You're Not A Drifter
Hiccup & Eleanor - Part 1 - Chapter 5
This is Hiccup & Eleanor, book two of The White Age, which I will be releasing as a serial - with one chapter per week - over the coming months. You can also preorder the book here or catch up on Substack here.
Book one, Absolution, is available for purchase on Amazon, or you can catch up here.
i)
Hampshire, England
25th September 2074
Roken's eyes blinked open. They were heavy; consumed with sleep. He saw the muted red of the sky through the reaching, threadbare fingers of a naked tree. His side screamed with pain. He felt the dried blood pinching his skin as the wound fought against the glue that offered a temporary fix; it needed cleaning and stitching properly, as soon as possible.
A young boy’s face came into view. Puffy and rounded with a roughly groomed, brown sweep of hair atop his head. His eyes were a striking blue, like marbles. Like the glaciers in Iceland, Roken recalled. For a moment he was back in that country: clad in climbing gear; clambering up sheer ice for his training. The boy eyed Roken intensely, without a flicker of emotion. They locked eyes for what felt like minutes. Roken stayed still as he grew aware of his surroundings and why he was here. The realisation that he had been discovered made his heart sink. They’ve found me. It’s all over.
"Who are you?" Roken asked calmly, his voice wavering through fatigue and underuse. His dry throat made him cough and an immense thirst overwhelmed him.
"Get up. Slowly." Another voice, from behind Roken, demanded. The voice was female, strong and cautious. Roken had to roll onto his side to sit up, carefully ensuring his empty hands were visible as he was certainly being held at gunpoint. The woman had her face hidden behind a scarf, only her formidable eyes could be seen as they locked intently on Roken. She had her foot on Roken's rifle, his backpack was behind her as well. He had nothing. Her rifle was old, semiautomatic and powerful. He showed his empty hands again.
Drifters. He wanted to run, but knew he would get two steps before taking several bullets in the back. Why haven’t they killed me already? He was concerned that they would want to keep him alive and use him as a kind of bargaining chip to get resources. The UNA won’t negotiate with drifters, so I’m dead anyway.
"I'm not armed." He said, apologetically. He noticed the woman tighten her grip on her gun. She will not hesitate to blow my head off. I certainly wouldn't be her first kill. "Are you going to shoot me, or can we talk?" If I can get them talking, then I have a chance.
"You’re injured." She gestured, with her gun, to the floor where Roken had lain. The pain in his chest flared as he twisted around to see a dark patch of dusty ground where he had bled in his sleep. I really need some stitches, he thought. "How bad?" Roken placed her voice as American and felt what little hope he had remaining ebb away. They won’t help a soldier from the UNA. Not Americans. Not drifters.
"I'm not dead yet." He forced a smile.
She stepped forward and raised the gun, so she was staring down the sight with the barrel trained on his forehead. "How. Bad?" Her voice ricocheted through gritted teeth and Roken felt a shiver run through him.
"Okay. I'm okay." He raised his hands higher. "I got cut yesterday. I cleaned and patched it but clearly not well enough."
"Take off your shirt. Slowly."
Roken looked at her with eyebrows raised. He wanted to fight her demands, to dissuade her from surveying his wounds. What if the wound is bad enough for her to think I am not worth helping? She could put a bullet in my head and walk away if she doesn't like the look of my injury. The fierce glare in her eyes was enough for him to not delay any further and he awkwardly twisted his body to remove his black jacket and then, amid groans and loud curses, his sodden black T-shirt. He stood before her, head down, like a chastised schoolboy. The wound on his side throbbed painfully; every breath gripped his side.
"Turn around. Slowly." She commanded and he obliged. "Stop." He stood facing away from her, the young boy he had seen when he had woken up had climbed a fallen tree and was perched among the sprawling roots, surveying the scene with indifference. She poked her finger at his wound and Roken flinched, sucking in air through his teeth. "It's not fatal. But you need stitches. Turn around." He did as she asked, and they were face to concealed face again. "You're weak and you've lost a lot of blood."
"I did my best, under the circumstances." He said apologetically.
