From Dusk...
Posted: Sat Dec 17, 2022 11:01 pm
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED FROM "You Missed My Heart"
They'd spent the rest of the day trekking back—across the fields of red blood and white snow. It was an arduous march. Words, at times, were exchanged, but Claire could no longer remember them. Gone, swept away by ruminations on her present situation, by lamentations from a day long gone. Silent, half a day, half-remembered.
One step, then another, and then another—so it went. And that pace continued until the two, Claire and Evie, reached their destination. The listening station was familiar, but that did not mean it brought them comfort or consolation. It was just a reminder of the pain weighing on their shoulders and the wound Evie bore.
They saw no sign of Alex there. As far as they knew, he could have been anywhere—lurking in every shadow, behind every corner. But as far as they could see, he was gone—perhaps forever. They did not know. Regardless, there was nothing that made them stay. There was no warmth here, no relief. So they left.
And they kept marching, soldiers without weapons. They walked towards the shadows of buildings in the distance—towards an uncertain horizon and the setting sun. And then, when they stepped inside, from the moment their shoes clattered against the floor, they were committed to finding a place to rest.
So they marched through the complex, searching for their solace. And eventually, they found the sleeping quarters: rows upon rows of rooms, each with a bed. There was a bitter chill, but there was nothing better. This place would have to do—to suffice and little else. But still, there lingered, even here, the oppressive atmosphere of danger.
The two of them talked for a moment—then, they decided. The two would each have a shift lasting half the night. The one sleeping would lie in bed, and the watchman would take the desk. Then, later, they'd switch places. The door, until the daylight came, would remain locked. They would be safe, if imprisoned, within those four square walls.
Claire insisted on taking the first shift. Some aspect of it was selflessness: Evie was injured and needed the rest. However, a part of Claire knew that though she was tired—down to her bones and marrow—she wouldn't be able to fall asleep. Not yet. Insomnia plagued her even back home, where there were no monsters. Here, there were.
So she stayed awake, at the desk, for hours. During that time, she taught herself the intricacies of her night-vision goggles. When she placed them over her eyes and turned them on, there was a glimmer of cyan light, like sunlight through stained glass. And then, she could see through those blue lenses, and the night, black as ink, was clear again.
And when she was content in her knowledge, they were shut down. The power wouldn't last forever, so she needed to conserve it. There was no use in wasting it in idleness. So instead, she just sat and waited and shivered when the wind blew. And sometimes, her mind wandered into dreams of home—a place she knew she'd never see again.
Claire missed all the little minutiae of her life.
The friends she'd had on the forum—would any of them remember her?—their words glowing on her screen in the midnight darkness. The click-clack sounds of her mechanical keyboard as she typed letters into a little document. The nights spent talking to people a world away, connecting via late-night live streams and chats across thousands of miles.
Her cat, when it would press its little head into her chest and snuggle close, as she ran her hands through its black fur. Her bed, with its shark-patterned sheets and covers and pillowcases, its cozy, fuzzy blue blanket, and the two BLÅHAJ sharks beside her every night. The way the fan on her desk blew towards her, masking all the ringing in her ears.
Claire missed all of it. Every last bit, from the slight break in her room's lamp to the cluttered mass of electronics in the corner. She wanted it all back. But it was gone—slipped through her fingers like little grains of sand in an hourglass, swept out to sea like sandcastles on a beach. Traceless, like footprints in the snow, soon covered by the winter snow.
Eventually, though, the time came. Claire looked at Evie's face, peaceful, asleep, tangled in the windbreaker. For half an hour, she let the charade continue—and then, after that, placed her hand on Evie's shoulder and shook her lightly, just enough to wake her from the respite. She flashed a weary smile at the other girl for just a moment.
And then they switched places. Evie took Claire's spot at the desk, and Claire took her spot on the bed. She laid down on the old, mold-rotted mattress. There was no blanket to keep her warm, but Evie's heat signature remained on the mattress, and an offering sounded: the windbreaker served as a makeshift quilt. Then, she stared at the ceiling, silently counting the marks above. There were some ridges and dots and scar-like pockmarks.
