7 In Which We Meet Arlo, 2

"There are better things you could be doing with your time."

Father stood above him, glaring at his inaction.

"Why do you sit there like that? Get up."

Jacob stood up as quickly as the order had been given, and dusted off his trousers. Under the shade of the sycamore tree, on the rocky hill Jacob solely sat on with his friends, Father had intruded.

I can't tell him I don't want him here.

That was all Jacob wanted - for Father to go. To go away, down the street, all the way to the bottom of the Ridges, and to round the bend and disappear forever. Right? That is what he hoped he wanted.

"You haven't done any of your schoolwork, my boy." His father was a tall man, Jacob suspected. Or perhaps because he had always been above him his whole life. Jacob waited for the day somebody would come who would be taller than his father-

"Why haven't you done any of your work?"

"I don't know." And he cast his eyes down and looked at the roots of the tree, gouging out the eyes of the hills and running along like water. He only hoped Emmerich and the others were not nearby. He never wanted anybody to see him when Father was there. It was not just embarrassment. It was shame.

"That's not an answer. Get inside."

He looked up at Father, and looked into those brown eyes. That was something they both shared, at least.

A walk through the grass with your father. Jacob tried to conjure up something more peaceful than that - whilst he heard children laughing in the distance, a smoky, fish smell coming from a house uphill, and the sun tried to reach him. It did. But there he was - the shadow. Father. So Jacob kept stumbling down the hill, and adopted a completely different demeanor from when he was with his friends, just as Father did. He kept his arms close, kept his mouth shut and eyes cast down, passing over the pebbles which turned into a thicker, dewier grass as they neared the first house and began their ascent up the gravel path that would take them past five houses to home.

The door closed behind him, and Father did not bother to order him anywhere, simply starting up as soon as he had made sure all the windows were closed, casting glances at every pane and curtain. Then the shouting began. The screaming.

Something is lost in all that screaming. Something is drowned out.

All of those different kinds of birds. Red and blue and yellow and brown, they all sung such beautiful songs. Primal mating calls, to them, but would a rainbow be more beautiful with less color? Jacob thought this things as it happened, and tuned out all those noises to the best of his ability. When the worst came, and it would, as it always did, he would think of something happier, or maybe of a happier memory in his own life. They were they, actually, and if he reached and sifted through all that had been lost, or maybe thrown away, he could easily find something that would bring a smile to his face after he had been sent to his room and was out of sight of Father. Something to close his eyes and listen to the birds to. Maybe they were speaking a language none could understand, at least not in the way of hearing - maybe in a certain knowing. Maybe birds sang of happy memories that had been had and were to be had, and that soothed Jacob, and let him close his eyes and drowned it all out while keeping himself afloat all the same. It worked, and by the following day he was well rested and ready for a new day. Today would be better. Today…

Today I will not disappoint anybody.

Arlo had the recruit laid down on a bed of his corduroy, and he slept as a bear slumped, the snowflakes falling softly outside of its cave, rising and falling, the tongue of the mountains. The rain outside lessened none when it learned of their presence, knocking away at the door and asking why they couldn't let it in, or better yet, why can't you come outside and enjoy this weather? Surely being inside, in that yellowed, white-washed room with nothing but noisy metal steps crying about visitors and biting at ankles as soldiers filed into the lower room, one smaller than the kitchen, was awful? Arlo felt about the tiles with his boot, the smell of polished mud concocting with the faint plastic dust of an abandoned dome to make the air all the more stuffed with nothing.

There was nothing outside. The submarine windows spinning around the room, dotted to allow certain amounts of sunlight in to the center dial at certain times of day, hanging from the ceiling on its telephone wire, strung about that pole.

Nachtraps, they call them.

Who was they? Well, to have the faintest idea would give them a name, and then they would be another batch of them, negating the possession of the ubiquitous they. A group of them wouldn't know left to right, sunset from sunrise, rolling to rolled and to from fro; a group of them would only ever be just that - them. But they would know. At least that was what they had told him.

An hour passed. Then two. The curious thing Arlo found about hours is that there are none when you're alive. Time simply flows by, like a river, but then… could it tumble? Was the river draining from the mountains of madness only a point of destination for the boulder to tumble down and crash, and split the streams until all was drowned out on either sides, going onto a new, zealous and unsealed path that would maybe one day meet again, or never come together? Forever?

Forever?

That was the last thing she had said to him, and that was how long ago it seemed. If he followed the river to its birthing, would he find the same water at the top? Or would it be a purer water, not confounded with the dirt and rotting plants and animal feces that it accumulates as it goes along, and ends up at those diverging paths, destined in its web to only find itself more? But man must sustain itself from minerals, and what better way to make minerals than to grind the water over gunk and dirt and the stains? Did it matter? Water only ever fell down.