"You're military. But you're not a drifter. You're too fresh for that. What are you doing here? No bullshit." To assert her dominance, she lifted the gun half an inch and squeezed the wood and metal tighter, whitening her knuckles.
"I'm on an ex-filtration mission. To recover a soldier."
"For whom?"
"I can't tell you that. I don't know who you are." He raised his hands in apology and grit his teeth.
"I am the woman who will shoot you in the kneecap and leave you for dead if you say one more word that isn't a sensible answer to a question!" The scarf barely concealed the venom with which she spat the words at Roken.
"I'm with the UNA." He spoke to the floor. He didn't trust himself to lie, not in his current state of weakness. She couldn't hide her surprise: the rifle lowered, and her eyebrows raised, sending short brown hairs tumbling from beneath the scarf above her brow.
"Who’s the exfil?"
"A soldier. A friend. He's gone AWOL."
"Must be an important friend?"
"You could say that."
"You're supposed to kill this friend when you find them aren't you?"
"That depends on the friend." That cannot happen.
"Okay. Now turn around and start walking. Don't worry, I'll be following." Roken began to walk with his hands out to his sides. Every step sent a jolt of recognition through the left side of his body and head. "Todd, gather his things." The boy leapt down with feline ease and did as he was asked.
They walked in silence through the overgrown woods beside a glittering pond. The water was a lurid green, a deep waste. It exuded a stench, a rotten warmth. Branches, vines and immense weeds reached out on either side of them, clutching, grabbing and sticking to Roken's arms and legs.
"What's your name?" The lady asked, her tone softer than before, although Roken could still feel the gun trained between his shoulder blades.
"James." He lied.
"You don't look like a James."
Roken grunted in response. His pain blocking any desire for small talk.
"I'm Florence. And this is my son, Todd." They continued in silence, following the footpath as it began to circumnavigate the lake counterclockwise. The foliage on both sides became more unruly and the ground underfoot became less well trodden. Mud sucked hungrily at the bottom of their boots and Roken stumbled repeatedly, grasping onto leaning tree stumps and limp vines to assist on his way through. "Wait here", Florence said, as they reached a small, shallow stream, a sturdy wooden bridge spanning its width. "Todd, check the way ahead." Todd ran across the bridge and turned right as he hit a wall of tall oak trees. He disappeared from view behind dense woodland, leaving the two of them in silence. Roken felt dizzy as he watched the boy run away with a profound dexterity; the sudden movement made his head swim, and a nausea rise in his throat. My head is more screwed than I realised.
Florence walked around in front of him, the gun casually trained at his chest. She reached up and pulled down her scarf to show her face. She was pretty but her hard features were uninviting; she was wounded, and every inch of her face betrayed her pain. Even in a literal sense: a sharp scar jutted from the corner of her mouth, down to her chin before disappearing behind the scarf.
"We have to be careful up here; there's a military base about five clicks north of those woods. They patrol along this line of wood."
"The airfield? Americans?" That’s where Zero is heading. I’m close.
"Yep. They’re steadily going crazy with the radiation." Florence gazed after Todd, seemingly worried for his return.
"Is that where you were stationed?" She stopped looking down the empty path and turned to face Roken with a frown.
"We’re not drifters, James." Roken frowned back and shook his head. That makes no sense. Nobody is here out of choice. And she is American. Why would she still be here, in this war zone?
"You’re just here? Not with the army?" She looked lost for a moment, as though recalling something painful in her past but, before she could say a word, Todd returned at a sprint, jumping over puddles and kicking stones with childish abandon. Again, Roken’s head lurched, and he felt his balance waning. What’s up with his boy? He thought. His lithe agility seemed to make Roken painfully aware of his own dysfunctional body.
"All clear?" Florence asked. Todd nodded without meeting her gaze, his eyes locked on Roken with an expressionless intensity. Florence gestured with the rifle for Roken to proceed and he crossed the wooden bridge without comment. She followed closely behind. Todd brought up the rear, distractedly staring up into the trees, following a trilling bird call.
