Restriction Alpha Page 9

  "Aargh, dammit," something stabbed into his wolf-unbitten arm with stinging pain.

  All the large paintings of flowers hanging on the wall fell down and smashed. Pipes leading air into hall squeaked under their own weight, and the hangers' screws loosen. His only source of light broke as he dropped it. The sound of cracking trees outside overlapped with the shattering glass slabs of the garden's walls as heavy branches fell and knocked them out. Rain of glass fell around Garrett and covered him with shards. The wooden overlook slid by the wall, beating out all the slabs of the corridor, pierced its vault and smashed on the ceramic marble floor.

  Garrett looked up to search for anything falling on him. He saw the bright Moon, glitching faster than a rapidly blinking eye. The sky flashed with a green flare immediately followed by an intense light that cut through the night and quickly twisted while it was falling to the ground. The light beam shone right into Garrett's eyes and dazzled him. He shut his eyes and rubbed them with hands, but in vain. He heard a distant sound of accelerating jet turbine getting closer. An enormous crash of engine ripping through the roof of another dome like a meteor followed by two ensuing explosions with a shock wave knocking out all of the remaining glass. Massive orange glare filled the land and sky. The kerosene burst into flames and spread through the garden, setting everything on fire.

  Lying on the ground, covered with the shattered glass, smelling the burning fuel and scorched plants and soil, Garrett quickly crawled out of the hall to move away. He heard a noise from the rest of the garden where downpour of objects falling from the sky breached through the remains of the roof. The wind blowing through the destroyed walls helped the fire to quickly spread. The quakes slowly ceased, and with face and mouth full of dust, he got almost in the corridor when heavy lumberjack ax fell and gashed into the ground a few inches in front of his head. Garrett looked at the fire-lighted ax, blinked, and touched it to ensure himself that it's real and almost chopped his head off.

  "At least I don't have to cut all the wood with bare hands," he spat the dust out of his mouth.

  Garrett stood up, pulled the ax from the ground, and began running away from fire coming to him. He had just a few minutes to pack their stuff, pick up Jillian and run into the freezing outdoors. But all at once, a crazy idea crossed his mind, and he stopped. He weighted the ax in his hands and looked at the wooden pillar. Tearing it down might be a deadly risk, but worth trying to save their shelter. He began to hack. His adrenal glands squeezed the hormones into the bloodstream to suppress the weakness of his body and pain coming from the stabbed arm. A dull impact noise of something massive falling on the ground and subdued scream of Jillian made him cut faster. The fire got closer with every strike, and all that remained of the garden became less and less stable. It took just a few more hits to hear the cracking. Garrett looked up, and step by step, he walked backward. The groaning, splitting pillar convinced him to run back to Jillian.

  The roof and walls of the hall collapsed and blocked the way for the fire to reach them fast. Garrett slowed down and looked over his shoulder. The corridor started to crumble, and the free-standing stone pillars began falling one on another like dominoes, speeding up towards him. Appalled, he dashed away, hearing the wind in his ears, but it all quickly caught up with him. Garrett ran into the hall where he left Jillian alone and almost fell, sliding in front of the fountain, willing to stop. Eyes wide open, he stared at pillars, knowing there's nowhere to run, and this dome may bury them alive.

  "Just three," he gazed hypnotized."Two. One."

  The thud of the last stone pillar pair hitting the wooden structure of dome, overlapped with the rumble of corridor crashing down. The wooden pillars cracked. Garrett firmly clenched fists, pressing nails into palms. He rigidly stood and watched. Waiting to live or die; second by second. Wooden structure groaned under the weight of pillars but resisted.

  "Jillian!" he shouted, coughing blood. "Jillian! Where are you?"

  The flames on the other side turned into a bonfire and flooded the area around the garden. Shattered glass lay everywhere, and freezing air filled the space. He saw the fountain silver tree fallen right where Jillian slept, but only her sleeping bag remained there.

  "Why so scared?" heard Garrett derisive words said with much effort through the pain.