Eventually, Claire shut her eyes tight and pretended that she could sleep.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Nothing Perpetual but Death"
They'd spent the rest of the day trekking back—across the fields of red blood and white snow. It was an arduous march. Words, at times, were exchanged, but Claire could no longer remember them. Gone, swept away by ruminations on her present situation, by lamentations from a day long gone. Silent, half a day, half-remembered.
One step, then another, and then another—so it went. And that pace continued until the two, Claire and Evie, reached their destination. The listening station was familiar, but that did not mean it brought them comfort or consolation. It was just a reminder of the pain weighing on their shoulders and the wound Evie bore.
They saw no sign of Alex there. As far as they knew, he could have been anywhere—lurking in every shadow, behind every corner. But as far as they could see, he was gone—perhaps forever. They did not know. Regardless, there was nothing that made them stay. There was no warmth here, no relief. So they left.
And they kept marching, soldiers without weapons. They walked towards the shadows of buildings in the distance—towards an uncertain horizon and the setting sun. And then, when they stepped inside, from the moment their shoes clattered against the floor, they were committed to finding a place to rest.
So they marched through the complex, searching for their solace. And eventually, they found the sleeping quarters: rows upon rows of rooms, each with a bed. There was a bitter chill, but there was nothing better. This place would have to do—to suffice and little else. But still, there lingered, even here, the oppressive atmosphere of danger.
The two of them talked for a moment—then, they decided. The two would each have a shift lasting half the night. The one sleeping would lie in bed, and the watchman would take the desk. Then, later, they'd switch places. The door, until the daylight came, would remain locked. They would be safe, if imprisoned, within those four square walls.
Claire insisted on taking the first shift. Some aspect of it was selflessness: Evie was injured and needed the rest. However, a part of Claire knew that though she was tired—down to her bones and marrow—she wouldn't be able to fall asleep. Not yet. Insomnia plagued her even back home, where there were no monsters. Here, there were.
So she stayed awake, at the desk, for hours. During that time, she taught herself the intricacies of her night-vision goggles. When she placed them over her eyes and turned them on, there was a glimmer of cyan light, like sunlight through stained glass. And then, she could see through those blue lenses, and the night, black as ink, was clear again.
And when she was content in her knowledge, they were shut down. The power wouldn't last forever, so she needed to conserve it. There was no use in wasting it in idleness. So instead, she just sat and waited and shivered when the wind blew. And sometimes, her mind wandered into dreams of home—a place she knew she'd never see again.
Claire missed all the little minutiae of her life.
The friends she'd had on the forum—would any of them remember her?—their words glowing on her screen in the midnight darkness. The click-clack sounds of her mechanical keyboard as she typed letters into a little document. The nights spent talking to people a world away, connecting via late-night live streams and chats across thousands of miles.
Her cat, when it would press its little head into her chest and snuggle close, as she ran her hands through its black fur. Her bed, with its shark-patterned sheets and covers and pillowcases, its cozy, fuzzy blue blanket, and the two BLÅHAJ sharks beside her every night. The way the fan on her desk blew towards her, masking all the ringing in her ears.
Claire missed all of it. Every last bit, from the slight break in her room's lamp to the cluttered mass of electronics in the corner. She wanted it all back. But it was gone—slipped through her fingers like little grains of sand in an hourglass, swept out to sea like sandcastles on a beach. Traceless, like footprints in the snow, soon covered by the winter snow.
Eventually, though, the time came. Claire looked at Evie's face, peaceful, asleep, tangled in the windbreaker. For half an hour, she let the charade continue—and then, after that, placed her hand on Evie's shoulder and shook her lightly, just enough to wake her from the respite. She flashed a weary smile at the other girl for just a moment.
And then they switched places. Evie took Claire's spot at the desk, and Claire took her spot on the bed. She laid down on the old, mold-rotted mattress. There was no blanket to keep her warm, but Evie's heat signature remained on the mattress, and an offering sounded: the windbreaker served as a makeshift quilt. Then, she stared at the ceiling, silently counting the marks above. There were some ridges and dots and scar-like pockmarks.
Eventually, Claire shut her eyes tight and pretended that she could sleep.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Nothing Perpetual but Death"