White Doves & Their Cages is a 26 page short novella. Following Tuuli, a young girl, in a dystopian future where the Nazis won WW2. As Tuuli traverses the bleak world, trying to stay alive with an unexpected companion, she learns of a place that sounds like a ideal community. But as the story unfolds, we realise that everything is not as it seems on its surface, and the less perfect and more horrific this new society becomes.
March 5, 1952
Tuuli
This was the first time I saw fire in the streets. It raged furiously like a beast that was starved for more food, more fuel. My Uncle was at the front of the riot screaming with the others. Blazing. And in that moment I froze, I just stopped and watched the world fall apart right before my eyes.
It started like any other Monday morning for the most part. Uncle woke me up by tapping on my door frame. There is no door connected anymore, we had to sell it for scraps. But as I pulled myself up from the warm bed sheets the sun’s bright burn was softened by my smudged window glass, and only then could the softened wisps of light land upon my pale skin. I dressed quickly as always, time was in the essence these days. A musty-smelling pair of old blue jeans I had worn all week prior found their way onto my legs, and a dirty t-shirt made its way over my head as it clung to my core. School had been suspended months ago in our town, which often left me without anything to do at home. Uncle got the call in January; “We are sorry to inform you but Leonard Memorial Public High School will be closing due to insufficient funds. We hope you can understand and we are sorry for any inconvenience.” The message was pre-recorded.
I've lived with my Uncle all of my life. I never did get to meet my mom or dad, but my Uncle tells me they both died in the war. He always tells me I've got my mom’s eyes. What brave souls my parents were.
“Tuuli, are you up?” my name echoed up the stairwell. Too tired to talk, I just stomp my foot on the floorboards to let him know I am indeed up. I was fishing through the back of my closet for an old cap that I hadn't seen in months. When I was outside the other day a young boy had one just like it and it reminded me of mine. As I kneeled on a pile of papers and old trash that seemed to permanently be a part of my floor my hand knocked on something that felt like the brim of a cap. But when I grasped it between my fingers and pulled it to me I was disappointed to see it was only an old cap from my high school football team and not the one I wanted. “The Riveters” 'it read in a fancy, yet legible, red-stitched cursive. The entire cap was now too patriotic for my town. The reds whites and baby blue screamed America which would get me killed here. So I decided to go capless for the day and made my way down the dilapidated stairs. Mold grew in the corners of the steps and the exposed wood would leave splinters in your feet if you didn't wear shoes or thick enough socks when you walked on them. “Tuuli, there you are, are you ready to go yet?” “Yeah,” I answered. Every morning Uncle and I search the woods outside the neighborhood for food. The stores are practically empty and what is there costs what we don't have.
I've always liked the woods, there is something surreal about them, the misty darkness and cool yet warm hug you receive upon entrance. Everything from the smell of wet oaks to the sound of tiny squirrels running through piles of leaves has always been dear to my heart. There was one spot in particular we liked to look. North of our home and a couple hundred paces past the gigantic grandfather pine, there was a small secluded place that had about three berry bushes. The berries looked like blackberries but were much more rubbery and almost were entirely just seeds. Unfortunately for me, not much else grew at this time and we didn't have money for food so this was what we ate. “You know they're not as bad as the rotten tomatoes we had in winter.” Uncle said when he caught the face I made at the berries in my palm. “I didn't say they were.” “Well someone's in quite the mood today, huh.” Uncle replied with an eye roll and he turned around to look for more berries. It's when he does things like this that I forget he is a grown man because in my eyes he is just as petty as one of those girls from my old school. Always bickering about who they are dating and making up drama about each other just to start more. Just for the entertainment. He turned around and held out a berry-stained hand which offered more of the putrid berries to me. “No thanks.” I said as I shook my head, but he grabbed my hand and sat them in my palm regardless. “ I said no thanks.” I repeated but he just said, “Come on.” As we walked further into the woods in search of more gross berries, it was then that we heard it. It echoed through the whole town like a warning of trouble, a taunt to the pathetic excuse we called order. The gunshot was followed by two more after the initial blast and Uncle and I rushed home, keeping to the back streets to get there. We entered through the back door and made sure we locked all the doors. All the doors that still had locks at least.
