an opportune time. There was no one to help you when you were alone with your thoughts with nothing around you for miles.

John sat in silence watching a fish darting around beneath the water. Having grown up in the desert he still found the concept of a fish somewhat strange. There were many who didn't even know what a fish was. The fire that ended the Old World had changed so much. But his father, a man who had grown up on the coast of New California, had told him about the fish he'd seen in the rivers. He'd often spoken of their slippery scaly bodies, gaping mouths and big eyes. The fact that they still lived after the Great Fire was a testament to nature's will to survive.

That fat fish provided a welcome distraction. Was it some sort of lake fish? How had it managed to survive through the end of the Old World? Perhaps Mathias would know what it was. It moved with such freedom that he found himself envying it. It seemed so free of care or concern down there. No voice in its head to torment it and no turmoil tearing its insides apart. It flicked and swished around with ease. The more he watched it the more he wished he could trade places with it. To give up his torment for such a simple and free life.

"Bullhead Catfish," Mathias said breaking the silence "they are hardy fish. They've always been in these waters and even the Great Fire couldn't change that. The spirit of the animals is strong. Some changed and others stayed the same."

Mathias now stood on the edge of the water looking down at the fish. A soft light reflected in his eyes as he watched it swimming about just beneath the surface. Was he feeling a similar sort of feeling to the one he had? It was easy to admire the grace and freedom of a fish as it so effortlessly glided around beneath the water surface. The way that they always seemed to be so unhurried and unworried. In the time that he'd known Mathias he'd seen him regard animals with a strange sort of compassion. Even the more mutated ones. He'd watched Mathias chase a pack of coyotes away from his home. Instead of aiming to kill them he'd fired a few shots just short of them to scare them off. Most Wastelanders would've simply shot them. But Mathias seemed to respect them. It didn't make sense to others but it did to Mathias.

Remember what happened to them.

The voice sneered at him dripping fresh poison into his mind. It filled his head with bitter doubts and terrible fear bringing everything rushing back. It delighted in playing the scene over and over again in his mind tormenting him with the reality of what had happened. All because he hadn't listened to them and had only seen the potential to be gained further north. Natalie had pleaded with him to go west to New California instead but he hadn't listened. He'd killed them because he'd wanted more. He should've died a slow death on that cross alone in the desert. He should've suffered in agony as the sandstorms blew biting lashes into his wounds. They'd died in agony. He deserved the same. It had all been his fault.

Yes. They're dead because of you. You're a pathetic excuse for a man!

He saw them strip her naked. He heard the crack of the whip as they flayed her raw. He watched as they cast her scarred body carelessly to the ground. He saw the gobs of spit and streams of urine fall on her as the savage kicks fell. They'd beaten her and forced her to watch their little girl burned alive before gouging out her eyes. He heard their agonized screams blending into one as a rattling scream burst from his own mouth. They'd thrown her body against the rocks and stabbed at it with cruel laughter. Like a deathclaw toying with its prey. Over all of it stood the tall man with the red plumed helmet and a twisted grin on his face.

You did this! They would be alive if not for you!

His mind reeled at the reality of what it had seen. The guilt and sorrow tore at it and he could feel it beginning to unravel more as the days passed. Mathias and Eliza had plucked with him from the fate he so rightly deserved. The stranger had wrongfully taken him down from that cross. What right did he have to live? He deserved a fate more cruel than the one his wife and child had been dealt. He'd led them to it after all. He should've fought harder to save them. He should've struggled harder. He should've told them to run and bought them time to escape. That would've been the noble heroic thing to do. But he was neither noble nor heroic. He was a pathetic coward. As the voice so rightly reminded him.

You put greed ahead of your family. The ones you claimed to love!

He felt his heart pounding in his chest and heard his breath quickening. His mind raced with constant replays of their brutal deaths. He heard their screams again and again. He saw himself held down and forced to watch every moment. No matter how hard he struggled he couldn't pry himself free. They just gripped him tighter and roughly held his head in place. He hadn't even be able to close his eyes. They'd held them open so that he couldn't escape. Every act of brutality and cruelty had to be witnessed. Their laughter and jeers echoed through it all.

Then came the heavy-handed blows. Then the bite of the whip as it flayed his back. The gobs of spit now fell on him and his body ached with pain. He felt himself roughly hoisted to the cross and felt the bite of the nails as they gouged into his hands. Then he felt the biting roughness of the ropes as they were fastened around his wrists so tightly that they dug into his arms. The whip tore across his chest opening fresh gouges for the lashing sandstorms. He'd felt the life draining out of him in the slick redness and heard their laughter. It should've ended there.

"John! You have to fight it!"

He was dimly aware of Mathias' voice and the firm grip on his shoulder. But both felt as they were a million miles away. Far off things that were drowned beneath the raging tempest in his mind. All he could hear were the screams. All he could see were her torn body and the burning form of his little girl. It was getting harder to hold himself together. He lost more of himself each time the attacks came and a little bit more of his mind crumbled. How much more could he bear before he entirely lost himself? The torment was too much. But did he really deserve anything else?

"Breathe John," the other voice said "you have to breath."

He struggled to listen to Mathias over the jeering in his mind. Something so simple as breathing seemed so strange. How could that silence the torment? How could that quieten the accusing voice that preyed on him so relentlessly? But ever so slowly he began to feel better with the long slow breaths. His heart began to slow its frantic pace and his thoughts shifted into order again. The dark was still there and the memories remained. But he felt his mind calming. The voice would not stay silent for long. It never did. But at least he would have some peace. If only for a moment.

"You have a hard fight ahead," he said softly "and it is one only you can fight. But your spirit is still strong. Otherwise you would never have recovered. My wife is the most skilled healer I have ever known. But there are some wounds even the most skilled cannot heal."

Mathias was silent for a few moments. But he never took his gaze never left him. There was a deep concern in his eyes as he moved to lean against a tree trunk. How was a young man like Mathias able to perceive and understand more than men many times his age? His watchful gaze seemed able to read a person in mere moments. No matter how hard you tried to conceal things he always seemed able to sniff them out.

"Eliza and I have seen people simply give up. Their bodies might heal but their minds don't. The mind is a powerful thing John. It can will the body to die. I've seen men and women lose themselves. They walk out into the desert and die. Or they simply don't wake up. A healed body is nothing without a healed mind. The two are so closely tied together. If the mind is healed it can will the body to live and survive."

Mathias patted him on the back and motioned back towards his farm. By now Eliza would be starting to wonder where they were. Mathias kept the area around his home safe but there were always any number of threats to be found in the wasteland. Some time spent next to the campfire would do them both good and there were things that needed to be done. Life wasn't easy on a remote farm in a secluded corner of the wasteland. Mathias had warned him about the raiders and slavers lurking in the area. The Great Basin wasn't a safe place. Out here there were no patrols to keep the roads safe or hunters to drive off the more dangerous wasteland wildlife.

"Fate has spared you John," Mathias added "you must decide what you will do with that."