Constructive crit is always welcome!
Defiance
5 was bored on lookout duty.
As usual.
Of all the jobs to be stuck with, he had to get the worst one. It was bad enough he was by himself all day, he didn't need others dropping by just to tell him, "So, my little one-eyed one, what is not going on in the world today?"
He muttered to himself—of course, there was no one else to talk to—"'Pay attention and always keep watch.' Watch for what? Nothing ever happens and nothing ever will." He spun the telescope beside him for something to do. "Paranoid cowards, the whole lot of them."
Not that he wasn't one himself. As most days went, after ranting he checked through the telescope that no machine was really coming near them, and after that he'd complain again of being bored out of his mind.
There came the occasional day when he'd see something of interest. Sometimes it was that cat wandering around, usually too far away to raise the alarm about. And once in a while he'd catch a glimpse of one of the people he was looking out for. But not once had he been aimlessly looking over the city and suddenly spot a person he didn't know.
He pulled back from the telescope for a second, convinced what he saw was a trick of the light or some other illusion, but the magnified image didn't change. The new person was walking, holding his left shoulder, his head flicking from side to side. A sound must have startled him because he jumped and searched around him.
If you ever needed a stereotype for someone needing help, this'd be it.
5 glanced behind him, which was ridiculous because even if someone was there they wouldn't be able to read his thoughts. He checked on the new person again. He could barely see the number on his back, but he could easily take a guess at the name.
It wasn't often he got ideas, but he did know the difference between a good one or a bad one. He told himself "You're going to get yelled at for this" while hurrying downstairs.
If 9 had thought he was scared before, he was downright terrified now. Once he got used to the pain in his shoulder—it had been torn on the rusted lid of a tin can—he'd started following after the cat, hoping it stayed in the same direction. Whenever something blocked his path, such as a wall, he would side-step and, on the other side, get as close as possible to where he left. He didn't want to take any chance of straying too far.
As time went on, he became agitated, thinking he could hear something behind him, and the feeling worsened when he turned to investigate one of these noises, finding nothing, and realized he'd lost the path. Soon after that his thoughts started losing coherency and his own mind stopped making any sense. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing; looking for someone? Someplace? There'd been a creature, that much he knew, and he was sure one like it was following him and was going to take him away and he was hurting so much...
He forced himself to keep moving, certain if he did then the thing after him couldn't get him. Another hill—he was beginning to hate those—seemed to appear right in his way and he had to struggle over it while using only one arm. He wasn't that far from the top when a brick beneath him started to slip and, without thinking, he put out his left hand for balance. The jolt of that single movement stunned him and for the second time that day he fell. He hit the ground with so much force he had to suck in enough breath to yell at the feeling of being torn open again. He managed to stand up, cringing and holding his shoulder, but instead of continuing on, he sat on the brick that had fallen along with him.
The glaring sunlight made everything surrounding him blindingly bright and he hung his head so he wouldn't see any of it. He thought Let the thing find me. It couldn't be that much different from how he felt now.
When he looked back upon this moment, 9 couldn't help but be disgusted at his own weakness. There was only one good thing he could remember coming from that moment: even though he said he was giving up, that the end couldn't be that bad, he knew his life was the most precious possession he held and he could never let go of it. At the same time, life couldn't loosen its grip on him easily, either. So when he heard someone call to him, his head shot up and his mind was already trying to gauge if he should fight or run.
To his right, someone slid down a hill a few metres away, almost tripping as he reached the ground. 9 could see this person, similar in appearance to him, had a pack slung over one shoulder with something thin and silver sticking out, but that was only seen after first noticing a patch covered where his left eye should have been.
The stranger asked, "You're 9, right?"
9, trapped in a moment of confusion, nodded slowly.
The stranger sighed so deeply it sounded more like he was inhaling. Walking forward, he said, "Finally! I thought I'd lost you and was about to head back before someone noticed I was gone but then I heard you scream–"
"I didn't scream." Suspicion hardening inside him, 9 leaned away, trying to block his left side from view. He demanded, "Who are you and why were you looking for me?"
