Chương 77: Ch 42b – Storm

So far the day has felt like it has already stretched on for a week. Wyndeer's tetchy mood has triggered a grouchiness across the group. Imprisoned by the hurricane-strong winds and intermittent pelting rain, they all loiter, unsettled, between the rec room and the hall, undecided about how to occupy their time. A favoured diversion for everyone apart from Flavitt is to train in the gym, but Crathsun has twice ended gym sessions to conduct shard training.

Now, as the third session is about to commence Crathsun is pulling a terrified Flavitt out from between the storage shelves and launching into a lengthy berating which includes a graphic description of what he''ll do if he finds Flavitt meddling with any dangerous materials. Cara watches on as Flavitt scrambles out of the hall, Crathsun pursuing close behind still unfairly venting his frustration. Too cowed by Wyndeer's warnings and fighting too many of her own demons, she can't find the energy to defend Flavitt.

A cowardice that feels more shameful as she holds against her face the oxygen mask he has designed and refined for her. They had tested it in the first session. Cara had spent five minutes breathing through the mask, saturating her blood with the additional oxygen whilst practicing deep breathing techniques. The results had been immediate, a near doubling of the length of time she comfortably held her breath.

Perhaps, she thought, she could have managed longer if it didn't feel like her chest had a cavernous hole punched through it. She hasn't dared to return to her room. It is as if she left the thought of giving up strewn across her bed. If she returns the thought will drape itself around her like a familiar coat and with each wear it will get harder to shrug off. And what is it you are clinging on to? Her mind throws the question into her thoughts with disturbing force. Her answers are fading with time.

The hope of discovering why she is here. The hope of finding a way home. She has made no progress. The shard training; the focus on improving her ability to hold her breath, her ability to move objects. Abstractly interesting, she can acknowledge that, but that is progress Trisec wants, not her. Draig is leaning against the wall by the door, distracted by something in his middle distance.

They had talked for ages, him seemingly unaffected by the effort of chatting while hanging and twisting and even jumping between the two ropes. An easy conversation with no pressure to answer questions or say the right thing. Secondary to expressing the mental torture she is battling, it had been exactly the human normality she needed. But the fallacy that she can sustain herself on his friendliness descended heavily on her. He is a body contractor, temporarily here in return for his pay.

He isn't an anchor she can contemplate clinging to. So why keep enduring this miser y?

"Stop it," she says angrily to herself. The words squawk inside the oxygen mask.

"What was that?" Erro asks by her side. A hot flush blooms in her cheeks. She has been so lost in thought she has forgotten he is here. They are sat on one of the large sandbags Crathsun has positioned in the centre of the hall, their backs propped up against the sandbag wall he has also built. Crathsun has built and re-built the wall three times, complaining the positioning wasn't right but Cara suspects it is just an excuse to prolong the task of heaving the heavy sacks across the room.

Erro sits next to her, slouched back against the top of his shoulders, his chin curled down towards his chest. He blinks at her, adjusting his focus.

"So," she blusters, dropping the mask down slowly into her lap to buy her time to think of suitable unexpected conversation.

"What are you looking at with your, um, optics?" She waggles a finger at his eyes.

"Nothing much," he says flicking a finger on his cuff.

"I'm so bored." He shifts on the sandbag, moving his bottom back to sit up straighter.

"You're bored?" she scolds him lightly.

"I'm the one with nothing to look at but this room. You lot can disappear into whatever it is you see with those things."

"Yeah, it's great," he says sarcastically, "I can read reports, and command directives, and operating procedures all day long. You're missing out on so much fun." He gives her an exaggerated eye roll that ends with a dimple popping in his cheek. As he takes in her expression his face drops. He sighs, "If you're really that interested, I was researching tinebacks."

"What's a tineback?" she asks, predictably. He sighs again and glances across the room.

"It's another thing they don't want to discuss in front of you, and I don't understand why; so, don't talk about it with them, ok?" he sconfides in a low voice. She sits up a bit straighter and nods.

"A brown tineback is an animal native to this area. They are vicious fuckers but if you stay out of their way they don't usually cause problems." He pauses to lick his lips and look around the room again. Draig was still leaning, uninterested, against the wall. Crathsun hasn't returned.

"The problem is, when this outpost was abandoned, the fence collapsed in places. The tinebacks got used to cutting through the compound to get to the cliffs and now they're not happy about having to go all the way around."

"Oh, so they keep attacking the fence? Is that why you are always going out to repair it?" Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Yes. The fence is old, corroded in places. We're patching, not rebuilding. They've worked out how to attack the weak spots."

"Why doesn't Wyndeer want me to know about them? It's not like I'm allowed to go wandering around outside alone."

"I don't know. I guess he wanted you to feel safe after, you know, the thing with Joss and that Blue." He shrugs, "Which made sense at the beginning, but now seems unnecessary."

"Yeah," she murmurs, thinking through his revelation. Her fingers absently dig into a small hole in the sack, pushing into the cool sand below. The hole probably came from one of the bricks she had shot too hard at the protective sandbags.

"What do they look like? These tinebacks?"