Forever?

Yes, forever. That is what that means, he'd said.

Why?

Arlo Capulet had never found an answer to that question, and it haunted him to no end. He could finish at the top of his class, he could polish armor to a glow that had a sun quiver in jealousy, and he could find the most hidden of treasures, he could fish and he could build his own home, he could write and paint, but why could never be answered. Why did he keep going, why did he hate everybody and why not?

That was why, wasn't it? That was why he had to go, forever.

Why not?

It would be easier, if they knew. But somebody here could not be trusted. He sensed it on the tips of his fingers. He looked at Captain Yannis, sitting in the middle of Squad Zimmer, staring at the soldiers who looked out the windows, a child grasping for his safety.

He had considered killing Captain Yannis.

Maybe if given the opportunity. But how many others? He suspected a few of Yannis' men, particularly the smiling one, for smiling people could never be trusted… but who else? The birdkeeper Walfree, Sergeant Lia, Sergeant Waylen… who else?

Jacob.

Something in that recruit's face, made Arlo… uneasy.

He got up from the kitchen chair, and moved to the window nearest the tiny door. Recruit Nathaniel stepped back as Arlo peered out. Nothing.

Jacobi unsettled him in ways nobody had. Those others he was with, recruits Sascha, Chui, Arlo's squad, they were obvious. At first glance Aristea reminded him of somebody, but now she was simply another uniform. And that was good. Uniforms were good. But Jacob had eyes that he could not read. Those simple brown eyes were filled with so much Arlo felt compelled to look away whenever he met them.

Music played somewhere in the building.. A light, classical draw, a dream that cloaked the night outside in complete darkness, until the manor was floating in the void. A fountain drowned itself in the center of two brick paths, which, in the light, Arlo could not see if the paths connected again before meeting the manor steps or went separately until the end. He walked between pillars and rapped on the door. In a black suit, he waited, and then checked his pocket watch after a moment. He chanced the door again. Nothing. He stepped back, looked the door up and down, as white as the pillars, but not nearly as thick. He moved to a tall window on the left, a thin black pane stretching to the black cove of the pillars, and cupping his hands over, he looked inside. A tiled black and white floor holding up two staircases on either side of the entrance that ascended into a long red hall, a chandelier reaching for a statue in the center of the arch. A few windows over was the kitchen. This was different. Cabinets were thrown open, plates shattered on the floor, chairs tossed about. He gasped, and ran back to the door.

Banging on it hard, he yelled, "Hannah! Hannah!"

He stepped back, and kicked the door. He kicked once, twice, and the third time it squeaked at him. He rammed it with his shoulder, and doubled back, clutching his arm. He rolled it, grimacing, as he moved to the window. He picked up a rock by the rose bushes that were between the pillars, and threw it at the window. It blew open and they scattered on the grey ground like tears in the moonlight. He climbed in, tearing the thigh of his pants, and as he clicked around in his shoes, shouting her name, he heard something fall upstairs. A quick thump.

"Hannah!"

The music was still playing. When he reached that record player he was going to smash it to bits. His arm ached, a dull pain that rumbled under his skin. He scrambled up the stairs, tripping on the top step, banging his knee hard on the wood. Without a sound he stumbled past sprawling fields and the streets of Paris, a bridge in Munich and a skyscraper in New York, all hung on a red wall.

The hall was dark, the light losing itself and emptying into a window at the end, the silhouette of a bust staring at him as he came to the last door. He threw himself inside, and…

"Oh, no."

The only words he could conjure when he saw her, sleeping on that bed of red velvet, a rose tucked behind her right ear, her blonde hair streaked with that stupid sauce, that tomato juice. That red paint.

"Oh, no."

He fell to her side, brought her into his arms.

"No."

She was wearing a beautiful necklace of blood.

The gauntlet was in his bag. He held it between his legs, tucked under the chair. If his childhood stories were true, then everything he needed was with the doctor. With the phoenix, the armor, and the doctor….

Arlo could have Hannah back.

The soldier by the door screamed out in agony as a spear punctured the glass, spewing pieces everywhere and impaling him. The curved black thing pulled back slowly and out of the man's chest, a whoosh rocking the dome as metal tore itself in half above them. Rain poured in as Arlo stumbled back, pistol drawn, looking for something to shoot. The darkness outside dumped faster than the rain and he was up to his waist as lights burst and soldiers screamed. Arlo gasped. The bag.

"Downstairs!" yelled Mordeci over the torrent and thunder. "Down!"

Yes, down, we need to get down-

The floor was slicked and glistening, and the rest of the roof fell away as a breeze slapped at Arlo's face. Then the shriek again. That high-pitched shriek from earlier that bit at his knees, that made him aware of every vein in his body, rushing with blood. Soldiers stumbled down the steps. Arlo jumped for the bag as something reeled by over his head, and he blood ran across the tile as he picked up the bag.