The stranger halted when 9 first spoke, a slightly bewildered expression that this person was less than glad to see him. His face became more cheerful as he said, "I'm 5 and I thought you might like a helping hand." He lifted his head to 9's left. "Your shoulder's bothering you, isn't it?"
9 realized how pointless it was to hide part of his body and told himself to relax. To the stranger whose name seemed vaguely familiar he asked, "Are you trustworthy?"
5's response of "Sure" was anything but comforting. He came to stand beside 9 and examined his torn shoulder. His mumbled comment "You certainly had a bit of trouble" got no reply. Truthfully, 9 was avoiding looking at 5, worried he might stare at his missing eye.
After a few seconds, 5 said "I can mend this." He swung the pack onto the ground and pulled out the thin piece of silver. Sunlight glinted off the sharp end.
Panic flooded 9 and he jumped back, falling on his bad arm, but that mattered little to him as he scrambled away. 5 stepped toward him and 9 yelled, "Don't come near me." He stood, the pain in his shoulder returning. His voice was quiet and rushed as he said, "I knew someone was following me, I knew it. I thought it was just my imagination but it was you this entire time. But I won't let you kill me. I won't."
5 looked to the sewing needle in his hand and then to 9, incredulous. He breathed in before saying in a forcefully calm way, "I think you're a bit delirious. I'm the least dangerous person I know. Even when I have tried to hurt people it hasn't worked at all."
9 backed away a little more. "You're not very good at reassuring either."
Another deep sigh. "I'm just saying I'm not going to hurt you." A stretch of quiet. "Do you believe me?"
9 glared at him.
5 shrugged. "Look at this way: You can let me fix you up or you can stand there until your arm falls off." 9 checked his arm with horror. "Your decision."
He still didn't trust this person, but 9 couldn't keep walking around like this much longer. Ignoring the physical pain, his emotions alone were about to drive him crazy. And, he reasoned, if 5 really wanted to kill him he would have done so already. 9 grudgingly went back and sat.
He watched 5 take out a tangled bundle of red thread—"Sorry it doesn't match"—and felt growing apprehension as the thread was slipped through the eye of the needle. 5 gestured to 9's right, suggesting "You should probably look that way," and 9 did so without a second thought. He braced himself but his body still jerked at the touch of the needle.
5 said, "See? That wasn't so bad."
There was silence between them, 5 focused on repairing 9's shoulder, 9 focused on getting his emotions under control. He'd rambled like a lunatic, most likely causing 5 to assume he was crazy, and had forgotten whatever he was doing before, but it was important. What was it? He flinched again and distracted himself by putting all his attention on a pebble not too far away. He wasn't thinking of anything when 5 said off-handily "It's been a while since we've had someone new" and then he understood why this stranger's name had sounded so familiar, hearing it among the mention of a group he'd never met, said with an air of paternal pride.
He turned to 5. "You know 2."
5 didn't look up, nor did his expression change, but there was a short pause in sewing. 9 didn't give him a chance to say anything.
"I met him earlier, but then this machine showed up–"
5 supplied while pulling the needle towards him, "A cat?"
9 nodded. "It took him away somewhere. We have to get him back."
It seemed so straight forward to him, but he couldn't guess what 5 was thinking as he finished mending 9's shoulder. He wrapped the unused thread around his fingers and snapped it. Without looking at 9, he said, "That should be good," and started putting the thread and needle in his pack.
9 was only half-aware he wasn't hurting anymore. "You could come with me," he said, "to rescue him. It would be simple."
5 still avoided facing 9. "I came to help you, I'm done, so now I'm leaving." He put on the pack while standing up. "Good luck to you, though."
9 watched as he began to leave and was suddenly hit by the fact he was going to be alone again. It wasn't any particular want for 5 to stay but a need for companionship itself that made him call out, "He talked about you."
5 stopped.
