Skin is the largest organ of the human body; it contains sixty-four percent of water. In one of the anatomy books I had read in the recruitment program, I recalled a particular section. Muscles and kidneys alone are seventy-nine percent.

Bones are approximately thirty-one percent.

My mouth was full of blood. I could feel the cold seeping through the follicles on my scalp, turning my hair pale white. I thought I heard Rufus scream something at me again---couldn't make it out. Like wilted, brown flower petals that rose to meet the sun, I peeled the soft, malleable material backwards on the demented, rotten figures who now remained still in front of me. Their eyes bulged as I slowly pulled off the skin trapped underneath their uniforms, like how my mother used to tear off the old flowered wall paper in our house when we first moved into our house left behind by the previous owners--hands placed on her hips, an excited grin on her face. Wanted to change the color to a nice orange, she had said.

I changed it to a nice rouge.

Not a sound they made. Their bones snapped and bent like number two pencils, yet so soft to the touch. Like the finest silk. Stumps of congealed, gelatinous fat and muscle, the earth releasing a stifled sigh as it choked and coughed up more granite. My limbs weakened a bit; the air was suddenly dark, as if the rain had stopped. I stared at my empty, calloused palms, then gazed at Rufus, who was crawling on his hands and knees towards me, unable to stand properly due to the winds that circulated around me. When he opened his mouth again and released another shout, did my legs finally give out and I collapsed to my knees, immeasurable pain shooting through my skull. A hailstone of rocks, once suspended in the air, began to pour down heavily upon us.

As I became caught up in a coughing fit, William bent over and began to empty his stomach in the bushes, wheezing and gasping uncontrollably. Rufus attempted to not look at the sight in front of him. The sleeves on my jacket were drenched with blood. Rocks and clumps of grass broke apart and ricocheted upon the shattered dirt beneath us. He struggled to breathe; beads of sweat traveled down his temples and down his chin, before it started to pour once more.

* * * * * * *

After days of walking with a bit of helpful navigation on William's part, the air grew hotter--the scent of salt burned my nose and throat. I could hardly get down any food inside me, and Rufus began to complain of his headaches. We trudged on, only pausing to rest at night. Only a few soldiers had ended up in our paths, and were dealt with accordingly. The items we collected from their corpses were, canteens, a pack of cigarettes we all had been sharing, a loaf of stale, hardened bread, and half a bar of dark chocolate.

Our feet sank into the sand, and the moment we reached the top of a towering hill one sunset Rufus tapped my shoulder and pointed outwards.

I strained my eyes to get a better look at the moving dots far down below. A few wooden huts had been constructed nearby the coral reefs, sheltered from the crashing waves that beat upon the rocks. A large pile of logs were placed in a pyramid shaped pile, and a few men were sawing, hacking at the wood with stone machetes.

William pulled out a cigarette and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. Before he could get a word out, I took off, tripping and stumbling, knowing that my family was only half a mile away. Nothing else mattered at that point----only being able to see their faces and smiles, to hold my newborn child in my arms for the first time. And suddenly, I was tackled heavily down to the ground, face first in the dirt, pain shooting up my shins and knees. I began to struggle, but Rufus immediately grabbed me up by the shoulders and made me face him. The anger he had hid so well from me finally came to the surface.

"Stop! No, no, no! Wait!"

I yanked my arms out of his grasp.

"Have you lost your senses? Stop!"

Using what remaining strength I had, I roughly pulled away from him and continued down the hill, ignoring his questions, sharp gravel digging into my bare feet, which pounded against the ground. William had finally caught up to us, and Rufus was getting up to his feet when he shouted after me. I was fighting through the tall weeds and grass, trying to shut out their voices. Perspiration dripped from my chin, splashed down my back and lower neck, making my too large jacket cling to my skin.

My breaths were heavy as I gradually slowed down my steps, my arms suddenly becoming weak. At that moment--I nearly told him. But I couldn't open my mouth. He stumbled forward and gestured towards the towering rocks around us.

"Any living thing bearing the image of the snake comes past this point must be eliminated," Rufus said. "That is what I ask of you. And you must not step beyond these cliffs or let any village member see you. It is absolutely crucial you stay out of the way, or it could ruin the mission plan that we have. Our men have set up camp eastbound--six miles from here. Well hidden beyond the trees." He gave me a serious look. "You remember our agreement. If they disperse due to panic, then it puts every soul here at a greater risk. And that is another burden that I am sure neither you or I would like to carry. What happened? Not sure what got into you to make you rush out like that."

I slowly crouched down on the grass.

"We need to keep going," William murmured. "It would be best for us to make it there before dark."

Rufus placed a hand on my left shoulder. "I know you're exhausted. But we only have a little ways to go. A hot meal and a blanket would have you back up in no time. And you would be able to meet the others, too. Come and know and few names."

"You go on," I quietly said. "I'll stay here."

"But it's not wise to be out here by yourself."

"I can manage. It's alright."

William shook his head. "It's best we stick close."

"I'll be fine." It came out in a whisper. "I don't want to frighten anyone else. I can come by after dark."

"Nonsense. They would like to see you."

I stared at a bee landing on a wilted flower, in search for its sweet nectar amongst the petals.

Rufus bit his lower lip and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You need to just remember your promise. No contact. You take a step closer from this place that we stand, and if they find out you are here, the more lives you put at risk. Word spreads around quicker than a fire in a cornfield."