  Relieved that he heard her voice coming from the fountain, he searched for her with eyes. He threw the ax on the ground and walked around it. Jillian sat in the middle, hidden in the small cave.

  "This one was pretty strong. And it's getting worse and worse this week. It accelerates in time and scale. These storms, or how should I call it, are becoming way too violent," he dreaded to think about future ones.

  Jillian looked at him, nodding in agreement and replied sarcastically.

  "Yeah. Good to see you're alive too," she wiped her nose with a sleeve and continued irritated. "Can it be worse than this?"

  "It will be. Every storm is stronger than the previous one. In the beginning, we experienced minor changes in weather, and only small objects transferred from place to place. When something huge moved, it was a one-timer. But now whole cities are shifting, earthquakes are on the weekly program, and the weather is changing daily. In a month, there will be no place safe enough to use as a shelter or nowhere to travel. Anywhere, anytime, anything can happen," he answered with an emphasis in his voice. "And good to see you're in one piece too."

  "What happened back there?" lightly confused, she looked at dust around Garrett's mouth. "The noise was terrible."

  "A jet engine exploded, and then I chopped down a pillar with that ax. The whole dome fell," he pointed towards it. "The fire is now heading to other parts of the garden, but it will get here too in a few hours. This building is a giant torch. How could they approve to build it?" he looked down the corridor again.

  "Where did you find the ax?" she wondered and still watched the dust mixed with saliva around his mouth.

  "It fell from the sky. Almost cut my head off," Garrett shrugged as if it was a common thing happening in everyone's life.

  He carefully put the coat off and sat on the opposite side of the fire ring. He checked his forearm. A handleless, broken shank of screwdriver got stuck under his skin.

  "Why the healthy one?" he sighed, grabbed the shank, and began pulling it out.

  "What the hell are you doing?" she said anxiously and covered her face. "I can't watch this. I will puke."

  "Then don't look," replied Garrett calmly, focused on the gentle removal. Blood flowed out of wound and trickle ran to his elbow. "Got it," he threw the metal piece into the flames.

  Garrett rolled up the sleeve and squeezed the wound. The drops of blood fell to the ground. He reached into his backpack for the flask and spilled a little of alcohol over it. His fist immediately clenched, and gasping he pressed his arm with the other hand. When burning mildly faded away, Garrett reached into the bag again, searching for a bandage. He wrapped it firmly, unrolled sleeve, and put his coat back on. Jillian, looking on the ground and avoiding the view on Garrett's self-surgery, painfully moaned.

  "How's your back?" he walked to her, wiping his mouth.

  "Pretty stiff. Hurts when I breathe, and I can't lean forward much. I had to crawl here - my legs are kind of not working as they should. But I can move my head on sides again," she tilted her head back and watched the light of new day to come from behind the mountains.

  "And the stitches?" he watched Jillian examine the wound by light touch.

  "No bleeding so far, and they are all still in place. But it's more swollen than yesterday, and fever rose again," she checked her fingers for blood and touched the forehead. "Still, I don't know how to repay this to you."

  "Don't thank me. You're not out of it yet," Garrett lifted the massive white tree. He kicked the sleeping bag from under it to the side and lowered the tree. "Here, let's wrap you up," he dragged the sleeping back to huddled Jillian.

  "Thanks," she yawned.

  "No worries," he rea
ched into his right coat pocket. Then into the left coat pocket. He froze on the spot and started browsing his clothes.

  "What's the matter?" she watched him.

  He didn't answer just searched in a rush through all pockets he had.

  "No, it can't be," he fell on his knees to search through his bag. "I've lost my jotter," his voice trembled, and he began throwing all his stuff out. "Where is it? Where is it?" he turned the empty bag inside out and angrily threw it on the ground with nerves on edge. "It's not here," now his voice sounded terrified. "Where is it?" he looked around until he found with fingers a wide hole in the pocket, and his eyes settled upon flame spreading to the rest of the garden, burning everything. He sat down and looked into the flickering fire in front of him. "It burnt in flames."

