Fall of Venus (3 page)

I
place everything back in my pack except for the canteen, from which I drink the
remaining water to wash down the salty taste in my mouth. Since the lake isn’t
too far back, I decide to return there to quench my thirst and refill the
canteen. Carefully, I creep out of my sanctuary, peering around, to make sure
nobody is around. Once I’m confident that I am alone I make my way back to the
lake.

I
reach the edge of the forest and pause for a moment to listen. Silence. So I
move forward, but I stop at the edge of the lake. Just like the forest animals,
there are rotten fish lining the embankment. Dead fish usually mean there’s
something bad in the water. Maybe that’s why the animals are dead. Poisoned
water. I hesitate, but since I drank water from the stream yesterday and I
haven’t dropped dead yet, I fill my canteen anyway and leave quickly. It’s not
like I have an abundance of choices concerning water.

Upon
reentering the forest, I am grateful for the trees. They make me feel less
exposed, less vulnerable.

After
a couple hours of walking, the woods begin to thin out. Rays of golden sunshine
burst through the empty spaces between the trees, dotting the forest floor with
patches of glowing light. This was always my favorite time of day to be in the
woods. Mid-morning, just as the sun gains height over the trees and the light
casts a stark contrast to the shaded darkness of the copse.

I
come to an abrupt halt. Leaves are rustling, but I am not moving and the breeze
is nonexistent. I hold as still as the trees around me and peer around, trying
to locate the sound. In the far distance, in a well-lit area, I see movement. I
think it is a man, but it could be a woman. My first instinct is to hide, but
curiosity keeps me right where I am. Is that the person I saw this morning? I
can’t tell if he is armed or not. After about ten minutes, the person in the
distance moves on, out of my range of vision. I wait until the footsteps fade
in the distance, then I reluctantly step forward, slowly so that I don’t catch
up with him.

I
approach the clearing in the woods where I saw the person earlier, and now I
see why he was here. Berry bushes are abundant here.
Wild berries this time
of year?
They must be genetically modified
berries. Many years ago, biologists genetically modified certain plant species
to grow and bear fruit in the winter. A solution to the growing problem of the
rising summer heat. Some birds must have eaten from a berry orchard and
excreted the seeds here in the woods. Wild blueberries and blackberries dot almost
every bush I can see. There are even a couple purple byrchberry bushes.
Byrchberries are very rare these days.

Trying
to work quickly so as not to be caught unaware, I start collecting berries in
my pouch. I can’t help but stuff most of them in my mouth while picking, which
is probably best. I can only fit so many in my pouch and I don’t want them
crushed, leaking juices over everything. The berries seem to burst with the
most sensational juicy sweetness I’ve ever tasted. Maybe it’s my hunger talking,
but I’ve never eaten berries so delicious. My fingers look bruised from all the
violet juices staining them.

I
am in my own world right now, almost forgetting where I really am and where I’m
going. I’m so exhilarated by my discovery that I don’t even notice the pair of
pale blue eyes watching me.

“Don’t
eat them all. They won’t last.”

I
turn, my mouth crammed with berries, to see a man at the edge of the opening.
His clothes are torn and dirty. His shaggy auburn hair, caked in sweat, hangs
limply over his ears and he has a shadow covering his chin, suggesting he
hasn’t shaved in a few days. He looks to be a few years older than me, perhaps
my brother’s age, early twenties. The contrast between the iris and pupil make
his eyes deep, penetrating. The overall look of him reminds me of the crazy,
enraged homeless people who lived under a bridge in my hometown. They were not
people to be messed with. My instincts take over and I wheel around and dash in
the opposite direction. My energy levels are at a high after the jerky and the
berries that I ate, so I dodge obstacles effortlessly. I easily jump over
knobby tree roots and duck under fallen trees.

“Wait!”
the man calls out. But I ignore him, refusing to allow myself to look back.
He’s not shooting, or even threatening me, but he is bigger than me. And by the
looks of him, he can’t be up to any good. I just keep running.

The
terrain has gradually evolved to an incline and before I know it I am climbing
a very steep hill. Toward the top, the trees thin out into a large clearing.
Maybe I’ve finally reached civilization!

At
the top of the hill, I gasp, struggling to inhale gallons of oxygen into my
quart-sized lungs, when I spot a glimmer of hope. A small yellow hatchback sits
about fifty yards away. Hopefully the keys have been left inside, otherwise
I’ll be out of luck. Right now, I don’t really have any options. My pursuer is
catching up quickly, but I think I can run to the car fast enough to escape. I
gather up what’s left of my energy and run, but my legs are turning to jelly
and I only manage a light jog.