"What are you doing, Captain?" said Mordeci hastily. "Get down!"

Arlo scrambled along on his knees, tossing the bag down the steps, thumping as it crashed across the metal. He slid-

A soldier flew across the room and hit the table, his arm following. Arlo felt something warm and sticky splatter across his face as he fell down the steps, his knee burning as something sunk its fangs into his leg. The tile was drowning in an ocean, and at the bottom of the steps he gagged as he breathed in a lungful of water. Hands helped him forward, and the rain died off as his gasping and sputtering became clearer. Heavy breathing around him, hot air.

The bag.

He whirled around, but Jacob had hauled the item in for him. As soon as he ran inside, Chui slammed the door and closed a heavy metal latch over it.

That's an odd basement door.

Arlo got to his feet, freezing water pooling in his shoes, his socks melting to a bready crumble. He took the bag harshly from Jacob, who yielded it dreamily, and for a moment Arlo wondered if he had seen inside, seen the gauntlet. But then Jacob's face turned nervous and worried.

Good.

He looked around, but there wasn't much to see. A few had hurt themselves in the chaos, and the room was dark, a dim floor light. A few boxes and a bookshelf. Resuming his calm demeanor, he sat down on a crate. Taking off his shirt, tossing it to the side, then undoing his belt. He pulled his pants off and threw them aside as well. He cracked his arms and began to tend to his knee, throbbing with a sizzled sting after he'd punctured it on the sharp steps, dripping with dark blood, before seeing every eye on him. He paused.

"You would all do well to do the same unless you wish to die of hypothermia." he said.

Nobody moved for a few seconds before Yannis got to his feet. "What was that thing out there?" he asked, finger trembling as he pointed to the door.

"Seemed pretty clear to me," said Arlo. "Nach - trap." He clicked his tongue.

"What a beast, that," said Walfree the keep. His most notable features were his big green eyes and his big red ears, which turned near purple at the tips. His tongue dropped out of his mouth when he spoke, and Arlo suspected he bit it quite frequently. "Tore the thing right open."

"Look around, soldaten." said Mordeci. "Remember survive and evade tactics. We must collect any resource here before we move on."

Arlo chuckled through a mouthful of gauze, tearing it with his teeth.

"What was that, Captain?"

"Surviving and evading the bird outside." But Arlo's chuckle was hollow, and a smile did not accompany the noise. He remained focused on his wound. "I wonder." He looked at the door. "How long until our ambushers come in? And who did we lose? Let's do a headcount - one, two, three…"

"Do you always number you soldaten, Captain?" asked Mordeci.

"No, it's simply for the process, you see," said Arlo scathingly. "I think I'll file a report while we're at it…" He brought his heel back down on the crate loudly. "And in the report, I won't forget to mention that all three of those dead were recruits."

"They were voluntary members of this expedition," said Yannis. "It was not their obligation to come along."

"They were newly sealed and proud members of the Company." said Arlo. "It's insulting you expect any of us to believe a recruit would turn down a special assignment from a superior."

"This is war, and we're in in the far boundaries of our territory," said Mordeci soothingly. "Casualties could only have been expected."

"And every one from Yannis' list. He's not to be trusted, Lieutenant. I've seen how he looks at the bird cages - at our only means of communication with the rest of the company. He was more focused on them than what he was firing at back there."

"And what about that bag you've been carrying around?" said Yannis angrily. "The one you just nearly died for?"

"What about it?" said Arlo icily, as he slowly pulled on a spare change of pants from said bag. He closed it tightly, and drew it behind his feet.

"I was simply worried about - as you said, our only means of communication with Company. What about you?" Yannis stepped forward.

Arlo tugged on his belt, then casually reached for his gear.

"Don't." ordered Mordeci.

A few soldiers got up, and Arlo noticed Jacob reaching for his own weapon.

He saw the gauntlet, Arlo realized. His arm tensed, and the confinement of the room turned into a claustrophobic chokehold.

"I'm just getting myself back in good condition," said Arlo as calmly as he could muster. He reached forward another inch.

"That was an order." said Mordeci.

Arlo cracked his neck, and leaned back, relaxing his arm. "Of course, xiansheng."

How many could I kill in a second? Who would I kill?

He'd spent a bit of time with his squad. But if it meant keeping the gauntlet safe…

That's who I'd kill. All of them.

A loud popping sound rocked the bookcase adjacent from the metal door, and a few books fell out, hitting the soldiers below. A voice came from the books.

No.

It was from behind the books.

"It seems there's one more room." said Arlo.

Mordeci said quickly, "Pull the bookcase aside."

Sergeant Lia and Chui moved the books, the old wood scratching on the rough floor. The wall was as flat and smooth as the rest of them.