  Jotter was gone. Consumed by the fire. One hundred sheets wrapped in navy blue calf leather bound with coir twine turned into ash. Jillian's stomach rumbled. She pressed it with her hands to drive hunger away.

  "Garrett, what happened? You scare me."

  Garrett looked at her, said nothing, and just unzipped backpack.

  "Here," he quietly handed her spoon. "You ate twelve hours ago."

  "No. I don't want it. Tell me what happened. Anyway, you are the one who carries all the stuff, so eat," she refused, but he forced the spoon into her hand.

  "We'll split. As always," he stressed out. "Anyway, we're leaving today, so get some energy."

  He picked a can from the ground and opened it. The smell of meat inside spread through the air and rose to his nose.

  "Meatloaf," he exclaimed happily to pretend he's okay. "Finally, something edible."

  He dug the hole in the ash with lid, put can inside, and piled up hot embers to warm it up.

  "I'm almost tempted to open another. There might be roast beef in one of these," he started picking cans of the bag and shook them at his ear to analyze the content inside. "This one is definitely a fruit salad. And I dare it to be aloe floating in that sticky, salty, something. These two," he pointed in front of him, "are probably soups," he picked another one, "and this one in my hand is… Something… I don't know what that is, sounds like a steamed squid."

  "Yuck," said Jillian disgusted. "That's never gonna travel down my guts."

  "It is like eating salty, weird fish," he assured her despite he had no idea how it tastes.

  "That is enough for two, three days," counted Jillian cans. "Or a week if we skip some days."

  "It will suffice," Garrett scooped up a bit of meat. "It's not that far. Just down the road and then we'll take a turn into the forest. But if the base is shut, and the weather gets crazy again, I don't know what we'll do. We'll need to continue to the ocean on the east. The climate could be much bearable there."

  Garrett kneeled down and sank spoon inside the meat. With the other hand, he slipped the lid under the hot can and carried it to Jillian.

  "Eat as much as you can and then give me the rest," Garrett placed the can next to her and began packing his stuff into the bag.

  "My God, that's tough," she strived to chew it.

  "It lay there for a while."

  She ate a little and pushed it to Garrett.

  "It's yours. I'm done."

  After minutes of absent-minded staring at the embers was Jillian falling asleep again when Garrett finished the meal.

  "Do you remember the times before all of this?" he said into the silence, wiping fingers on the pants. "Do you remember all the good things we had, we could do, we owned? I think of my wife, Alice, and my daughter Sophie. We lived in a suburb. On a street that looked the same as twenty other ones around. We had a little house. Beige with a pointy roof, porch, a room above the garage, and huge trees you see there always. Not spacy, but cozy and ours. A place I loved and loved to return to every day. To see them; to talk and play with them. We loved our holidays. Sophie kept saying that Alice was handy with anything she took in her hands. She managed to make all the decorations I knew and some I would never come up with. Christmas or Halloween everywhere hanged something. From socks to candles and food she cooked, to carved pumpkins and witch hats. Everything. We met with our families to celebrate, even if only once a year, but those days were the ones I felt that with them the house turned into a home," he gulped and continued. "We had a cat and named him Scotch because it got drunk from it as a few months old kitten. A Maine Coon breed, about this big when grew up," he stretched his arm and placed hand about fifteen inches above the ground. "We gave him to Sophie on her fifth birthday, and they became best friends immediately. The joy inside him made me wonder what was I worrying about? He needed just to pet a little and happily purred. Is it so little I need to feel the same? And now I understand it. I don't need anything in this world, but them," he said thoughtfully.

  "How did you lose them?" she said, not expecting Garrett to suddenly pour such words at her.

  Garrett didn't look at her. He didn't make a sound nor moved. He just shook his head, looking at the embers. She asked him the hardest question she could. Jillian compassionately nodded and swaddled herself in the sleeping bag.

  "How about you? What about your family?" he wondered about the answer, and she cleared her throat.

  "There is none," she answered with a clear, loud voice.