"How often do the Red Mambas pass by this place?" William asked. "I've only seen a couple--our men has reacted appropriately to them."

"There may be more," he replied, turning towards me. "All I want is to have Baldwin's attention diverted from them. It's the best chance for their survival. He finds out you are attached to anyone, especially if they are Khonie or have Khonie descent, they are finished. I'm sure you know this by now. I only ask that you guard this space while we work to bring others who may need aid down here. And obviously, you have a greater capacity of doing so than the four of our men combined. Any efforts of yours are greatly appreciated."

The back of my throat burned.

"Do I have your absolute word, Adlai?"

"Yes," I replied.

He gave me a long look, before pulling out a faded piece of paper. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you out here. If you do happen to change your mind, this is a map that leads to the camp. You follow that route, you should be there in no time."

* * * * * * * * *

A thick layer of algae and dirt stuck to my clothing as I stepped through a long, swampy portion of the trees, flies buzzing and landing on me. The warm, greenish water sloshed around my bare feet, startling three dragonflies who had settled in the plants below. After spending a couple of hours scouting the permiter of the main base where my thirty five hundred were building, hunting, and planting, I gradually climbed up a muddy slope, my fingers slipping into the deep soil as I placed one hand on each rock. When I reached the top, darkness became heavier, turning the ocean into a stretched pool of ink, not even its foam visible.

I crouched down on my knees.

In a frail patch of moonlight, a man with a shiver of arrows attached to his back was busy hacking a log in half with a small axe, sweat gathering around his forehead. He wore the tribal garments of his people--the pattern of clay painted on his face showed resilience against the K shaped scar on his cheek. Covey's face looked no different, and he grunted and strained every time he swung the tool in the air in an effort to make a dent in the wood. The sight of him working oddly brought peace to me, he seemed more relaxed.

A twig in the distance snapped, and his eyes widened, making me turn my head. Suddenly, he rushed behind a tree, ducking low. Fumbling in his pocket, he drew out a pistol, his arms shaking.

In the dark, I pressed my palms against the earth, feeling the vibrations of heavy marching. Their steps were in rhythm, calculated. Though their forms were hidden, I could hear faint breathing, their attempts to be quiet. My skin begun to tingle.

Their blood was interconnected with mine. As I slowly held my hands out, there was a stifled shriek, the sound of a rifle falling to the ground. Although this man attempted to break free from my grasp, I fought the grueling pain inside of my head, letting warm hot fluid travel down my nose and mouth. The gray uniform he had on told me everything I needed to know, and I needed to figure out if he was with anyone else.

Like a puppet dangling from a string, his boots rapidly lifted from the ground. My hands slightly shook as I curled my fingers, causing him to release a strangled scream as his right shoulder popped out of place--white bone visible in gray. In the corner of my eye, Covey, in a daze, stepped out of his hiding spot. The man stared at him, jaw clenched, his eyes bulging, before wheezing incessantly. He attempted to move his limbs.

The pistol slipped out of Covey's hand as he stumbled, landing backwards at the sight of his enemy suspended in the air. I directed the man forward against a tree, letting his body collide as hard as I could let it against the surface. Blood splattered against the wooden bark, with a loud snap, his head hung loosely in an unnatural position. Once the corpse rolled to the ground, a heavy silence filled the air, beside Covey's out of control breaths as he struggled to sit up. I strained my ears to listen for any more footsteps, but there were none. The soldier's rifle was halfway buried into a pile of rotting, dried leaves. My fingers slowly wrapped around the cool metal barrel.

Covey remained still, shaking uncontrollably. His eyes were still on the man's still, crumpled over form. My muscles burned and ached. A deep pain had settled in the back of my skull--I feared that I may had pushed my limits a bit too far. Water was far more difficult to manipulate through the source it was trapped within than it being in its bare form. I knew that much more practice was needed, but in comparison towards my first attempts, there was some undeniable progress. Blood dripped from my chin and splashed on the rifle, making a faint tapping noise against the polished wood.

I began to whistle a soft tune.

Immediately, he struggled to his feet and blindly fired three rounds of his pistol into the dark, attempting to create a light source. Smoke rose from the barrel, and his face was covered in sweat. He reloaded again, fumbling with with the magazine, before dropping it on the ground. As he bent down to pick it up, he stopped, pausing to listen to my whistling. The tall grass blew around us, caught up by a warm wind. I remained crouched on my knees, tasting the hot salt water in my mouth, mimicking the song of a bird.

Covey left the pistol on the ground, caught up in a trance, squinting his eyes but unable to make out anything in front of him. The branches of the trees swayed above us. He took a step forward, but drew back again, hesitating. After a few moments of indecision, he grabbed the firewood he chopped up, including his axe, and scrambled off.

* * * * * *

My ankles became bruised and swollen, eventually beginning to bleed due to how many rocks I stumbled upon. When I approached the camp around twilight, the air had grown still again; so quiet that even the crickets were asleep. The tents planted on the ground were dark, filled with the soft snores of men. As I pushed a few branches out of my way; William was bent over a bucket of water, splashing his face. As he wiped his forehead with a faded rag, he immediately jumped and straightened up when he noticed my shadow, his hand instinctively going towards his gun; but relaxed once he got a better view of me.

"Ah," he said, his voice low as to not rouse the others. "I was getting ready to go out and search for you myself." A twinkle was visible in his eyes.

Silently, I made my way closer to him. He appeared startled as I slowly held out the Red Mamba's rifle to him, my arms slightly shaking.