"He told me you were his student and I'd like you as soon as I met you. He said you all help each other in some way. He was happy over finding a typewriter. Someone like that doesn't deserve to be left behind." When he didn't receive any acknowledgement, 9 said, "You came to save me before even knowing who I was. Why should a friend be treated differently?"
He waited for 5 to talk, hoping he hadn't gone too far and, at the same time, that he had.
5 turned, expression still incomprehensive. "Are you trying to guilt-trip me?"
9 responded, "Maybe."
"Well, you're doing a good job of it," 5 said as he walked back to 9. "But we still have to stop at home for a minute to pick up some heavier artillery than this."
"And after that...?"
"After that we rescue 2. Now follow me."
As he was led through the city, always staying to the shadows, 9 asked, "Do you know where he was taken?"
"There's a building near the edge of the city." 5 glanced to all sides of him then headed left. "The cat goes there a lot so that's probably where it took him."
A few minutes passed.
"Thank you, by the way, for–" 9 stumbled over an unseen object–"for helping me."
5 waved it away. "It's nothing."
A few more minutes.
"Um... what you said earlier... You haven't actually tried to hurt people, have you?"
"Not anything terrible. You know how people sometimes get on your nerves so you think whacking them in the head would be a good idea? A couple words of advice: It isn't." 9 nearly laughed at that and then was told, "Almost there."
Ahead, he could see a cathedral that he'd caught sight of a few times but hadn't given much attention. If he'd been taught as much, he would have known churches were purposely built at the highest point in a municipality so they would be seen from all vantages. But, since he knew none of this, he stared at this remarkably still standing building, with its tall steeple and majestic windows that glowed in the sun, and thought, This is home.
5 hurried him over the weathered stone steps, telling 9 to stop staring at nothing, and had to pull him through the large doors he was examining. 9 was enrapt with it all, from the subtle detail on the doors to the ceilings inside, so far away it seemed they could contain the sky. He wanted to look at everything but 5 immediately ducked into a room by the entrance, beckoning for 9 to follow and be quiet while doing so. They slipped into another room through a hole in the wall. While 5 checked the door on the other side, making sure no one was around, 9 found a globe lying on the floor. He righted it to its proper standing position and marveled at the words all over, so small and faded he couldn't read them, but the wonder was there nonetheless. Who could have made this? he wanted to know. Not just the sphere covered with tiny type, all of this; the walls and ceilings, the aging furniture, the thin rug under his feet. Someone had to make it for it to be here, but the cathedral was too large for people his size. Who? 5 yanked him away from his amazement, ordering once more to be soundless.
Walking down the hallway, 9 asked softly, "Why are we in such a rush?"
5 replied, "If 1 catches us we won't be going anywhere." As the two halls intersected, he looked up and down the length cautiously before giving 9 a nod. They were about to pass another hallway when 5 said optimistically, "It should only take a couple of minutes to get ready and then we're out of he–"
"Where were you?"
They stopped at the harsh voice, 5 noticeably flinching, and turned to see a person walking towards them. 9 couldn't explain how but he knew instantly this was 1, recalling how 2 described him as the leader. He certainly didn't bother hiding his role. He stood roughly a foot away from them, obviously displeased. "Well?"
This was directed at 5, who had crossed his arms in attempt to hide the strap over his front. He was suddenly nervous and could only repeat the syllable "I" over and over.
1 said, "I gave you a job to do and you left it. Are you going to give me an explanation or just stand there like an idiot?"
5 was stuck in his repetition. He stepped back beside 9 and it was then 1 finally noticed him. Using the staff in his hand, he pushed 5 aside and questioned "Who is this?" while appraising 9.
5, glad the spotlight was off him, exclaimed, "His name's 9. I saw him wandering around."
9 thought it best to add something and opened his mouth to make polite introductions only to feel the staff press under his chin. He took this as yet another sign to keep quiet.
1 regarded him as if scrutiny was the normal welcome for everyone. He didn't turn his head to ask 5, "Where did you find him?" and when 9 tried to answer, he said, "I didn't ask you."