"They're-," he stops to think. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cube. Turning it over in his hand he changes his mind and tucks it back into his pocket. He blows out a long breath.

"They're like any other bear, just bigger and angrier. Covered in fur. Obviously, they have large sharp tines protruding from their scruff and down their back, hence the name."

"You have bears?" she exclaims, sitting forward, tucking her foot under her knee and twisting around to better face him.

"Bears as in, walk on four legs, massive claws, long snout, little round ears?"

"Yeah, bears," he shrugs, "look all harmless and furry until you get too close. Then they rear up on their hind legs, start flashing their teeth and try to shred you alive." Cara frowns, "Yeah, I guess," she says uncertainly.

"Can you show me a picture?"

"Maybe later," he says quietly, nodding towards the door. Wyndeer strides in, fast and demanding. Magse follows in behind.

"Where's Crathsun?" he barks at the room irritably.

"With Flavitt, Orange," Erro calls out. Cara raises her eyebrows, "Orange?" she whispers. Erro keeps his eyes on Wyndeer while he murmurs out of the side of his mouth.

"The moodier he gets the better it is to be mindful of rank."

"Oh." She turns back to where Wyndeer is talking irritably with Magse and gesturing at the door. Draig is ignoring the commotion, continuing to flick casually at the air in front of him.

"We have a saying," she muses out loud, "as cross as a bear with a sore head. I guess that makes Wyndeer a bear today." Erro chuckles, "Perhaps, but don't tell him that."

"Though," she carries on speaking her thoughts out loud, "I think he's more of an elephant. The older, wiser one, leading his merry herd around. Content to do his own thing as long as you don't encroach on his turf." A few years ago she'd visited an elephant sanctuary in Thailand while on holiday with her mates. They'd fallen for one of the tourist touts on the shopping strip behind the beach and found themselves being driven into the countryside in a rusty minivan. They'd thought they'd made a big mistake.

That they were going to end up in some tourist hellhole being fleeced out of more money or that they'd end up a backpacker horror story of young women being lured into the jungle. It turned out they had been completely wrong on both counts. The elephant sanctuary had existed. It was a small family run affair of a few wooden barns and barely fenced off enclosures. The sanctuary looked after elephants they'd rescued from the logging industry. Beautiful, powerful animals with curious trunks and sad looking eyes.

They'd been allowed to pet most of them and feed a few. Vix had posed for a ridiculous number of photos, in the end Cara and Sarah had had to threaten to throw her phone into the bushes if she didn't just stop and enjoy the experience. The elephants had seemed as content as they could be being cooped up in a sanctuary. All but one, the oldest and largest. He had waved his trunk angrily, flapping his large ears, stomping his heavy feet in protest at the chains around them. She knew how he felt now. Had known.

Her feet stomping has been defeated. Perhaps she is just one of the other elephants. Spending the day standing still, waiting for a few minutes of attention, the possibility of a treat. Resigned to wearing the chains.

"Cara," Erro nudges her with his elbow, "I said, what's an elephant."

"Oh, um," she falters, bringing her thoughts back into the hall.

"An elephant is, erm, very big, bigger than a bear. They have grey, wrinkly skin, no fur. No claws, just four, um, flat feet I guess? Oh, and a long trunk and big flappy ears." He is looking very confused.

"What do you mean, trunk?"

"A trunk, a long nose, like an arm." She holds her arm out as an extension of her nose, waving it in front of her in long swooping motions. Draig looks over and frowns. She drops her arm.

"An arm as a nose?" Erro asks doubtfully. She sighs. Her hand is halfway to her pocket for her phone before she stops it. There will never be a way to reference something, anything, everything she had taken for granted. It will all remain swirling around in her head. Unseen. Misunderstood. Despair drives deeper and deeper into her core, widening the hole in her chest. How long will it be until she starts to forget? Starts to doubt her recollections?

She lifts her hands to her dry, itchy eyes, to wipe away the moisture her body is forcing from her tear ducts.

"We should stop talking about this," Erro whispers worriedly.

"Fuck, Wyndeer's going to be pissed."

"I'm fine, it's fine," she says quickly, feeling the smear of sand spread across her cheek from her fingertips.

"Look, it's just some sand in my eyes. That's all." She tries to sound reassuring, "Wyndeer can't get mad at you for sand."

"Cara, I-."

"It's fine," she insists, cutting him off. Draig has crossed his arms and is staring at her now. At some point Crathsun has returned to the hall and appears to be trying to placate Wyndeer about something. She looks at the discarded oxygen mask on her lap, pushing it quietly onto the floor. Perhaps Wyndeer will keep Crathsun occupied and that will postpone his next shard training. Her fingers return to the hole in the sack. She eases out a handful of sand and starts pouring it from one hand to the other.

She'd read once, she thinks - no way of checking now – that there are more stars in the universe than grains of sand in the world. On the Earth. Than grains of sand on planet Earth. She takes in a large breath to push away a wave of vertigo. Maybe shard training would be a good distraction, she thinks. Reading her thoughts, Crathsun calls over to her and points at the small metal table. Shard training after all. She walks over slowly, her feet heavy with the weight of her loss.