"What's this?"

"For you," I gently said, smiling. "A gift."

A very confused expression appeared on his face. I could sense the fluids flowing under his flesh, through his veins and arteries, his beating heart.

"For me?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Because you are a friend of mine," I whispered. "I hope we can be friends. Friends for a long time."

"I already have one of my own. But I know a friend who could use this." Gingerly, he reached over and took it out of my grasp, then grinned. "Thank you. He'll appreciate this. You seem to have found quite a good one." He squinted at the wood.

I lowered my head, my smile slowly fading. William immediately looked up at me.

"You...alright? You've been down for weeks. You hardly eat or sleep. I hope I can be of assistance if you would like to tell me what's on your mind."

His friendly words made a chill run down my spine. But the question loosened something tied down inside of me. I opened my mouth, but closed it and quietly exhaled, nearly succumbing under the pressure of his curious but concerned gaze. My throat stung, and without a word, I limped off.

* * * * * *

It begun to pour again, causing the ocean to rage.

The ground was flooded. Water sloshed around my bare feet as I silently made my way through the dense, dark green bamboo patches. I was coated in mud and grass from head to toe, but could hardly feel it on my skin. And yet, the air was sticky and hot, inviting mosquitos and gnats to settle above the stagnant swamp. A brightly colored bird landed on a tree branch, releasing a sweet, but lingering tune that soothed my soul.

When it flew away, I let my vision settle in between the reeds, my hair over my face, only my right eye visible. When my fingers slowly wrapped around them, I could see how the dots had become bigger--not so far away. Covey's still form remained by the edge of the swamp, and once he sensed that he was not alone he stood up. He had his bow and arrows with him, as well as a fully loaded pistol tucked by the side of his pants. His dark eyes were wide--cautious, breaths still, fingers tapping over the carved edge of the bow.

Concentrating, I extended out my palm.

A giant crack spread outwards on the soil, causing the rocks beneath to shift and rattle like old coins. Covey did not flinch; rather, he seemed prepared, less terrified from our last encounter. He poked at the split ground with his hand, and began to walk beside it, following its crooked path. As I continued to create more, his steps became faster. When we reached the edge of the boundary of land to which the outline of Flanders was in view in the distance did he finally stop, out of breath. His face was red and covered in sweat.

The rising fear in his large eyes as he gazed at the ruins of the city spoke to me, which I knew all too well. But amongst the desolate land, in the pouring rain that soaked us to the bone, he stared at the rushing mud that swelled up and swirled around him in a bubble--suspended in the air. Managing the pain in my head, I so desperately wanted for him to understand. Standing in the rain, he slowly reached out to touch the suspended earth, before immediately drawing his arm back. When it finally sloshed to the ground, he turned to look to the dark woods, shivering.

As two other shadows appeared next to him, he began shouting loudly, pointing at the clumps of mud and waving his arms toward them. Most likely they had followed him. Amongst them, I could only make out Ki'luwani's and George's forms.

* * * * * * * *

After a two hour meeting, I took long sips out of my lukewarm coffee, the stares of the other men upon me. It was their first time seeing me, and although William had introduced me to every single one, I quickly forgot their names as soon as they spoke them. I found myself hardly being able to hear people's voices much these days--their words were blurry and echoed in my ears. What I had only really recalled was that our men had properly seized control over Navu and laid seige to its territory. My head was pounding like a drum, and I hadn't noticed anyone had left the tent until I felt Rufus' hand touch my shoulder, causing me to look up. He slowly sat down next to me.

"I think you should rest. Take a couple days to sleep. Our boys are doing well now; so I don't anticipate another attack coming from the Red Mamba army any time soon. Once you get your energy up, you can pick up where you've started." He placed a hand on his chest. "We have everything under control for now."

I said nothing and traced my fingertips across the cracked rim of the cup. The dark liquid sloshed inside, distorting my reflection.

Rufus looked away for a moment, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrinkled envelope. "This is for you." He cleared his throat. "I was in Navu with a couple of our guys, clearing out the area. A woman ran to me, frantic. Never seen her before, but she demanded all of us to give this to you. Had a young'un with her. I tried to ask her for more information, but she was frantic, stumbling over her words. We tried to persuade her to let her stay and help her, but took off, running as if the devil was behind her. We've spent days looking for her as well. Reckon it's someone you know."

Immediately I straightened up, before slowly taking the envelope from him with a shaky hand. I tried to open my mouth, but couldn't. Rufus cleared his throat and got to his feet. After giving my arm a light pat, he softly said, "I'm going to head out with the others.”

When he stepped out into the dim evening light, I struggled to tear open the envelope, my fingers sweaty and clammy. My heart was pounding. A wrinkled, yellowed piece of paper fell out onto the ground, and I bent down and picked it up, my eyes trying to make sense of the crooked, frantic handwriting on the page. Something heavy rolled off its surface and landed on the ground, glittering like a gem.

Adlai,

Forgive me. I write this with great haste.

I know it has been a great deal of time since we have seen each other, and it breaks my heart to see that we are reunited in this way. I only ask that once my words reach you and you finish reading this, that you discard of them and destroy this the moment that you are able to, lest someone finds them.

When I located your wife, she was unable to speak to me, so we communicated mostly by written speech. Once she told me of where she had come, I intended to find the safest route to send her back down south, where she was originally heading to reach you. I believed that she had gotten lost or misled when she finally came to me.

