𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗦 𝗙𝗔𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗪𝗜𝗗𝗘

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THE AIR was hot and humid, her wounds red and aging. A trace of the wind could crush her—or her undone spirit of mind. A crooked sign engrossed her, and she found that her blood was pumping and her skin was raw. The wind was yet unmoved, and she needed a victory.

A scavenger's hunt, on a place of jade and twisting leaves—a green maze, drawn to life. Her red fingers had found their way to paper, an entry on birds and trunks and what if I get nothing good out of this?

Life is all grit and knives. She hadn't expected to be waved at by open doors and a heavenly abode—not so soon. Who is willing to endure the presence of a stranger, without so much as the posing of a threat and the establishment of a dare? Truthfully . . . she had expected something else. Not quite sure what.

This was a trial, one of mind, body and soul. They hoped to see what newcomers were made of, and Ellie would show them just how tough her skin was, even if it was demanding, even if this was the first time—in these last grim weeks—she's focused so much on anything other than her past. Her hands are rough and calloused and ready. They've done worse.

Still, what if . . . what if this was all a hoax, or a sick sort of trap? Trusting anyone and anything these days felt like stepping on knives and thorns. But Ellie had given it much thought, and theorized that too much work had been put into this, of the kind that vicious groups didn't care for. This had been built by the hands of people who were ready and willing to open doors, not to commonplace murderers and other kinds of human waste, but to those they were sure could be valuable for their community.

A cutting thought leapt from her brain—: Was it only easier to convince herself that this was the right direction? To tell herself that she was taking the right path, because what was she going to do if she wasn't?

3254. Ellie cracked open another safe, inside which was a yellow piece of paper. In sleek handwriting it ran: "You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I'm quick when I'm thin and slow when I'm fat. The wind is my enemy". How frustrating. She wondered what more it would take to find that place. She had been in these woods for too long, and daylight was dwindling.

Trying not to feel defeated, she turned and headed towards the door of the cabin, eyes drifting down to her converse for a few seconds. The fabric was cracked and frail, its colors muted. Been through a lot, huh?

Outside, back in nature's grasp, she took a glance around the forestry. This entire thing, with its riddles, codes and hunts reminded her of Seattle. It didn't feel nice. Nothing that came from that side of her memories ever did. She saw things when she closed her eyes: the blinding sun, hard on her face, giants made of glass, the face of sorrow. Dina. Jesse. Joel.

No. She needed to focus.

She was surrounded by trees, thick and imposing, boughs reaching toward the heavens. Underfoot, the duff opened up to various narrow paths of dirt, man-placed rocks marking the limits of the trails. Even this was made by them—whoever they were. At her back stood the humble wooden cabin, with its safes and dead lights idly enclosed within, not a wisp of life to be found. And the sun was slipping away, already on one of its swift descents down the tracing of clouds. Ellie noticed the evanescence of its sweltering heat, the looming arrest of this vicious skin-beater, and the arrival of the dim nightly chill as it crept up on her. It was better. She'd always preferred the night.

There were painted symbols on some of the trunks, white and fading, dried trickles of paint slipping through the cracks. She pursed her lips. Earlier she had glossed over them, but now she knew what they meant and could register them more conscientiously. Beside each symbol lay one of the pathways, unperturbed but by vague, scattered rays of light breaking through the conifers' canopies. Ellie didn't have to think long; the decision was satisfactorily easy: The candle.

Rotting twigs and shed, mottled leaves crunched under her feet as she started toward the lone path, gun customarily steady and pointed.

As she treaded the way, she wondered what to expect at Deadwood. So much shit you had to be put through just to earn a place (or to be kicked right back at the door), proved there was some sort of care put into what human genre they allowed in. It seemed to be a place that their citizens looked out for. Ellie didn't, exactly, want to inspect things through the spectacles of optimism. She was just pointing out any logical threads.

She had lost track of how long she'd walked once her count had grown past four minutes—her brain's sleeplessness complicating the ordeal. When she, at last, spotted the cabin, a compressed flock of perching birds was hovering above, soaring as she drew in a sharp breath through her nose. She needed this to end. The sky had grown darker, far too much and far too quickly. Behind the dimming sounds of fluttering wings, she could register something else, another sound that seemed to come from the direction of the cabin. She found it difficult to wholly identify it without getting closer.

With pointed gun and focused steps she started for the door, blanketed by stealth. Her feet were quiet even with the duff underfoot. Yeah, there was something inside that house. The sounds increased with the approach, becoming more and more familiar, recognizable.