“What do you think it's about?” I asked while peering out of our cobweb-covered window, “I’m not sure, could be the Sanderson's home, I've heard rumors that they were thinking about trying to get out.” I just thought in that moment, I thought about how much of a gullible thing that was to actually believe. No one could get out, and everyone knew that. The mockery of a government has shut down all major highways and has checkpoints on almost every road spaced a few hundred miles apart. “Do you really still think there is any way to leave?” I asked, not spitefully but genuinely curious, but my words sound so weak I instantly wish I could suck them back in. “I'm not sure Tuuli, but I feel a change is coming, something big. Something revolutionary.” Whatever, I thought, Uncle was always going on about change and an uprising, so I stumbled back up the stairs and up to my room. Not that there was anywhere else to go, the building we lived in and called a house was practically destroyed, the weather and previous tenants left this place in a state of destruction, and we didn't have the funds nor ambition to fix it. Our house is small, two tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, and a makeshift kitchen living room mix. But at least I have my own room. As I walk in through the curtain hung in the door frame, and go to continue my search in my closet for my cap, there it is again, another shot, and another, and another. I run back downstairs, trying my best not to trip on the short stair steps with the goal of meeting Uncle, but he is crouching close to the ground next to the only window on the ground level of our home. “It is them Tuuli, the Sandersons, I just saw a squad of officers swat their house.” But before I am able to get a word in, BANG BANG. More shots are fired until the neighborhood sounds like it's putting on a firework show. Shots echoed throughout our small town, like cries of war. But then there was nothing, just silence. Not just any kind of silence, the silence you could only get after such events, an ear piercing silence, a ring. Then before our eyes, which curiously peered onto the streets, just down the road, old man John Sanderson limped onto the street. His yellowed tank top and face that was covered with grey stubble and blood entered the street of the town, but he didn't come alone. Behind him he dragged an officer's mutilated body. But what came out of his mouth next was so primal, so animalistic, we heard it all the way inside, and I am sure everyone else did. A war cry echoing, a warning, it was a pained screech, like the ones of a banshee . Then he pulled out a small revolver that was tucked in the back of his pants, pointed at the sky, shot, screamed, and shot again. This was the beginning.
After old John, the rest of that night seemed to slip away from any perception that could have slowed it.
“Oh my God.” I unknowingly uttered at the sight before my eyes. Uncle was frozen in his tracks with his jaw dropped, which made his beard only appear longer than it already was. But as we acted like a bag of frozen peas, unable to move at the bottom of a freezer, others rushed to John’s side. Like savages who had been planning this, they surrounded the officer's body and like a colony of ants lifted him and carried his body to the street wall. “Grab the rope!” one of them commanded and his children, a young girl and boy, rushed to their home and seconds later emerged from their door, rope in hand and a sickening smile slytherin across their faces. “Here daddy.” the young girl said proudly as she handed her father the rope. “Tie him up!” The man commanded the surrounding people, and with that, the crowd - colony- did just that. And the officer swung from a rope tied up high on a lamp post, behind him “EAT THE RICH '' was etched onto the concrete wall, written with his own blood.
The afternoon went by fast, sirens filled the street becoming the new soundtrack of our town. Groups of people began to form, they began to fight.
“Come on!” Uncle ordered, “No, I don't want to go” “You're coming whether you like it or not, so let's go!” “UGGH!” Uncle wanted to join the riots, he said “It's the brave thing to do.” And though I'm not sure whether it is or not, I really didn't want to be involved with that crowd. “I’m staying!” I exclaimed, but Uncle didn't like this remark and he grabbed my arm and pulled me outside to the streets. No matter how much I protested I knew it wouldn't change anything. “Do you think your mother was this pitiful when she was drafted to the war?” I didn't say anything in response. Outside was dark, and unlike most nights loud. The streets were filled with angry groups of people. Marching, shouting, screaming, they were fighting for their lives. Uncle, who was dressed in an ugly plaid shirt and a pair of black jeans that didn't quite fit him anymore led me down the street, the old pavement cracking and chipping at the sides. A makeshift tactical vest was strung around him, a rope, flashlight, and some sort of pack were all attached to his core. He looked like a boy who was going to play war against his friends, not like a man going to fight a war