I deeply, deeply regret to inform you that Honda had unexpectedly passed away in her sleep during the following week. She had been fighting dengue fever over a period of time the past month, and despite all I attempted to do, she succumbed to the illness. With the help of a few trusted acquaintances, we have buried her under the laurel tree near my home. When we are able to meet again, you only must tell me what you wish to do with the body, and I will see to it that it is done as soon as possible.

You have a baby boy who has arrived prematurely. He was born blind in his right eye due to glaucoma, but I am determined to find medical intervention for him further down the road.

I only intend to fulfill your wife's wishes. I have included her wedding band---she explicitly told me she wanted you to have it. I have her other belongings with me, including her satchel, which I will return to you.

Your son is with me, and I have had no choice but to take him and flee south, as several soldiers have already been tracking our path. A silver haired woman has been spying on us and leading them to me. I suspect that she is part of the government party. You have my word that I will give my life up in order to keep your child out of their hands. I will write to you again when I find a safer location, where we both will stay until I can come to you. I beg you to please let me know of your whereabouts.

Janice

The mug in my hand was shattered on the ground, but I didn't hear it fall. Or how my legs gave way as the paper fluttered below, and the tightness in my jaw and chest. A deep ringing settled in my ears, and my eyes were closed. The room around me swelled and shrank. And suddenly, I began rapidly slamming my fists in the ground. I think I screamed. Couldn’t remember.

Honda's ring glowed up in the dirt.

* * * * * * * *

It wasn't too difficult to slip into Flanders.

Like a school of fish, I got caught into the current of unseen hands, feet, faces. People were pushing and shoving each other to gather as much rainwater as they could in warped tin cans as night fell. The transition from the rustling of tree branches in the wind to the uproar of disoriented voices, gunshots, rumbling footsteps, the crowds threw my senses out of place. The sensation was like having a bright light being shoved into my face after dwelling in the darkness for so long.

Stars glowed in what remained of the streets--people were shouting, throwing explosives at burning tanks about us, screaming. A pile of red and white flags bearing the image of the snake was lit ablaze in front of a group of men coughing and throwing more posters and books. The flames licked them up and swallowed them whole.

I initially believed I looked no different than any homeless person in the alleyways I went through. But many scrambled out of the way when they saw me coming, so I knew that my appearance was a lot worse than I could imagine. My face was hidden under my disheveled hair as I limped along past the trash and rubble and in the rain. I kept my head low---not because I was afraid of being recognized, but that I was unable to look at the petrified expressions of those around me. I could not deep into their eyes as they fled, abandoning the alleyway until only my shadow fell upon the ground next to a great empty space.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The map of this place was burned into my brain.

In the distance, isolated from the rest of the Red Mambas, two bright red brake lights from a truck lit up, a strong contrast against the growing darkness that slowly began to spill into the city.

And soon, their flesh became my flesh.

A twig snapped behind me, and I slightly moved to the side as I balled my fist at the man coming at me. High pitched screams filled the air as I flung the horrified lieutenant into the building in which he smashed face first in the glass, blood splattering all over the surface of the window. His head was turned in the wrong direction, hands slightly moving before he completely stopped.

I slammed my left bare foot deep into the ground, letting the energy course through my body. Like a piece of paper, frozen chunks of the land swelled and folded up to form into large sharp spikes that stuck out sideways. The rain began to float in the air, and with a heavy grunt, I directed the smaller shards at the shadows around me, watching them go down. The fog finally lifted, easing the intense pressure in my head and the sound of gunfire filled the air. My wet hair hung in my eyes, I swung from each large shard to another with my tendrils, trying to lead those who were still pursuing me deeper in the city, where I needed them to be. If so, that would give any prisoners who were still waiting to be exported up north out outskirts enough time to make a run for it in the woods.

The worn asphalt streets became rippled and broken up with frost as I quickly tried to create more of the large spikes on the surface of wilted buildings, which were getting quickly destroyed by flying grenades. To my dismay, the gun I had slipped out of my grasp, along with the precious ammo.

A large explosion caused me to lose my balance. The shard broke off into thousands of pieces, and my eyes widened. The sensation of cold glass clashed against my limbs. I crashed through the window of the third floor of an abandoned office building, rolling and doing heavy summersaults through the desks and chairs and useless monitors. My blood was smeared across the ground, the blue light surrounding my flickering on and off. I laid on my side as another heavy blast of orange and red shook the entire room, breaking down off a large portion of the brick wall, causing the pouring rain to seek in through the shaggy red linoleum carpet on the floor.

Weakly, I slowly held my hand out and watched the ice cover the doorway towards the floor I was on with the last bit of strength I had left in my mind from behind my hair. I could hear loud shouts outside and hear the heavy thump of the men’s boots coming up the stairwell. My breathing was out of control, heavy, and small fires were starting to lick the edges of the gaping hole, where cool air was starting to leak in. When I tried to crawl towards it, my body was in so much pain I couldn’t move. I lowered my arm.

The smoke was getting worse. Bracing through the pain, I began to drag myself across the floor, constantly looking back as the banging on the double doors grew louder, and broken pieces of ice landed on the ground. A sharp pain ran through my abdomen.

The blood from my palm smeared against the desk, and when I tried to stand up, my legs simply refused to carry me after a few steps. The moment I looked back my breaths grew heavier as I leaned against a desk for support. Their shouts grew louder.