She stood in front of the door. It was just infected. Only one. It was not a challenge.

She took three cautious steps to the right, toward an open window from which white curtains flew in the nightly breeze. She squinted, peeking inside. It was very dark, the moonlight was meagerly able to slither inside and cast faint silver shapes around. She spotted a dark figure in the middle of the room, hanging lazily from some kind of metal device attached to the ceiling. It stirred and groaned, metal rumbling along.

Ellie was prepared to finish it. Eager, almost. The adrenaline shot would do her some good.

She walked back to the door, this time not hiding her steps, and opened it, switching to her switchblade with practical confidence. As she had expected, the device creaked and opened up with a booming clank. The runner came stumbling to meet her. All groans and no bite, really—she cut him short with a forearm to his chest and pierced through his skull with a movement that produced a crunchy, gurgling sound. The infected fell with a heavy thump, its fingers twitching for the very last time.

   "Alright . . . "

She overstepped it and headed toward a small table, situated against a dusty corner. A small wooden box sat upon it, meekly draped by a thin stretch of moonlight. She was able to open its lock with a quick combination of numbers that she had been gathering since the first cabin. Her eyes hungrily scoured its contents. Inside, there was a little roll of tape and a piece of paper—no, several cut up pieces of one. A puzzled frown overtook her face as she reached for two pieces, trying to make sense of their images. She could discern various squares and other geometric shapes, lines too, clustered against a green backdrop. There was some sense of congruence between the images—as if they were mean to be connected.

That's it. Her throat was dry. She felt something, heavy and knowing, dropping inside her chest. It's a fucking map.

She bent over the table and rushed into the task with mad desperation. Anticipation made her hands shake and the stumps of her missing fingers shone sickly beneath the moon, her only source of lighting. Her flashlight had been turned off—she still had a pair of batteries left but she needed to be resourceful, just in case things went south.

She grabbed piece after piece of paper, assembling the puzzle, holding some out towards the direct light stream to discern the images better. Not even three minutes had passed when she felt exhaustion creeping up on her. Her body was getting cold. She needed to get back on the move on before collapsing once and for all.

Ellie stood straight for a few seconds, to wipe the beading sweat off her brow, after which she bent back down and grabbed the roll of tape. It wasn't much; she had to make it count. With little care, she bit small pieces of tape and stuck them here and there, never minding aesthetics. The paper occasionally trembled under her frenzied grasp.

A moment later and she was staring at the finished product: a fragile, unprofessional image of a map, put together by crooked and unartful pieces of tape. Her face felt hot with rushing anticipation, goosebumps blooming across her skin. She pressed her lips together into a fine line, thinking a thousand thoughts. Was this it? Did she do it? Ellie found it troubling to believe that, within just a few more steps, she could be starting anew. It could not be that easy. Profoundly she wanted it to be.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desultory spots mottling the darkness, and her hands curled into fists. White-knuckled, she tried to ground herself and elude one dolce feeling from wracking her entire body. But it was complicated. In spite of her wishes, a sensation of impending change had already taken root within her very soul and it matured with every breath she took. Hope had indeed been harbored, and, in its own crazed independence, had grown wings. In other words, a gratuitous flame had been ignited in a crevice of her being where before there had been none. She didn't want this, not so soon. She wanted no hope, not much faith, until this proved to be good and true. Otherwise the fallout would be too crushing to bear, if it came. So, for her best interest, no rushing, no banging faces on a door that was still closed. A rule that one must learn the tough way.

She cursed under her breath, eyes opening. Her heart thumped loudly inside its cage of bones.

"Don't be stupid". She muttered to herself.

Looking at the map again, she was able to catch more details. It was very clearly hand-drawn. There was what seemed to be the drawing of a city on the upper left corner; the rest of the paper was occupied by trees, the cabins she'd reached and a yellow path that ended in front of the "city". On the lower right corner was another small drawing, identical to the red sign she'd first stumbled upon. "Deadwood", it read once again. Under it, written in squiggly handwriting ran: "Please show this map at the entrance".

It was but the dead of night. With the blackest of skies upon her and a dazzling breeze that carried fallen leaves into tender whirling, she walked out the house and took off towards the end of her journey.

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Her body was tense under the moonlight, her mind wide-awake amidst the thick woods. She held her gun in a stone grasp, and had been walking for a good stretch of time now—the soreness and exhaustion she'd previously felt had partially faded, only deceitfully hiding underneath a wake of cold guardedness.