with his friends. “Right up here.” he said, pointing to a crowd that was surrounding the officer’s body from earlier. “EAT THE RICH, EAT THE RICH!” they chanted in unison; Uncle pushed our way into the crowd and began to chant with them, his voice fading into the crowd's unison. I stood and watched; around me men and women, dirty and starved, my neighbors, people I used to know, children who were younger than me, they all turned in front of my eyes into monsters, unstable, horrid monsters. Untamable beasts who were angry, enraged, and they wanted blood. It is crazy how when you are a part of the mob you see so many faces from your past, but they weren't who you remembered, their faces almost were unrecognizable, distorted by rage. “BOYS, WE’VE GOT COMPANY!” The man who had ordered the hanging of the officer yelled. I just wanted to leave, not that I was scared but I felt unrelatable to these beasts that fought with such rage. In the direction the man pointed to after alerting everyone, three jeeps with white lights pulled up and parked in a way that created a sort of a barricade. Dozens of men in uniform got out of the jeeps, scurrying about, carrying large guns and other sorts of weapons on real tactical vests. Their uniforms were red and black, the typical Nazi colors, covering almost all of their skin. Their uniforms were complimented by thick armor plates which latched onto their chests snugly. One officer jumped on the back of the jeep that was parked in the middle and raised a megaphone to his mouth “Surrender your weapons now and comply with the Nazi party! Or face the consequences!” He yelled into the device, his spit flying in the air around. “NEVER!” someone from the crowd yelled in response, and with that remark a molotov cocktail flew in the vicinity of the officers and jeeps; like a shooting star, it flew and then crashed into the jeeps as well as some of the officers who were still by them. Flames were everywhere, and my ears stopped perceiving sounds, only screams. Soon after a downpour of fire fell onto the streets, it was hell on earth. The crowd I was with charged, I did too because if I didnt the masses would have crushed me. Flames were ablaze all around, people were screaming, pushing, fighting, shooting. It was a civil war, and I just happened to be caught in the middle of it all.
March 6, 1952
Tuuli
The rest of last night felt like a lucid dream, unreal and so very bizarre, that is for the part of the night I can remember. I completely blacked out and the next memory I have is regaining consciousness in my room just now; alone and sitting on my dirty floor, cold and covered in a thin veil of chilly sweat. Blood is splattered on my arms and shirt, who’s it is I haven't a clue. It's dark and I still can hear noises outside, fighting outside. As I stand up, I'm hit with a dizzy spell and feel lightheaded and sick to my stomach. I push my curtain to the side and take an unsteady step into the hallway. But when my foot lands on the ground it feels a cold metal zing. As I looked down, I jumped back as my foot was on top of a gun, some sort of small pistol. The power of a gun, the zing of it all, now sat in my hands. I was admiring the small piece of destruction when the house began to shake. Began to rumble. Then the screams that were formed of rage just hours ago now seemed to be full of terror, and they shrieked into the house from the streets. I tucked the pistol into my jean pocket and crept down the stairwell to peer out of the window, but it wasn't there anymore. The remainder of it was lying on the floor in shards. So, I looked out of the window frame instead, being weary of the glass shards, and when I did my eyes landed on a gigantic tank strolling through the streets as if on its afternoon stroll. It was in the same red and black color code all the officers and military vehicles were in. The tank, which was almost larger than my home, was chasing behind a group of people that were fighting just hours ago. Clearing any living person out from the front of my home, and a militia of officers marched behind with their guns positioned as if they were professionals. Which they probably are. To play it safe, I duck out of sight until I hear the last marching boots stomp out of my range of hearing. But when I open my door, the destruction is clear to see. My door was penetrated with bullets and the streets simply have become piles of bodies stacked amongst each other, both people and officers. Humans and devils. The officer who hung just down the street from my home was missing his legs and his chest was ripped open. The saying “Eat the rich, '' is becoming all too real now. And upon further examination as I walked through the wasteland I once called my town, many of the officer's limbs seemed to be missing or chiseled off. I kept walking slowly, stunned from the gravity of the situation at hand, and eventually I made it close to the officer who was hung, below him were his legs, the ones that appeared missing. But that's not why I tell you this, it's what was on the legs that disturbed me to my core; bite marks, his flesh torn right off from the bone. He was ate raw.