Through one of the small vertical windows on the doors I could see that one of the men was carrying a large C2O tank on his back, which had some sort of temperature gauge on his back. He had some sort of gas mask on, gloves covering hands. The entirety of the machine had a long hose and a nozzle of some sort, and I already knew. Another giant crack spread across the frozen doors, and the material bent and warped around the handle.

A dark red pearl of blood escaped down my left nostril. The roar of the beast outside grew louder, and I could see the eyes holes of the man’s mask make contact with me. I stared back at him through much hair, heart throbbing, hands becoming clammy. The pain was so bad in my head I clenched my jaw, trying to desperately control the energy that ran through my veins. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I saw the man’s shadowy gloved hand rest on the hose of his machine. Saliva and blood dripped from my lips, and my fingertips dug into the carpet.

One of the doors slightly bulged. I could make out the little space between the other, the rusted edges showing a deep green surface. My breaths were even heavier. The last bit of ice was barely holding the two doors together, and as the man raised the edge of his bayonet to break it clean in half, they swung open, banging against the wall.

A large ice field surrounded my body, blurring everything and everyone in front of me the moment I hear the machine go to work and the man activate it. I squinted my eyes, drowning in the intense pain in my head as as sudden deep orange and yellow filed the room. The heat was so unbearable that sweat poured down my nose and cheeks and chest. I continued to hold my hands up, blue glowing from my palms as more ice formed out and melted away. The weight in my arms slightly shook as the burning scent of gasoline filled the air. Sweat ran down my face and lower chin as I cried out, the layers of ice becoming thinner as the heavy stream of fire engulfed the ice ball around me. My fingers began to shake.

The masked man yelled something. His voice was deep and heavy, and I thought his smile was the brightest amongst those who were with them.

Exhaustion settled over me as I tried to keep generating more layers that was quickly consumed and entirely eaten up. Some of the men chuckled as they set down another heavy container of gasoline on the ground. Their words were jumbled, a lot more quieter. My stomach violently convulsed and I ended up emptying everything onto myself on the fact that my head was hurting so unbelievably bad. I gritted my teeth so hard that my swollen gums began to bleed. A thin trail of saliva spilled down my chin as the stream of transparent ice gradually began to decline from my shaking hands.

I grunted as the pain grew worse. My legs gave as the orange hue grew brighter. The masked man had begun his second round, his hand calmly readjusting the hose. Gasoline dripped from the round edge, and when he activated his machine again, I could also see the fire in his wide eyes.

The ice leaking from my glowing blue hands began to weaken even more. I hung my head low, the ball of ice and energy slowly falling apart and letting it pierce through. I doubled over, hands still up, preparing to feel the wrath of the flames and the smoke against my skin. It was so unbelievably hot I could not breathe, and my vomit soaked shirt glued to my sweaty torso.

Warm water spilled down my face. The gasps that came from my mouth slowly turned into weak sobs and finally grunts. I tightened my fists, letting the newfound waves of energy course through my now electric blue veins, which bulged through my skin. When I opened my eyes, my hair flew from out of my face, and I could feel the entire foundation of the building shake, the liquid of the wilted earth supporting it connecting to my inner soul. I slowly rose to my feet, large chunks of ice breaking through the ceiling, causing pieces of peeling plaster to fall down and break onto the carpet. My fists began to shake as my ice field suddenly shattered. The momentum threw several people back against the wall, some already impaled and hanging from the surface. Some had already dropped their guns.

The masked man with the flames stumbled backwards and lost his balance, the hose landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Others were trying to stay up and stand through the thick snow that intertwined with the smoke in the air. All the moisture in the air swirled around the glowing blue currents surrounding me and my bare feet lifted off the ground. Ice and snow escaped from my bloody mouth in a steady stream. All the things I had held back for years came out as one. It did not sound human, more like an animalistic roar, and it shook the entire room, causing holes to form on the floor and panicked looks to rise on their shocked faces.

My pupils dilated as I rapidly charged towards them.

Their blood sprayed and stained against the wall as I ripped them apart in uneven chunks, both with my hands and ice shards. I tore off their limbs, which still had their ragged uniform on it. The entire top ceiling of the floor blew off, and a thick layer of frost covered everything in the room. As the remaining men down below me began to flee, giant glaciers of ice sprouted out from my hands.

I could see how the man’s bloodied mask rolled down the sidewalk, and when I landed on the broken remains of the road down below, the building’s foundation finally gave way, leaving behind a crumbling mess of ash, ice, and gray smoke.

When I stretched my hand out, like vines, the ice curled around each item that sat in the road, the snowy wind blowing hard and covering everything into a fine white mist. In the midst of my rage, I could not look down below me, how far I was above the buildings, the water swirling around my body. The light in my palms faded away.

It was then that I finally lost control, and my tendrils dissolved as I began to fall. The sudden hot sensation faded away, and I was left with nothing but sweat and blood. Although the force of gravity was upon me, I barely felt it. Throughout my weakening descent, I barely made out the Khonie prisoners looking up at the burning, raining sky, from far below, appearing to be dots. Their shallow forms remained still, staring at the flames, huddled quietly together as one.

I landed hard on the roofs of a line of abandoned cars, badly denting the rusted hoods, and flew down into the road. Large chunks of rubble landed on top of me. My head slammed against a rock the moment I made contact with the ground, collapsing and rolled down on the ground until I slid to a heavy stop, coughing uncontrollably.

I was covered powdery white, most likely asbestos and other substances that burned and landed on my tongue.