They followed the route Todd had taken, around to the right as the bank of trees loomed up in front of them. The path was rough and uneven, causing Roken to stumble. He felt weak and needed food, his chest throbbed, and he could feel a trickle of blood running from the reopened wound and down his side. The route was deathly quiet, even the birds seemed timid as they quietly sang before scattering among the bare, grasping branches of the trees.
The treelines on both sides converged the further they walked, tightening their path to a single-file passage. It ducked down and around a clutch of trees and the weeds grew more and more dense; Roken had to force his way through, scratching his hands and legs as he went. On the other side, a small, concrete bridge spanned a rushing stream which converged with a canal running from right to left, ahead of them. The path rose to join the canal and Florence ordered Roken to turn right and walk beside the water.
The canal was littered with burnt debris and scraps of vehicles. The water was a rusty brown, and stagnant pools festered where the flow was completely blocked. The wildlife had long left this place, and only scattered screams of soaring birds punctuated the placid silence.
They continued a short distance before reaching a string of houses in varying states of disrepair. As they approached the second, Florence called for Roken to stop. Todd scurried past them and under a large, chaotic bush, disappearing instantly.
"Follow him." Florence said and Roken did as he was told. Beneath the bush was a hole in the fence, only just wide enough for him to crawl through. The wood scraped against his wound, and he sucked in air through his teeth. His vision blurred through the pain. He emerged on the other side and Florence appeared behind him, moments later. They were in the ill-kept back garden of a bungalow. The back of the building stood before them: a small, leaning, wooden porch encased a green door with peeling paint. Todd replaced a wooden panel over the hole through which they had just crawled and then moved to the door, knocking a disjointed rhythm against the exposed wood. A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, slowly. An old man stood in the doorway, hunched and gaunt. His thin, grey hair sprung chaotically from his head. Two squinting eyes sat encased in ripples of aged skin, beads of green in a sea of grey. He eyed Roken with intrigue, not saying a word, before moving aside and gesturing for Todd to enter. The boy disappeared inside with a skip.
Florence gave Roken a shove and he stumbled toward the doorway. He almost lost his footing but recovered before walking calmly past the man. He could feel the old eyes locked on him as he continued inside the squat building.
"Stop." Florence said. "Turn around."
Roken did as he was asked as the old man softly closed the door behind them.
"Who is this?" The man said to the wooden floorboards between himself and Roken. Roken didn't know if the question was levelled at him. His head was getting cloudier by the second with his hunger, exhaustion and blood loss.
"Todd found him unconscious by the pond. He was heavily armed; we have all of his equipment. He's wounded and needs treatment for a large laceration to the left side of his torso. He has lost a lot of blood. His says his name is James and he works for UNA." She said it like oona, and it made a memory flicker in Roken's head, as though she had said the name of a childhood friend, or a distant relative. "He's on an exfil mission, apparently." All through speaking, Florence stared fixedly at Roken and the old man beside her stared at the floor, listening keenly.
The man looked up at Roken. Their eyes met and Roken felt a chill run through him as the cool green of his stare found his own. "This is my house. This is my family. You've met Todd and Florence. My name is Gerard. We will patch you up and give you some food. God knows it looks like you need it. I only ask that you play by our rules. Will you grant me that, James?" His voice was crisp and clear. It rang in Roken's head like a bell. It was the kind of voice that demanded focus and respect. Roken nodded. "Do not steal from us, do not hurt us, and do not reveal our location. That is all I ask. Can you grant an old man those three small things?" Roken nodded again, a cold sweat creeping across his brow. "Thank you, James." Gerard nodded softly at Florence who lowered her gun tentatively, before placing it standing up against the wall beside her.
"Follow me, James. Through here we have medical supplies to get you patched up." Florence walked past him, removing her head scarf and camouflage jacket to reveal a white vest. "Remove your T-shirt and lie down on the bench." She pointed to a bench, beyond a long, wooden dinner table, by the window in what was once a dining room. The table was laden with cases of medical vials and pots of pills and syringes and bandages, all pristinely wrapped and organised. Roken slumped onto the bench, flinching at the pain in his side. He didn't have the energy to remove his own T-shirt and Florence inferred as much. She ran a pair of scissors up the back of his shirt, dissecting it off of his sweating torso, and peeled it away from the open wound. Methodically, she located a vial and filled a large syringe, before moving around to his side.