9 could see 5 behind 1 and the unconcealed alarm on his face. He couldn't understand such an extreme reaction or why 5 had started acting so on edge when 1 had merely talked to him. 5 glanced back the way they'd come, distracted. "Um..."
It was a single word, not even a real word, but 9 could see it meant more to 1 by the way his expression darkened. He turned to face 5 and, with austere emphasis, said, "You left."
5 was scarcely audible while insisting, "It was only for a second."
"It would only be a second if he was right outside the walls!" 5 backed away hastily as 1 advanced towards him. "You think you're up there all day to look around? You're supposed to warn us if those other two idiots"– 9 straightened– "bring something back, and they don't need your help in trying to get that thing to follow them right here."
5 began stuttering so badly it was almost impossible to decipher him saying "But he was hurt–"
"So the rest of us should be put in danger instead?" He would have continued ranting if 9 hadn't said a passive "Sir" to get his attention. 1 whipped his head around to see who'd interrupted him.
9 felt a tenseness overcome him, like a child caught beside a broken vase. He spoke slowly, hopefully in a way that could be mistaken as respectful, more likely showing how he was making it up as he went. "I can understand why you're angry but, not to sound rude, we don't have time for this. 2 was captured and we have to get him back before something horrible happens."
1 listened, his face changing from annoyed to bored. He said, "If we ran off to help him every time he got into a bit of trouble, we wouldn't be living here." He turned to 5. "You're going back on lookout and won't leave until it's dark." To 9, a little less sure. "As for you... Find some way to be of good use."
He started to leave, stopping briefly when 9 persisted, "But we have to save him!"
"How?" When he didn't receive an answer—9 wasn't about to admit he didn't know—he commanded, "The both of you are staying here," and left.
9 watched him, then looked to 5 the instant 1 was gone. "We're still going, right?"
5 seemed smaller now, any confidence from before vanished. He wouldn't be coming to rescue 2, 9 could see that; he'd stay and follow orders, be safe. 9 was tempted to do the same, to put his back to the perilous world and run into the arms of safety, but, although he detested the thought of being on his own, he was not leaving someone else's life to fate. With or without aid, he would keep 2 alive.
He was about to say how he'd be fine by himself, don't worry, when 5 spoke first. The same hesitant appearance on him, he said, "Of course we're still going. We'll just have to make up for lost time."
After more sneaking around, 9 was ushered into a dark room. He expected another square space, maybe a different piece of furniture to stand out from the other rooms he'd seen. He didn't expect to see a tarnished bell on the floor. He glanced up, assuming the bell had fallen and wanting to know where from, and a simple wondering was replaced by consuming awe.
If his first opinion of the cathedral was astonishing, this room was exceptional. Circular in shape, its perimeter was not impressive, but it was the vast height that left 9 speechless. He could only just see the top, a bit of dark hidden behind the bright sunlight flowing out of a ring of tiny windows. Below that were shelves upon shelves of what 9 was positive was everything. There were the unsurprising pieces of metal like he'd seen outside; however, he could also see many books, some with only a few yellowed pages glued between decaying covers, other volumes in such excellent condition they could have been printed a few days ago. Clippings from greyed newspapers were tacked here and there on the walls. Dust floated in the air, settling over this place of everything without a noise.
5 didn't share the same level of amazement. He walked into the room, hardly looking at it, and tossed the red thread and needle into the middle of the floor. He told 9, "I'll try to be quick," and moved to the edge of the room where more things were piled up. 9 heard and saw him on the periphery of the stupor he was in, broken when he bumped into an old lamp that squelched with rust. 5 let out a guffaw at seeing him recoil and then try to set the lamp exactly as it had been. "Stop worrying. They'll fix it better than you ever could. There a light bulb in that?"
"No. Who were you talking about?"
"The twins." 5 picked up a length of wire, studied it for a second, then dropped it while continuing his little search. "They spend most of their time in here and have a weird way of organizing that only they can understand."