"Ready yourselves," said Mordeci.

Arlo moved forward and picked up a book. He tossed it at the wall, and it flapped its wings as it fell to the ground. He raised his gun.

"Wait!" said Mordeci. "Whoever made that sound is still in there."

Arlo ignored her, and fired.

A scream reverberated from inside the wall, followed by multiple, soft voices.

"We don't want to hurt you." said Arlo.

"That's funny." said Sascha under his breath. "Bastard."

"What was that?" Arlo turned around, glaring at Sascha.

"You've probably shot some farmers, Captain." Sascha moved forward. "We need to assist them immediately."

"No." Arlo blocked Sascha with his arm. "They might be armed."

"We're not armed!" said a voice from inside, an older man's voice. "There's women and children in here!"

"Captain…" said Sascha.

"She's bleeding out-" said the voice in the wall.

"Well…" said Yannis. "They may very well be armed…"

"We're not! Swear it, we're not!"

"I can't let you near that bookcase, recruit." said Arlo. He looked at every soldier, and the room grew ever smaller.

They all want to shoot me.

Sascha pressed forward, and Arlo shoved him back.

"That's an order, recruit!" shouted Arlo.

A silence followed. He rarely raised his voice, and never with the look that was in his eyes.

"Captain," said Jacob. "There's people in there. If they have weapons, they wouldn't shoot us. We outnumber them. Outgun them."

"What if I shot your so-called woman, then?" asked Arlo through gritted teeth.

Jacob licked his lips. "I… I would probably try and kill you -if it was somebody I knew."

"So step back."

"Is that what this is about?" asked Mordeci. "Your safety, Captain?"

"No." spat Arlo. He seemed surprised at his own harshness, and he shook his head. "We can't be sure-"

"We're coming out!" said the man. "Don't shoot!"

Four people exited, one holding a woman in his arms. A child followed. The room erupted. Some pressed forward, Yannis and Mordeci simultaneously ordering two opposite directions.

"Weapons!" said Yannis.

"Step back! Down, down!" said Mordeci.

"Get back!" growled Arlo, unsure if he was saying it to the people or the soldiers. Sascha pushed past him and went to the wounded woman.

"You have medical supplies?" asked the man desperately. He was the same voice from earlier.

"We do, we do." said Sascha. He turned to Mordeci. "Lieutenant. There's supplies back outside."

Arlo aimed his weapon. "Any guns?"

"No, no." said another man, an older one. He put his hands up.

"Lower your weapons, this is ridiculous." said Mordeci. "Captain, you're embarrassing the Company."

"Just being careful."

"Seems more paranoid to me." said Yannis quietly.

"Yeah, well you get a bit tippy when you've seen-" Arlo caught himself, and for the first time, the others noticed something acutely human surface from him. He seemed to not know what to do next. The legendary Captain Arlo, nerves on end from a few farmers and some questions from a fellow captain.

"What have you seen?" asked Yannis. "Hm? Must not have been too bad if you were willing to shoot an innocent person."

"Captains…" Mordeci interjected as she always did, but it fell on deaf ears for Arlo. By now the room was squeezing him for air, crushing his fingers.

"Not too bad?" whispered Arlo. He thought of Hannah, and then he decided he wanted to do it.

He wanted to do it.

He brought his gun up and-

A gunshot popped through the room, turning everything into a yellow sheen for a split second. People dove for cover, and some of the hostages screamed. Jacob gasped, and Sascha took a step back as blood oozed from the Captain.

Arlo turned, in silence, at the hostage, the younger man, who was pointing a smoking barrel at him. He looked down, the blood spreading over his new, white undershirt. It was a bit damp, to be sure, from all the rain and mud, but it was nice and comfortable compared to the wet mess he had been before. Now it was stained. Now it was ruined. Arlo raised his gun.

And blew the man's heart out.

"My god." said Yannis, mouth ajar. "You-"

Arlo fell to his knees, in front of Sascha. He watched as the soldier stepped further back until he was back with his squadmates, Jacob and Aristea, Chui, Huoyan on the floor, Tod, whose face was twitching stupidly. "Well," said Arlo, as if he found the whole affair quit funny. "I don't think you're as inclined to retrieve that medical kit for me as you are for her, correct, recruit?"

Sascha blinked once, again.

"Yes, I've been shot. Don't worry, I got him." Arlo pushed himself to his feet. "I got him right in the heart, shredded it to bits." Arlo made a handgun and whistled, imitating a bullet flying across the room. He looked at Captain Yannis, then at Lieutenant Mordeci. "Now…" he said wistfully. "What were we saying about harmless farmers?"

He fell forward, thudding onto the cold ground.

One of the hostages was sobbing, off somewhere.

avataravatar
Next chapter