The pain in my skull was so bad I could hardly process that the building was entirely gone. The prisoners looked at the woods, then back at the frozen milky white mass of bodies and vehicles and rubble, stuck in time and space. In the distance, I could make out someone near the entrance of the woods, yelling at them to hurry up and get out of here. But there was no need to. The tanks were empty, the camps were empty; headquarters were filled with nothing but the rotting, half frozen corpses of Red Mambas. Their flesh and bones would sink into the earth.

I laid on my back, staring up at the sky.

The metallic taste of iron settled in my mouth and lips. For the first time in ages, besides the soft crackling of the flames in the distance, there was a heavy silence. I saw George staring at me from behind a pile of rubble--standing quite still, his eyes swollen and red and puffy, probably from the smoke.

* * * * * * * *

My head was completely shaved so they could add stitches into my skull, which I barely felt at first. The letter was smushed deep into my pocket—I was not ready to let go of it yet. It didn't take very long for Rufus to reinforce and immediately capture Flanders’ borders while sending more men down to guard both the north, south, east, and western fronts. And like applying alcohol to an open wound, the pain immediately rushed in; that my wife was truly gone forever.

Rufus and a few guys escorted me back up to the northern camp for a few weeks. Once my injury healed, only then would he want me to come down. Although a few of the men spoke to me, I couldn't really muster up my voice. Or my words. They were slippery and wet. I didn't know what came next. Thinking I had been struck with another ailment, they immediately took me into the same hut I previously stayed in to rest. I lost track of time—their endless questions and nagging.

I went to the supply tent and stole cigarettes and spirits, and when they finally found out it was me, they kept it guarded. I made sure to drink until I was numb and my head was spinning, and even as I passed out in a puddle of my own urine, I decided it was better to be unconscious. Didn’t come out for days, not even meals or to relieve myself. I think William came to yell at me once and demanded to know what was wrong with me, but I said something, and he couldn’t understand me because my words so were slurred I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. After a while, they seemed to simply give up, and their shadows only drew near me. I didn’t care. The taste of booze and vomit on my breath was a safe haven.

When I waited for everyone to be gone--to disappear from my sight, I finally released what I had fought to keep hidden. Never again would I feel my wife's touch. See her sweet smile or hear her laugh. No longer would she paint or draw or ask me a million questions about the stars and the sky.

And never again would I hold her hand.

When she needed me the most, I had not been there. At the thought of our lovemaking, I cursed myself over a thousand times, shaking my head and pulling at my hair. I should’ve never taken her to my bed. Had she never conceived, her body would’ve been able to fight off the disease. Had I known to wait—

I lit a cigarette in the dark from my stolen stash and heavily exhaled, the lighter shaking in my hand. The pack slipped out of my hands and landed on the ground, near the rumpled sheets on my bed.

When smoke rose in the air from my nostrils, I closed my eyes, my mouth parted in an odd smile. The letter wasn’t real; I was just in a bad dream—I tried tearing at my skin to make myself wake up. I tried to scoop my insides off the ground and put them back inside me.

* * * * * * *

My rifle was perched against the wall.

The whiskers on my face itched. Empty glass bottles littered the ground of my hut. I was nursing a migraine as a result of a hangover from the past two days, and my stomach was extremely sour. After vomiting up incessantly, bent over on all fours, I wiped my mouth and leaned back with a grunt, trying to catch my breath.

When I picked the rifle up and slowly placed the sharp cold metal in my mouth, the edge of the barrel was pressed against my tongue, hard against my teeth. I bent my knees and squeezed my swollen eyes shut, letting a tear escape down the left side of my face. My index finger shook around the trigger. It would be quick, simple.

No one would likely hear the sound of the bullet blowing through my brains and skull. Maybe a passing man, William or one of Rufus’ boys, would wander by and see me later in the morning. They would clean up the mess, say their prayers and blessings, dump me into the ground, and move on. Plod would move on. They did not need me.

No one needed me.

As I pushed the barrel a higher angle in my mouth, Janice’s letter slipped out of my pocket and landed near my left bare foot. The ink was faded now, but I could make out the scrawled sentence on the page:

You have a baby boy.

My shaking hands were clammy and sticky against the wood. A burning sensation rushed through the roof of my mouth. When I finally dropped the rifle, with lines of my saliva clinging to the end of the barrel, I picked up the letter with shaking hands, my breaths raspy and out of control. I only reread the words over and over again until the page was wrinkled and the ink had begun to bleed.

I finally stumbled to my feet, limping to the entrance of my hut, out towards the woods, and threw the rifle out into a nearby stream. It landed into the brown water with a heavy splash, and I watched it float to the surface, before sinking down below, being washed away by the current. My throat was raw and numb, almost as if I'd been screaming. Fatigue finally rose over me, but I couldn’t remember walking back and curling up into a ball on my side near the ground.

* * * * * *

With my left hand, I instinctively touched the raw stitches on my head and sat up on my sleeping pallet, strands of my hair over my face.

I reread the letter a dozen more times before I finally dropped it into the flames of a small fire, letting the smoke rose in the air. Immediately, I changed my mind and quickly pulled the paper out while it was still smoldering at the corners, not quite ready to part with it. When I finished smoking my last cigarette; dawn had already arrived as I made my way out of my hut. The dark camp was so still that I could hear the birds rustling in the trees and make out the wind pushing the grass.