9 looked up again, staggering slightly as he craned his neck. Moving closer to 5, he asked, "What is all this for?"
5's shouted "Aha!" showed he wasn't listening. He picked up a light bulb and, grinning, said to 9, "You should find something to defend yourself with. If you look over there, there should be—hey!"
Two other doll-like creatures had slipped behind him, and before 9 could finish blinking at how they'd seemingly appeared from nowhere, they snatched the bulb from 5's hands. The two were practically mirror images of one another, the only difference separating them being the numbers on their fronts declaring their names as 3 and 4. They leaned over the bulb, heads almost touching, flashing light from their eyes, and the one holding the bulb gave it a shake. A muffled rattling told that the filament was broken and it was thrown back to where 5 found it.
9 watched them scuttle to another pile, one hopping up and digging through it carefully. At his side, 5 commented, "Odd little things, aren't they?"
"What do they do in here?"
5 shrugged. "Read. Research. Sleep. Nothing very interesting." The twins discovered another light bulb, this one intact, and brought it back to 5, who instructed them to give it to 9, introducing, "3 and 4, meet 9. 9, 3 and 4."
9 lifted his hand in greeting. "It's very nice to meet you both."
They didn't say anything, though the one that passed him the light bulb, 3, smiled shyly at him. They left to another part of the room, the sporadic light from their eyes showing their position now and again.
9 observed them for a while and then asked 5, sitting and fiddling with two different pieces of metal, "Can they talk?"
"Not a sound."
A trace of sympathy grew within him and 9 wondered what it must be like to be voiceless. He couldn't imagine not being able to speak, to be unable to express any of his thoughts. The twins seemed happy enough, though, even if it might be they didn't know what they should be missing.
He was so involved in pity that he missed 5 talking to him. "What?"
5 held up the two pieces of metal now attached together on a thin rod and told 9 to twist the light bulb in, teaching him the old adage that left is loose, right is tight. 9 did so, though he wasn't sure how useful a bulb on a stick could be. He was just about to ask if he was done when there came a flickering and he then found himself holding light in his hands. He felt a smile spread on his face and wanted to say how amazing this was, to carry light wherever they went and push away darkness, but he couldn't form a thought well enough to get it out of his mouth.
5 held the rod out to him. "You can stare at this a bit longer if you like." He left him still gazing.
It wasn't until he returned, wearing the pack once more, now with something like a crossbow and grappling hook mixed together instead of a needle, that 9 was able to talk again. He asked 5 breathlessly, "How did you make this?"
He replied simply, "2 is a good teacher. Speaking of which, I'd say we've spent enough time inside, wouldn't you?"
9 nodded enthusiastically.
He wanted to say good bye to the twins before they left and thank them for the light bulb, but 5 was rushing him again, saying he knew a 'back way' out. 9 was told, "We still have to be quiet so 1 and 8 don't catch us leaving again."
"Who's 8?"
"1's lackey," 5 said with some contempt. "Trust me, you don't want to run into him."
They were downstairs by then. The basement was as cluttered as outside and the only lighting came from holes that looked like they were blasted out of the above wall. 9, looking around and clutching the light-staff, suddenly realized that what he saw was wrong. In order for there to be so much destruction surrounding him, there would have once had to be a time before destruction.
He asked, "Why does the world look like this?"
5 answered, "Because this is just the way it turned out."
9 didn't bother continuing the conversation.
They had to navigate down a steep incline that seemed like a lop-sided bowl carved out of the earth and up the other side until they reached the way out, yet another broken wall. Just before stepping outside, 9 glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was following and noticed a light fixture on the ceiling. Why he could remember seeing that, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the weary thought of how this thing's purpose had long ago ended and now it was just another impractical item in a rubbish heap once known as a city.
5 stayed closed to the cathedral, 9 a pace or two behind him. The sun had brightened as noon approached slowly, lessening the shadows and making the highlights harsher. They made a dash across the yard to a house with a sinking roof and after a minute's wait with no one coming after them, 5 announced, "9, you and I are now officially fugitives."
