Page 57 of Taunting Tarran
The darkness presses against me like the jaws of an unseen predator waiting to snap shut. Huddling like prey- it’s wrong. It’s not what Grandpa trained me for. His voice cuts through my thoughts.
‘Courage isn’t about hiding, girl. It’s about standing up for what’s right.’
And what’s right is finding Gabriel.Angel....whatever.
Regardless, he’s out there. Somewhere. He needs me. I won’t abandon him again, even if somehow he’s a part of this. There has to be an explanation, and I owe him that. The thought of him spurs me on. This time, I refuse to let fear win, to bind me here, frozen and helpless.
Sorry, Gabriel. You can punish me later, but I’m not waiting here to die.
It’s pitch black, the kind of darkness that presses against your eyes and dares you to blink, but the stars are bright, and slowly, behind the cloud, the moon is shining through.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots – a sound like a cat’s meow, nature’s way of luring you into the woods under false pretense.
‘That’s a Little Owl,’Grandpa’s voice flashes through my mind, calm and matter-of-fact.
I exhale a laugh, the brittle crack swallowed by the cold as I push forward. But the silence of the night is broken by cackles and whoops that ripple out from the abyss. My skin prickles.
I’ve not heard that sound before.
I look up, the surrounding mountains looming like skyscrapers, their jagged peaks silhouetted against the faint glow of the moon. Grandpa told me that mountain peaks can guide you as they’re constant anchors.
The moon’s rays offer a faint light, enough to distinguishshapes in the night, so I keep to ridges where the ground is steep, giving me a clear vantage. Below me, I can see faint foot impressions left in the clay earth – tracks -he passed through here.
The uneven ground reaches out, clawing at my steps with sharp rocks and hidden pitfalls. My leg catches on one- a sharp, unforgiving edge – and pain soars along my calf, hot and stinging as blood wells up. Its dark and slick, and it begins to trace a slow path down to the dirt.
‘Keep going, Tarran.’Grandpa’s voice emerges from a memory etched deep inside me.‘Remember the last time you failed me?’
The reminder of him locking me in a room with a rotting corpse and maggots crawling through the flesh churns my stomach.Right. The memory of the familiar stench punching me first, then – humid, the gagging reek of decay that clings to the walls, the floor, my skin. Maggots, tiny writhing worms squirming through the meat like they own it –I guess they do.Their squelch and crackle was louder than my pounding pulse. My stomach tightens further like a fist clenching in disgust.
I choke down the bile rising. I won’t fail you, Grandpa. I won’t fail him either.
Fear is slithering in, whispering the promises of failure, of death, of worse. It wants me to run, hide, and cower like a pathetic weakling. But I bare my teeth against it; shove it down into some dark pit in my mind. I can’t let it stop me, not now, Gabriel needs me. Ineedhim.
As I reach the peak, the forest opens up, the oppressive, skeletal trees giving way to a small clearing at the top of the mountain. At its centre, squats a shack, like a scab on the beautiful land. Corrugated metal sheets hang haphazardly alongside warped wood, the seams stuffed with filthy rags and torn plastic. I walk around it, treading carefully, hiding between scrapped cars and trees.
There must be someone here? Someone who can help?
Instead, I see chains and barbed wire snaking along the roofline. The ground littered with debris – broken glass, rusty tools, and bones. Bones poking up from the dirt like jagged teeth, bleached and pale against the mud.
They’re old bones.
The guttural laughter I’d heard earlier sends me running for cover of the trees, the scrape of metal as unwelcome as nails running down a chalkboard. Tattered fabric hangs above the front door, flittering weakly in the night breeze. As I squint, I see it’s a weathered pelt, fur matted and stiff from age. The door creaks open, and a figure steps out moving with a shuffle like a marionette, grunting as if every movement is an effort. His head jerks from side-to-side as though sniffing the air like an animal, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
Who or what is that?
Gripping the doorframe he squints into the darkness. I barely exhale, frightened he’s heard me, smells me, sees me. But when another whoop sound rises behind the shack, with the crunch of heavy boots over brittle leaves, I realise we’re not alone. Twomore figures emerge from the shadows, their movements jerky, disjointed, like predators who had just caught their prey.
And they had.
Between them they drag a limp form – Gabriel. His head lolled forward, his arms dangling uselessly, feet carving erratic lines in the dirt as they haul him towards the shack. His body limp like a broken doll. I press my back against the tree, the bark biting into my skin like a row of tiny teeth. My breath catches; shallow and sharp, and only when all three are inside do I exhale.
‘Courage isn’t about hiding.’
My chest tightens as I watch them take Gabriel inside. Right now, I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to move, to do something, but my legs are stone, rooted to the dirt. Useless. My fists curl, nails biting into my palms. MOVE. Damnit. MOVE.
But what do I do? They’re three of them, at least. What if there’s more? My heart pounds so loud I’m convinced it’s the forest’s war drum, as fear wraps itself around me like shackles urging me to run in the opposite direction.
Would Gabriel hesitate if the tables were turned? No. I don’t think he would. Would he cower behind a tree while they dragged me away? I doubt it. He’d fight, and something tells me, until his dying breath.