The forest stretched on without limit. Thick spruce, slender pines whose branches reached in every direction, and detritus all fissled after the woosh of the nocturnal chill, complemented by sporadic tunes from Gray Jays, warblers and even the likes of flycatchers. Ellie eyed the map for the umpteenth time, trying to gauge if she was headed in the right direction. At that point, ravenous and head at the verge of falling due to fatigue, she was aware that her mind was most likely playing tricks, but couldn't risk missing out on a chance like this by pure stupidity.

She was close to the place. Was she entirely prepared for death or whichever the other outcome might be? Unease was reaching for her. She felt a nervous tingle crackling across her fingertips, what-ifs mingling in her thoughts. Unfortunately, she could not let the worries go, no matter how much she tried to blink it all away.

Light grew inch by inch as she walked through the snaking forest, a thin, white bandeau plastered on the horizon. The closer she got, the more she realized where the brightness came from. The forest was gently descending, opening way for shiny light beams through the pines and their crowded limbs. She swallowed around a dry throat, squinting. It was on her face now, the heavy gleam, so she lifted a hand to shield herself from it. She kept walking like this, shielding her eyes, forward and downward, towards the great stretch of walls enclosing... a whole town. A whole, damn town. The reddish-orange look of the buildings was dark with still shadows, but she could see their fiery colors and pointy roofs, and the warm lights sprouting from unseen roots.

Ellie halted, her breath catching in her throat, mind racing. She glanced down at the soil, clenching her jaw. Fuck. It was true. A motherfucking town. She hadn't believed that many towns existed and thrived, just like Jackson, for some reason. But was it just a lure? What next? She lifted her gaze, trying to catch sight of something through the branches. There was a big metal gate by the eastern side of the walls, she could see sentries keeping watch across different spots: in towers, across said walls. They were all heavily armed. She couldn't see further into the town; the gate remained closed. The watchmen stood deadly still, only their heads moved from time to time.

Ellie was waging war inside her head. She had done so much to get here, but now that she had finally arrived... Uncertainty was taking over. She wasn't used to doubting—always going head first into what she wanted. But she didn't want to lose more things. More of herself, which was the only thing she had left. That promise...

She took bold steps, moving between the trees but stayed hidden by their thick complexions. She watched once more—for anything. One more look at the guards, at the lit-up town, the tough walls. Something caught her eye. The walls. Her eyes drifted back—there, painted on the wall, above one of the guards, was a symbol. She squinted. It was a red arrow under the word "map". It pointed at the man. So this is it, huh?

She pursed her lips. There was a nod, to no one, before she started putting away her gun. In the midst of the action, though, she realized they would most certainly run a thorough check-up on her and take it away along with everything else. She was undoubtedly bare. But she had to trust. Right?

If anything goes south, I'll deal with it once it happens, like I always have. She walked. The city grew before her eyes, a minuscule creature catching immeasurable width, lights stretching past the walls. Snaking through the thick trees, she mused about how to approach this whole thing. Ellie had always hated bending to someone—something. Tonight, though? She might have to point her brow at the soil for a chance at living. The mere thought made her clench her jaw.

The forest grew smaller as she got closer to the town, its verdancy benighted. Her hair flew along with the breeze, waving in front of her face. Her fingers felt icy—like unmoving bars of steel. She did not know where this anxiety came from, although it wasn't unknown. It was the thought of a blind destiny. She had felt it many times, twisting her nerves and chilling her bones.

It was time for things to start moving. She braced herself, mustering her courage before completely stepping out of the dense wall of greenery. And it was fast and simple the way that guns were clutched, secured, and numerous eyes fell on her. A torturously bright light whacked her face. She groaned, squinting, shielding her eyes with a hand. She couldn't see much, but she could hear the guards bellowing at her.

"Hey! Walk slowly. And don't you dare lower your hands". Shouted one of them.

Ellie clenched her jaw, wishing for patience and an end to pride. She approached them with cautious steps and once a few feet away they commanded her to halt. Two of the guards neared her and began searching her up, as she had expected. Didn't make the whole ordeal any less uncomfortable, though.

They took away her backpack, the old switchblade that had been tucked away in a pocket and the crumpled up map in her hand. She watched with wary eyes as the men looked over it. There was a nod from the one to the other, and suddenly she was being shoved towards the great gates as they opened, in grandeur, before her.

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DEADWOOD

Thank you for reading.