  "What do you mean?"

  "There is none," she stressed the words.

  "You must have at least somebody."

  "I do not! I've never had a family, I never knew them, I never wanted to see them, and I don't want to talk about them," she lashed out, but the pain forced her back.

  Jillian moaned, calmed down, and started to nervously play with her fingers.

  "Sorry," she mumbled humbly. "I didn't mean to…"

  Garrett saw this question made her feel miserable.

  "I hate this life," she spoke into the silence. "I hate everything that happened. I spent sixteen years trapped in that old, dirty, God-forgotten orphanage with all others who had no future same as I. Just a month after I left it, to live my life on my own, the entire world must have gone to hell and poorly tried to kill me this week. Again," she replied sharply and pointed to her back. "Every morning since I was three, every morning when I woke up, I repeated to myself that it would be better that day. Telling myself that there will be no one to notice me. That everyone will ignore me and leave me alone with their stupid questions. That nobody will speak to me and that I will not be told to speak to anybody."

  Garrett watched her with a slight surprise on his face.

  "I ran away too many times. To find work as a shop-girl or char and live wherever I could afford to pay. Alone. But you see, there is no one willing to give you a job at that age. Why would they, when you know nothing," she replied in disgust. "I had to get always back. Sometimes on my own will because I starved, and sometimes police found me and brought me back," she fell silent again. After a short while, she continued, "It never got better. Everyone there looked at me as if I was twisted minded. Among all the mockery and teasing, they also kept lecturing me," she air quoted, "about not being silly and settle with all I had. That my life could be worse. That I could spend my life lying on the bed as some do. But what's a healthy body good for when your mind is caged? They speak about things they've never had to go through."

  "Problem is-" said Garrett.

  "That I've never really owned my life," she finished the sentence for him, recalling the past. "And now I sit here, with cracked back and hoping not to be killed by anything that comes in next hours," she threw up her hand in the air.

  "I understand," said Garrett and knew that Jillian didn't believe him.

  They remained sitting quietly. Garrett clasped his knees and rested his chin on them when Jillian spoke again.

  "The sunrise has come," she said although she couldn't see the sun, only a weak light shining through clouds coming over the mountain. "We should go. There's no time to lose."

  "No, not yet. It's still too dark, and I don't want to risk overlooking anyone who may be ar
ound. Moreover, I've got to think about how to carry you."

  "Are you joking, right? There's no way I won't be walking on my own," she tried to stand to prove him wrong, but her knees buckled, and pain immediately knocked her down. Swearing, she sat and looked at Garrett silently watching her.

  "All right. You can carry me."

  "Sounds like you're allowing me to help you just after you've found out there's no other option."

  "What do you expect? I hate being in debt, and I already owe you twice. No. Three, four times?"

  "Don't do this. It doesn't matter."

  "It does to me. I-"

  "Don't do it," he rose voice, and she went silent. "I'm glad I could help you," he stood up. "I'm gonna pack our stuff, so rest a bit more. It's just a few miles ahead of us, and maybe, maybe then everything will be all right."

  Chapter 09 - Point Of Entry

  "Are you sure this will work?" said Jillian with doubts, sitting on the fountain wall, wrapped in the sleeping bag and drinking water they got from snow melted in a warm can.

  "It will. It's the easiest way how to carry someone who got injured in the mountains. Even the heavier ones," he winked at her while Jillian listened and expected to hear about broken bones and uncontrolled fallings.

  Seconds later, she realized that Garrett insulted her skin and bone figure, and she breathed in to put him down, but no right words came to her mind. Garrett finished a knot and began coiling the rope on the length of his arms.

  "Done."

  "Hmm," she appreciatively nodded, "one needs to be a scientist to tie a rope and make a coil of it," she repaid his insult.

  "Wait to see," he didn't let her dishearten him.

  He lifted the rope above the head and let it fall on his back, leaving it to hang on shoulders.

  "What do you say?" he turned around.

  "Am I supposed to be your backpack?" she put the can down and suspiciously looked at him.