“Wait!
Don’t!” the man yells behind me, but I’m not about to stop now. Suddenly,
something
whooshes
above my head and I
can’t help stopping to look. A giant craggy rock comes plummeting down right
into the open driver’s side window of the car.

There
is no time to react. The ear-splitting explosion is the last thing I hear
before I am momentarily deafened. In an instant I am struck by a wall of
pressure so forceful it blows my body backwards into the ground, landing like a
ratty rag doll. I raise my arms to protect my face from the flying shrapnel,
only to have bits of metal and glass shards scratch the skin of my forearms.
There’s a shrill ringing in my ears that blocks out any other noise. I give up.
I surrender to my discombobulation and just lie there with my eyes closed.

My
mind drifts back to another tragic time in my life involving a car. I used to
play with my baby doll, Twinky, in our front yard, twisting her blond curls
around my fingers, whispering secrets in her plastic ear, and dancing. Twinky
and I loved dancing. I would hold her arms and spin around in circles until I
could spin no more. When I stopped, the world continued to spin and wobble and
I’d collapse onto the warm grass, squeezing Twinky tightly to my chest.

I
was about six years old at the time, when I heard the screeching tires. They
were so loud I had to fold Twinky around my head to cover my ears. A black
pickup truck had been speeding down the road in front of our house when our
kitten, Storm, darted out into the road. The truck had tried to slow down, and
even swerved into a mailbox before driving off, but it was too late. The gray
kitten lay motionless, blending in with the dark asphalt on the road.

I
ran out to the road and picked up Storm, folding her into my skirt and cradling
her in my arms. “Storm,” I said, “wake up. Wake up, Storm.” But she didn’t.
Storm was my cat. I begged and pleaded with my parents for a year before they
gave me Storm. They thought it might teach me how to be responsible, by caring
for another living being. But I never got that opportunity. I had irresponsibly
left the back door open so that Storm could get outside. And then she became
instant roadkill. I was devastated. It was several years later before we would
get another cat, Spooky, but I never forgot Storm, and how I caused her death.

Chapter
3

“You
okay?” The sound is muffled and distant to the ringing in my ears, but I can
still hear it as if it was being shouted across a football field. I blink a few
times and see the man who was chasing me leaning over my body. His face leans
in closer to mine and there’s a brief moment of deja vu. His sapphire eyes are
deep and penetrating. His lips full and firm. I have this disconcerting urge to
kiss him. Or maybe I just hit my head too hard.
Pollen, get a hold of
yourself.

“Are
you okay?” he says again. This time I manage to nod as I take his hand to pull
myself up. My head is still spinning, like a whirlwind extending down to the
pit of my stomach. The trees in the distance are doing an exotic belly dance. I
just need to sit and reorient myself. But there’s no time and the man yanks me
up.

“We
need to get out of here. No doubt they heard the explosion. They could be here
any moment,” he says.

I
catch a glimpse of something on his face, just under some straggly strands of
hair, before he drags me out of the clearing. The same mark tattooed on his
temple. It must have been hidden by his hair before. Not that I would have seen
it anyway, running away from him.

He
tries to run while holding on to my hand, but I keep tripping over my feet,
unable to gain my footing. I’m still dazed from the explosion. At some point I
think he actually puts my arm around his shoulder and partially carries me.
Finally, he slows down to a fast walk, and eventually the dizziness subsides
and I am able to walk on my own.

After
that ordeal, my body is screaming for water. I pull out the canteen and start
chugging. The water tastes like sweet honey gliding down my throat, despite the
fact that I fished it from a dirty pond.

I
can’t help but notice my companion is staring at me, his lips slightly parted.
Or maybe he’s staring at the canteen. I’m not sure which, but since he saved my
life the least I could do is share it. When I finish about half of it, I offer
him the canteen. He shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts and
takes the canteen graciously, downing the rest of the water. He seems a little
disappointed. I know how he feels. That scant bit of water did little to satisfy
my thirst.

An
hour passes. Or it feels like it anyway. We’ve been walking in silence since
the explosion. A silence that has grown uncomfortable.
Why is he so quiet?
Who is this guy? Where did he come from? And how did he know that car would
explode?
Finally, I can’t take it any more
and break the silence.

“How
did you know?” I ask him.

“How
did I know what?” he says.

“About
the car. How did you know it would explode?” I ask.

He
stops for a moment, looking straight ahead. Then he turns to me. “They’ve got
traps all over the place: cars surrounded by landmines, sheds set to explode,
even cabins with rifles pointed at the doors, rigged to go off as soon as they
open. Didn’t you even notice there were no roads up there?”