Roken opened his mouth and tried to speak but the words caught in his dry throat.
"What was that, James?" Florence asked, moving her ear close to his mouth, full syringe still in hand.
Roken coughed and cleared his throat, pain shooting violently up his side. "It's. Roken. My name. It's Roken."
"Thank you, Roken." Florence said after a moment and a smile. She plunged the needle into his side and Roken blacked out.
ii)
26th September 2074
Roken remembered his mother. She was bathing him: wiping his brow and his torso with a deftness of love that had long disappeared. Her brash, closed-off nature had distanced her from him. Now she was just a person in his life, somebody that he knew and that he was related to, like a distant auntie. She was now nothing to him.
The water was warm as it ran down his back. The sponge ground through the dirt and the crusted blood. Why are you here, mother? She didn’t respond. It was in silence, in the soft glow of the glass building, that they sat, and she nursed him back to health.
He heard voices, discussing if he was okay, how best they were to proceed in healing him, in letting him go. Don’t let me go, mother. I will do better. A man was asking if he could be trusted. No. Not anymore. He was talking about others that had come, and how they had run away. He sounded hurt. I promised I would not run away, but I will. When the times comes, I will.
The stitches were agony, but he was too tired to find his voice and to shout for his mother to stop. She was there for him now and that was something to be savoured and loved. Never let me go again. I made you a promise and I have let you down. You and father. The wound was closed and dressed, and it stung with every dab of ointment that was applied. Then more sleep came, and he was grateful.
iii)
27th September 2074
"This is Base Camp 9. Rifle, confirm your status. Over."
Elise. You’re here.
“What is your status? Over."
Can you hear me? They have me now. I will be fine.
"Roken, can you hear me?"
Elise. Don’t ever let me go. I need you now more than ever.
"The line is appalling. I don’t know if you can hear me."
I can hear you; I can hear the pain in your voice and the sorrow that I am not there for you. Again.
"You are all alone now, Roken. The UNA have given up on you. You have to find Zero or they will not hesitate to try and destroy him."
Zero. They cannot destroy him!
"I found something. The Doctor knows what Zero is capable of, she is calling him to her."
That’s not possible.
"I am worried about what she might do to him if he goes to her."
She will end the world, not just Zero’s life.
"He needs to be stopped."
I can’t breathe. I need to get to him. Now.
"Hurry, Roken. There’s no time."
Zero, what have you done?
iv)
Roken was in a field with his hands tied before him. Three figures loomed ahead with their heads bowed and knives clutched in their hands. They gazed upon him with anger and spite. Roken felt his stomach flip with fear.
"Why did you fail?" His mother spoke first. Her face was twisted into the callous smile that he knew so well, her look of judgement and disappointment.
"I let him go. He told me to watch him and now he is gone." Roken felt tears in his throat as he spoke. Don’t cry in front of mother, you fool.
"Yes. He asked one thing of you, and you let him down. You let both of us down."
"Why did we fail?" Elise spoke next. Roken squinted up, through bright light, at her face. Her beauty was contorted by her anger and her pain.
"Because I could never let myself love you. I would only ever let you down."
"Well, you managed that just fine." Tears poured from her eyes, and she shook her head. I am sorry.
"Why did I fail?" The third figure was Zero. His face was blood red, and his hands were squashed into fists.
"Because you trusted me, brother." Zero bent his knees, so his face was level with the kneeling Roken, and opened his right hand. Two fingers were missing and in the centre of his palm sat a red rose. It stretched and blushed in the glowing light from above. Through the glass ceiling.
"Aye. So did we all. So did we all."
They set on him with knives; plunging them down again and again into his body as he curled into a ball and screamed with the agony. The blood was all he could see.