In a daze, I stumbled down to the beach, the cold wind a shock against me since I hadn’t been outside in so long. My steps were irregular and flimsy, and I had poor coordination, an aftermath from a marathon of drinking. When I tripped and landed on my side in the dirt, the burnt edges of Janice’s letter stuck out. I stared at it for a long time before pushing it back to my pocket, ignoring the pain in my head.

The metallic taste of the rifle was still fresh in my mouth, and I suddenly wanted to rinse it out with a bar of soap. I glanced at my empty hands, imagining my son’s tiny ones placed in the middle of them. I closed my eyes. I was so terribly disgusted with myself, my undeniable selfishness, my efforts to leave him alone in a dying, rotting world. I studied Honda’s metal band on my finger.

A mist had settled in the air, dampening the dried mud that streaked my face. I wiped my nose with my baggy jacket sleeve, hugging myself. The ocean was calm and gentle, soaking the hemline of my faded pants, and a soreness had settled onto my eyes. I stood there for a while, staring at the pink and blue sky, trying to come to terms with what I had just attempted to do to with myself. The dull pain in my head returned. I didn’t want to return to the hut I was staying in—- so I turned and began to make my way across the shoreline.

When something scuffed my bare feet, I reached down, tugging at the white item halfway stuck into the sand. As I managed to pull it out free, a very large conch shell slipped into my hand. It caught into the light, and I caressed it in my hands.

The rattling sound of a plastic bucket tore me away from my thoughts.

I stood up. Mary was perched between two large boulders, but immediately ducked when she saw me looking at her. As she slowly peered up at me again, she picked up her pail, her sunburned fingers tightly wrapped around the handle, slightly drawing back. She was dressed in pajamas and wrapped in a large, gray knitted shawl that she shivered in, her tiny bare feet covered in sand. I expected her to immediately run away, as children often did.

”Go away,” she coldly said, narrowing her blue eyes. She had her hands up in an aggressive stance, as if ready to fight. “Or I’ll throw a crab in your face.”

”I’m sorry,” I quietly said.

A surprised look fell on her face, clearly not expecting my response. But she remained there, still curiously staring at me, although visibly shaken. I certainly understood her reaction. I didn’t want to be around myself neither.

The child hung near the rock and took a few steps back, continuing to watch me as I turned away, her mostly empty bucket making the same rattling sound. It was chipped around the rim, with a faded sticker residue on the surface of an ancient company logo.

My bad leg was killing me—pain shooting up and down my thigh. As I began to limp across the shoreline, she moved out some more from behind the rock, taking short, hesitant steps. A long silence passed before her voice broke through the still, cold air.

“Are you afraid of crabs?”

”Nah. I prefer eating them.”

”Then I’ll throw a snake at you.”

”Okay.”

She began to skip. “Why are you walking like that?”

“It’s an old injury.”

”You must have a shell tick.”

I turned my head. “A what?”

“A shell tick. My dad says it’s when people from war carry aches and pain, and that there’s no medicine that can help it. You have to learn how to live with it.” She placed her hands behind her. “My dad has one on his back. He complains about it every day.”

“I have a few of those myself.”

Mary nodded in acknowledgement. Wanting to give her some more space, I continued to move away. But oddly enough, when I kept my gaze off of her, she began to follow me.

“Mister?”

”Yeah?”

“Do you drink coffee without sugar?”

I made a sour face. “Not me. Tastes like tar.”

She held back a giggle, pressing her hands over her smiling mouth. “Maybe because you’re not old yet. Then you will.”

”You’re quite an early bird, aren’t you?” My voice was barely audible, but I smiled. “I take it you’re hunting for seashells. There’s a lot that you can discover on the shoreline after the high tide leaves. And if you’re lucky, you might be able to see the sun and moon at the same time over the horizon.”

She shyly kicked against the dark sand, stepping partially out from the rock. As she tightly hugged herself, she hunched her small shoulders. I began to walk away—across the cold sand, her tiny footprints lagging behind mine. The ocean was calm, foam gathering across the ground.

“Do you like the beach?”

I nodded. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

”Are you exploring?” I softly asked. Quietly, I took a step away from her. “What kind of neat things do you usually find out here?”

Giant waves crashed against the rocks, leaving a field of soft white foam that sloshed around my ankles. The edges of the conch shell dug into my palms, and I wondered if she could see how red and puffy my eyes were from last night.

"Don’t be afraid, little one,” I whispered.

She drew back near the rock again.

“Please, please… please don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. There’s no need to hide.” Slowly, I knelt down to her level, crouching on my knees. “It’s alright.”

The girl continued to stare at me, trying to make out my face in the shadows. I paused, my chest tightening, before managing to get the words out in a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“I only want to apologize to you. What you saw that night when…I…” A lump rose in my throat as I blinked hard. “I am deeply, terribly sorry. I am so incredibly sorry. No one, especially someone your age, should be exposed to any of those things.”

A cool wind blew over us.

“I know it must’ve taken a while to adjust after seeing me. But I want you to know that I truly mean no harm to your father. I promise I will never lay a hand on him again. You have my absolute word.”

Mary didn’t say anything. My head was light and clear for the first time in days, and yet I hardly knew why. I looked down again, fighting back the blurriness forming in my vision.

”Are you a ghost?” Her voice was small.

”A ghost?” I whispered.

”Yes. That’s what they say you are.”

I remained quiet for a long time, gazing at the earth.