My
head droops down. I didn’t notice. I was so caught up in the moment, it never
even occurred to me. An abandoned car at the top of a hill with no roads
leading to it. How stupid could I be?

“No,
I didn’t. Who are they?” I ask.

We
begin to walk again. “Not sure, really. To be honest I don’t know what’s going
on. I woke up in the woods a few days ago. Can’t remember how I got here. I’m
Marcus, by the way.” He looks down at the pack around my waist. “That was
Clover’s. He was with me when I woke up.”

“My
name’s Pollen,” I say. “I take it that band of rednecks killed him?”

“They
shot him in the head while we were getting water. Fell right on top of me. I
barely had time to push him off me before I got away. Glad you managed to grab
his pack. There’s some useful stuff in there,” Marcus says. “We actually almost
killed ourselves getting it.”

I
raise my eyebrows curiously and he continues, “We found an abandoned shed.
Almost blew ourselves to bits, but Clover was some sort of electrical genius
and found a box connected to the shed with wires. He recognized it as a crudely
made bomb and was able to dismantle it. There wasn’t much there. Just some
food, clothes, and what’s in that pack.”

“Yeah,
well, I managed to grab it just before those guys started shooting at me,” I
tell him. He looks at me sadly, almost with a hint of regret.
 

“What
happened?” Marcus asks, tracing a line over his face that mimics the gash on
mine.

“I
don’t remember. I woke up like this. And with this.” I reach my fingers up to
my temple, sweeping wisps of hair to the side, revealing the infinity fly
tattoo. “Do you know anything about these marks?”

“No
more than you do. Clover thought it might be some sort of identification. I
thought we just had a crazy night on the town,” he says. I can’t help but
chuckle, thinking back on my theory. Marcus cocks his head and smiles, “I think
Clover’s idea made more sense.”

I
let that sink in. Some sort of identification.
Why would I need to be ID’d?
What is it that puts me in the same class of people as Marcus and Clover? Why
do I find Marcus hauntingly familiar?
So
many questions and nobody around to answer them. I need to give my mind a rest.
The rhythmic rumbling in my stomach gives me another subject to focus on. I
reach into my pouch and pull out my reserved berries, offering some to Marcus.

“Have
you found much food? I mean, other than berries,” I ask.

“Food
is hard to come by. No animals to hunt. Not much vegetation in the woods this
time of year. Those berries were a stroke of luck. It’s hard now, but I’m
afraid it’s only the beginning,” he says.

“What
do you mean?”
        

“Something
has happened,” says Marcus. “Something seriously wrong. I’m hoping it’s just
localized to this region and not widespread. I’m sure you’ve noticed there are
no animals around. Or live animals anyway.”

I
nod, noticing the crimson feathers of a lifeless cardinal under a nearby tree,
“Yes. It’s so quiet without the birds.”

 
“But it’s not just the birds and rabbits
and deer. Listen,” he says.

I
listen again, but all I hear is silence.

“No
insects,” he continues. “No bees. Without bees, we have no pollination. No more
fruit, no more berries. No more seeds. No more food.” Marcus’s eyes are wide
and grave.

“We
could self pollinate,” I tell him. But somehow I already know what he is going
to say.

“True,
but that would be a full-time job itself. By the time other people figure it
out, it will be too late,” Marcus says.

 
We continue walking for a while,
stopping occasionally to listen for others. Then aimlessly walk some more.

“Marcus,
do you know where we’re going?” I ask, rubbing my earlobe nervously. He looks
at his feet and snickers under his breath. “I have no idea. You know how to get
out of here?”

“Not
a clue,” I say, smiling. I think this is the first time I’ve smiled since I
woke up in this forsaken place. I have to admit it’s nice to have someone to
talk to, other than myself, even if I don’t really know him.

“Wait!”
I stop and hold my hand out in front of Marcus. His firm chest bounces back
against my hand and I can feel lumpy protrusion of his abdominal muscles press
against my outstretched fingers. I miss Glenn. His abs aren’t as solid as
Marcus’s and he did start to develop some love handles last summer. But he
loves burgers and fries, so it was bound to happen at some point. It never
bothered me because I love him, no matter what his body looks like. And I like
having something to hold on to anyway.

“Do
you hear that?” I ask. The sound is so distant I’m not even sure if I hear it
myself, or if I am just imagining it because I’m so thirsty that my lips are
beginning to crust and peel.

He
pauses for a moment, eyes wide open and unfocused. “Water,” he says.

It’s
hard to make out, like the sound of a vacuum cleaner running in the basement
when you are in the attic. But it’s there and we both hear it. We break into a run,
racing toward the sound of rushing water. We only run for a few minutes,
probably no more than a mile, but it feels like a lifetime. As the sound grows
louder, my feet move faster. I hadn’t realized just how dehydrated I was until
I heard the flow of water.