Just the pool of blood with the red rose sitting in its heart.
v)
Florence brought over a cup of water and a straw for Roken, and he gulped half of it in one go. She looked different: her shoulder-length, brown hair was uncovered, and she wore jeans and a patterned blouse. She looks normal. Roken had not expected to see anybody dressed in such a way in the middle of a warzone and he stared at her as she stood over him. She looked far less intimidating without the scarf across her face and the semi-automatic cradled in her arms. The scar on her chin ran halfway down her neck and provided an offset to her prettiness.
"Are you okay?" She smiled at him, and he marvelled at her subtle beauty. "It sounded like you were having nightmares."
Roken steadily lifted his torso with his arms and then swivelled his legs over the side of the bench. His side felt tight and bruised, but the pain had eased. "You could say that." He smiled at Florence as he remembered the call he had received. He wanted to believe that it was a dream, that it had never happened, but he knew he would be fooling himself. I need to get out of this place.
"Look." Florence dropped to her knees so that her eyes were in line with Roken’s, and his mind flashed back to the dream of Zero with the rose. Stop it, Roken. It was just a dream, let it go. "Your friend is important to you. I get that. But if you leave here, without having rested properly, you will die. And what good are you then to your friend or to UNA?" They were in a conservatory at the side of the house and a long garden sprawled out behind him. Light crept in at a sharp angle through the tall window behind Roken, catching the glass ornaments on the bookshelf on the wall and sending a rainbow of colour across the ceiling. He marvelled at it as he weighed her words. He knew she was right: he could barely stand. But every second spent waiting here was more ground that Zero was making towards The Doctor. To sending us all to hell.
"I need to find him." Roken mumbled into his lap as he tried to wrestle with the options open to him.
"Then stay. Two days." She held up two fingers, the same two that Zero was missing in the dream. "That’s it. Then you go, and you live, and you go and find your friend."
"Why do you care about me living so much?" Roken squinted up at her as the sun began to smother the glass structure in its morning glow. "I’m nothing to you."
"No, Roken." She placed her hand in his and smiled, nodding softly. "Nobody is nothing. Not in the eyes of God." Roken’s face did nothing to hide his shock and Florence laughed. "Don’t worry, we’re not going to try and convert you." She rose and turned to face the bookshelf, pointing up at a Christian cross which hung on the wall to right of it; almost severed in two by a sharp ray of sunlight. "Had you not guessed?"
"No. But…" He shook his head, baffled by what he was seeing. But they mean no harm. What is the harm in them having belief? If anything, it may have contributed to them saving my life.
"There’s nobody left here to tell us what we can and cannot believe." Florence shrugged and smiled her wicked smile again. She really is beautiful, Roken thought, suddenly feeling guilt for thinking as much when Elise was worried sick, waiting for him back in Bern. He wondered if he would be able to speak to her if he tried, but shook away the thought when he realised he had nothing to say. That would have to wait, and then they would find a way to fix this mess. Roken noticed the piles of medical equipment stacked on the long table behind Florence: empty syringes; bloodied swabs; rolls of bandages.
"Thank you, for the stitches." Roken felt the wound tentatively, it was heavily bandaged and felt far more secure now; the pain dulled by some painkillers, he noted as he prodded it curiously.
"No problem. How do you feel?" Florence asked, her smile falling to a frown of concern.
"Okay, thank you. A bit cloudy." Roken touched his head as he considered the distant, thrumming feeling that rang within it.
"We gave you some painkillers, antibiotics and other vitamin supplements to get you back to fighting fit. It will take a day or two before you feel normal again. The wound will take a few weeks to heal; it was very deep." She was tidying up the medical supplies as she spoke, distractedly. She paused and turned to smile at him again, "but you’ll be okay to leave before then."
Roken smiled back and nodded. "I’m staying. For two days. Don’t worry." His eyes scanned the room with a sudden nervousness, "my rifle, and my pack..." He started and trailed off as Florence raised a placating hand.
"They're safe, they're here." She said calmly. She’s not giving anything away, he thought, admiring her control over him. "Soup?" Roken smiled and nodded.