“I don’t know if you are one. You’re pale,” the child continued. “You come out here a lot most nights. I didn’t know you liked the beach. I’ve seen you. Can you really walk through walls? And are you allergic to the sun, sir?”

Her questions made me smile, but she had such a serious look on her face. “No, not really.” The soreness of my stitches lingered on my scalp. “But I do have a bump on my head from slamming into a wall, if that counts.” Yet these words were sour on my tongue, given how I had only moments before wanted to blow mine to bits. I grimaced.

Mary kept her focus on the giant white conch in my hands, then gazed back up at me again. As she picked at the stray fibers sticking up in the air from her shawl, she began to bite her thumbnail.

”You must be a…a..ghost of some sort. That’s what Tommy told me, but I didn’t believe him.” Silently, she swayed side by side. “You walk like one, and I see you come here almost every night.”

“No need to be frightened,” I whispered. “I promise I’m not one. Not even a little bit.” I held out my left palm and lightly rapped it against the soft sand beneath us. “See? Would’ve gone straight through if I was.”

The girl hesitated. "What is your name?"

"Adlai."

"I…I do remember you. I saw you once when I was little, and you went to our house. Dad told me about you when you came here. I couldn’t tell if you were real or not.”

Water rose in my vision.

”Do you remember me?” the child asked.

”Why, of course.” I slightly raised my arm off the ground a few feet. “You were this tall. Tiny.”

An astonished expression appeared on her face. "Are you looking for treasure?”

"I think so," I replied. "Are you?"

Mary clasped her hands together. "Yes.”

”Ah. What kind of treasures do you seek?”

“Gold.” Her blue eyes were sparkling. “Maybe even a diamond one day. Precious stones.”

“Have you found any?”

”I have a whole collection.”

A long silence passed between us.

She dug her bare foot halfway into the damp earth, looking down. “I…I’m sorry…for throwing rocks at you. I don’t know why I did. I’ve been feeling real bad about it ever since. I hope you can forgive me.”

”That’s quite all right. I know. I understand.”

”You sure you’re not a ghost?” She tilted her head to the side. “Aren’t you supposed to seek revenge? Or at least your kind is.”

I sat down on the damp sand, criss crossing my legs, gravel clinging to my knees, a smile forming on my lips. Clearly, this young’un was battling her curiosity. She timidly took another few steps forward towards me, her bare feet leaving prints against the ground.

"You seem too strange to be….be one. You're just very, very tall. How'd you get to be that way? You must like drinking milk.”

Despite the tightness in my throat, I found myself quietly chuckling. "Pretty sure it's mostly genetics." I studied the giant shell in my palms. "This guy here probably got the worst of it all, I'd say. But I would agree that your diet can play somewhat of a role.”

“So you must eat like a horse.”

I fought back another laugh. “I do. What are your favorite foods?”

Mary’s eyes widened as she extended her arms. “I love cheeseburgers and French fries. With extra ketchup and pickles. And a huge chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and cherries. Oh, and chocolate in general.” She then frowned. “I once bit into an oatmeal raisin cookie and thought it was chocolate chip. It’s terrible, really.”

I smiled. “I sure do miss those things.”

“What do you like?”

”Pasta.” It came out in a whisper. “Lasagna, especially. My mother used to make it for me all the time.” And suddenly, I could hardly believe what was coming out of my mouth—that I had mentioned her so casually. “It’s been forever since then, though.”

“Like mac and cheese from the oven?” Mary grinned. “When it’s baked and has a crunchy layer on top. And tons of parmesan.”

“That’s the best.”

Then she sighed with disappointment and longingly gazed at the sky. “I’d do anything to get my hands on cheeseburgers and fries now. They don’t make them no more. There used to be a food joint that me and Dad would go to before it got blown up. I miss our apartment too. And our neighbors.”

I instantly remembered the state of her hometown. The look of despair on her face was too much for me to bear, but I swallowed hard and decided to change the subject.

”Would you like to know a magic trick?”

”What?” Her timidness was wearing off as she moved closer. “What is it?”

"When you put this close to your ear," I quietly said, slowly holding the pale white conch out to her, "you can listen to the song of the ocean.”

She took a quick step back—that window of terror briefly returning to her large eyes—one that I had seen too many times from people. It took her a moment, before she cautiously reached over and took the shell from my hands with her tiny palms. As she lifted it to the side of her right temple, a delighted expression slowly fell on her round face, and she softly giggled.

”I can hear the waves. It’s like a melody.”

”Is that so?”

”Yes.” When she studied the shell longingly, a twinkle gathered in her eyes. “I’ve never seen one like this before. You must be an explorer if you can find something so pretty.”

"Why not add it to your collection?”

The little girl clutched it to her chest, beaming, rapidly jumping up and down, sand flying around her bare feet. “Really? Thank you!” Then her face fell as she suddenly stopped. “Isn’t it yours? I don’t want to take away from what you discovered.”

“Why, I’d love for you to have it.”

Mary seemed to ponder my words. She ran her fingers across the conch shell’s coiled surface, smiling. In her excitement, she fumbled to wrap it close to her shawl and tuck it under her arm. She rushed to grab her pail and headed up the rocks, carefully stepping in between them all, pausing to give me a long stare, before disappearing over a hill.

I looked down, staring at my empty palms. Strands of my hair caught in the wind.

When she was gone, the soft sand was warm against my bare feet, my hands, the salt water fresh upon my nose and cheeks. The sky was blue now, with faint streaks of pink and purple.