9 almost joked Until we come back and get yelled at again but stopped himself before inadvertently changing 5's mind. Instead he asked, "So where are we heading?"
"You'll see in a second," 5 answered as he started walking.
It was several minutes until 5 pointed to the horizon and said, "That's it." The building was easy to spot, being the only structure on the sky line. From this distance, it was only centimeters tall, hardly bigger than a dot.
Keeping his eyes on it, 9 asked, "Is there any chance we can get there and back before nightfall?"
5 thought this over. "Possibly, if we're quick and don't stop."
"Then let's go."
Dusk was only hours away when 1 gave in to the fact 5 and the new one were nowhere around. He hadn't seen them since lecturing 5 and telling them to stay inside. It was possible he'd simply not crossed their paths again but it was far more likely they'd disobeyed him and left anyway. He was positive it was the new one's idea; 5 was too meek to go against orders twice in one day, so that 9 must have convinced him to come on some ridiculous rescue mission.
This was only conjecture and there was no use wasting time complaining of what he wasn't certain. He could think of just one person who would have seen them leaving, if they had, and with an exasperated sigh he went to talk to 6.
The walk upstairs didn't bother him—it was shorter than going to check on 5—it was the room that unnerved him. It had clearly been in disrepair even before the world stopped: windows boarded up, pale cloth draped over tables, small pieces of wood and brick missing from the wall that let in weak amounts of light. The shadows were so thick it seemed if a person made one misstep the darkness would swallow them. How 6 could spend all hours in such a place was beyond him.
1 found him sitting in front of the wall farthest left from the door, drawing, as usual. Already half the wall was covered with paper. 6 was bent over a picture, what of 1 couldn't begin to guess, and gave no notice to the person standing behind him.
1 questioned, "6, can you see anything from up here?"
6 gave a short nod accompanied by an "Mm-hm." Concentrating on adding sharp strokes to the picture, he said, "5 and someone new left a long time ago."
Of course they did. Who cared about rules and self-preservation when you could run off to get yourself killed for no reason?
6 held the drawing up for inspection. "7 went with them. She must have forgot something because they were already gone by the time she left. They're trying to bring 2 back." He looked at 1 with his mismatched eyes. "Aren't you worried about him?"
If 1 wanted to be truthful, he would have said yes, hearing of 2's capture worried him. Attacks they could deal with, and had plenty of times, but not once had one of them been taken away. He told 6, "2 can take care of himself."
6 returned to his drawing and 1 was gratefully about to leave when something caught his attention. There remained a space on the wall not covered with paper because a list of numbers, possibly names, was inked into the wood. The crude slashes and circles gave the room a more unsettling atmosphere than darkened lighting could ever try to achieve. But the list itself was not what 1 had noticed. Where there had been eight numbers before, the digit 9 now stood at the end.
He tapped the number with his staff. "When did you add this?"
"Yesterday." 6 had started another nonsense picture, white page splattered with black ink from his fingers. He seemed oblivious to 1's presence again so he left. Before leaving the room, 1 heard the other say, "They don't need to go after him, you know. He'll come back on his own."
1 paused in the doorway, thinking that would have been good information to hear before 5 and 9 had taken off. He didn't voice this. There was no use explaining anything to 6; he either forgot or failed to see logic in a statement.
6 didn't look up as 1 walked away. He held the new drawing up, flipping it around and around until he decided it looked best a specific way. He set it down with the others he would put up later. An old picture was found and he started sketching something better on the back. He was running out of ink. He'd have to get more soon.
His hand slowed and then stopped. He stared at the picture but didn't see anything. Lethargically, he turned his head to the list of numbers he could never remember putting there. They all seemed faded, almost invisible, except for one. Barely aware of what he was doing, he raised a hand still covered in ink and drew a slash over the number two, the mark dark and heavy. It appeared to bleed before being absorbed into the fibres of the wood.
6 blinked. He went back to his picture and grinned at the result, paying no mind to the ink drying just inches away from him.