Water
never tasted so sweet. I open my lips to the edge of the gushing river and
allow the cool, foamy water to flood my mouth. I can’t seem to swallow fast
enough. Marcus is lying next to me on his belly dunking his entire head into
the water, slurping on his way up.

It
reminds me of all of the simple things in life that I have taken for granted,
like a simple glass of clean water. Who would ever think to be so thankful for
that? We drink it every day without a second thought. It becomes such a part of
us that it is hard to imagine ever being without it. There are so many nameless
things in life that we place value upon, but the truth is, they are worthless.
Televisions, computers, high-tech gadgets. Will these things save your life
when you are at death’s doorstep? Probably not. But when dehydration sets in,
what is the only thing left in the world that can save your life? That simple
glass of water. My mind starts to wander to the other things I take for
granted:
 
Glenn’s hand clasped
around mine, the toxic smell of my dad’s grease-stained clothes after working
in the garage, Eve’s contagious laugh that sounds like tweeting birds, the
succulent spice of my mother’s baked apple pie, the satiny soft pillow that
cushioned my cheek at night, the safety and security of my previously dull
life. I could go on and on. I have a feeling nothing will ever be dull and
secure again.

With
my belly bloated with water, I sit up on my knees and stretch the collar of my
shirt up to wipe my chin. I gaze up and down Marcus’s backside as he continues
to drink. He must work out. A soft flutter ripples down my body. If I didn’t
have Glenn, I don’t think I could resist flirting with Marcus. As he stops and
sits up I’m sure he catches me gaping and I quickly avert my eyes.

We
sit for a moment, catching our breath, and give our bodies a chance to release
the pent up tension. I remember the canteen and dunk it into the water. It
fills quickly, gurgling bubbles when the water reaches the top.

“We
should probably head upstream,” says Marcus. “It’ll be safer to cross.” I nod
and we begin walking along the river’s edge.

“So,
who are you, Marcus?” I ask, realizing the moment it came out of my mouth how
terse I sound. “I mean, what did you do before all this happened? Did you have a
family?”

He
chuckled at my nervous chatter. “Not really. I was married, but we divorced a
couple years ago. We didn’t have any kids, so I’ve pretty much been on my own
ever since. Well, I take care of my mother, too. She’s not well, but she likes
to think she can take care of herself. I think she just wants me to have a
life. Other than that, I just keep myself busy working.”

“What
do you do?” I ask.

“I’m
in construction. I could have gone to college on a football scholarship, but I
gave it up for
her
.”

“Your
mother?”

He
chuckled, “ No, Siera, my ex-wife. We were high school sweethearts.”

“Oh.
That would explain your accurate throw earlier,” I smile, recalling how the
rock landed perfectly in the car before it blew up.

Marcus
closes his eyes and snickers, “What about you?”

I
think about Lex and how I had to put my ambitions on hold when he was born, and
then again after he died. That strikes a painful chord in my heart; not only
for Lex, but also for the life I put on hold, the life that I may never catch up
with. I can’t tell Marcus about that so I come up with the most vague response
I can think of.

“I’ve
been trying to get into college. Just doing some odd jobs here and there.
Babysitting and stuff.”

“What
are you going to major in?” he asks.

“Teaching.
I love kids. I’m always taking care of my niece, Evie. She lives with us. Me
and my parents, that is.”

Marcus
has a distant look in is eyes. As if he is absorbed in his own deep thoughts. I
wonder if it was something I said. Acknowledging my pause, he shakes his head
and says, “Go on.”

“My
boyfriend Glenn wants me to move in with him, but my parents never really liked
him. And I don’t want to leave Evie. Not yet, anyway. It’s too soon after Drake
died.”

“Drake?”
asks Marcus.

“He
was my brother. He died in the Deimosian War last summer. Stepped on a land
mine.” My voice quivers as I say those last few words. I’ve never really talked
about Drake since he died. Part of me is in denial, wanting desperately to
believe he is still down there, serving our country; that the dismembered limbs
they found belonged to some other poor soul. Speaking of his death makes it
feel undeniably real to me. That’s an emotion I just can’t handle right now.

“I’m
sorry,” says Marcus.

 
I press my lips together to hide their
trembling and bite my tongue to keep the tears from flowing. A discreet nod is
all I can do to respond.

“This
looks like a good place to cross,” I say, pointing ahead at a narrow point in
the river.

We
approach the spot where several large stones are scattered among the crushing
rapids. It’s hard to discern, but they look close enough together for us to hop
across the river.