I stumble away from the madness, my head still in pain along with my stomach. The morning sun now just making an appearance on the scene, giving all of this madness a beautiful glowing orange hue. How can something so devastating have such beauty? Down the street a bit further, ash blackens walls and the old concrete sidewalk chunks and glass shards follow close by. The lineup of jeeps that previously had been pristine and new, now were dented, burned, and practically destroyed. The bodies the fight claimed were all around, there were a lot on my way here, but not like this. This is where the heart of the fight was. Then in that moment, my eyes fell to my Uncle, lying on the ground, motionless, dead. My knees weak and weary crumble under my weight and I am soon right next to him. My eyes filled with a waterfall of tears. A river streaming out of my face and on to Uncle’s. Why you, why! I sat shaking, destroyed. I was always a strong girl, at least I convinced myself so. But this was my breaking point, this was different. He wasn't much but he was all I had. I sat and cried, mumbling and sobbing like an infant, the destroyed town all around me, but not hugging me just witnessing my pain.
I sat and mourned my loss, the illusion of time crumbling all around me much like the walls of the town. I noticed something about Uncle I never had seemed to acknowledge before. A small blotchy heart-shaped freckle was sitting right in the corner of his temple, right next to his hairline, but just far enough out it was still noticeable. A dark brown that was obscured by his sun-tanned skin. How had I never noticed such a thing? I guess I never really noticed him; he was just in the background. The one who was always there but you never imagined they would be gone so soon. As I sat in the ruins of the town, my tears slowing and my eyes focussed on this small heart freckle, a booming voice, deep and burly, began yelling in the distance. “Circle back!” it ordered. And whether it was a rioting mob victorious or a group of officers I couldn't tell. And I certainly didn't want to find out, at least not like this. So I ran, but before I did I gave Uncle a final kiss on his greasy forehead. His forehead wrinkles curving around my lips. “ I’ll never forget you.” I said and turned to run inside my house. More decrepit and abandoned looking than ever before. I open the wounded door and am sure to shut it quietly, in a matter of seconds a battalion of officers marched back down the street, following closely behind was the tank which towered over all the soldiers. The black and red paint chipped but still intact, the swastika a sure sign of defeat for the mob. But through the broken door and shattered windows the most vile sound came from outside, the most cruel and inhumane one I have ever heard. The rioters' lifeless bodies and bones crunched under the weight of the tank, flattening all the bodies into a road of flesh. Any previously distinguishable features of their faces are lost now and gone forever. But the crunches were so filthy, I wanted to scratch my ears from my head. It was revolting, sickening, but the bone-crunching didn't stop. They just kept crunching. And crunching. And crunching. How could these men march so confidently when these treacherous sounds were all around them? Before I knew it the group of officers had marched in front of Uncle, which meant the tank was just behind. I took one last glance at his face, his body lying right in the path of the tank. “I love you.” I mouthed silently in his direction, to scared of being caught. And just like that the tank concealed his face, hiding it from the light of the morning. But when it re-emerged it wasn't Uncle. Not anymore at least, now it was simply another bloody mass that now paved the street. His face gone, the shape of his body gone, the things that made him Uncle, all gone. He became just another pile of flesh Then the officers were gone, driving the vehicles that were not completely destroyed in the fight and the tank shifted to high gear and followed closely behind. God, what has happened to this place?
March 6, 1952 (afternoon)
Tuuli
Why does everything always leave me in the end? I can't name one constant in my life, one thing, one person, one anything. In the end I'm left alone eating these disgusting berries once more; but not even they will always be here, seasons will change and they will die off in the summer. Nothing ever stays the same for long.
After I finished the remaining berries that Uncle brought home from our morning scavenging, I stepped onto the flesh-covered streets. The scent of freshly dead bodies hit my nostrils all too soon. My old leather boots, which were two sizes too big, almost instantly stained a crimson red. As I stepped over the bodies the crunch I expected to hear was replaced by a sloshing wet sound. The type that is naturally gross sounding but when put into the context of my situation the sound is far more revolting. Flesh, blood, and organs all churned into this filth I step upon now. The street was a cauldron and the contents a gut-churning, crimson red, chunky, fleshly, soup. Up ahead, where the officer's jeeps once were parked served as a sort of barrier between the flesh road and the regular road. But before I can make it that far I look down to ensure my next step is safe and before my eyes, an eyeball lies on the new road below me. A singular brown eyeball, that is seemingly staring at me, like it's begging me to do something, to find its socket. Before I can even take another step forward, vomit rushes out of my mouth. The smells of bodies, innards, and now my vomit all combined and created a truly ferrell smell. The smell of defeat laced within all of it. When I look back down, the eyeball, previously brown and bloodshot, now was taken over by a new color. An orange-tinted green with chunks and berry seeds. The eyeball is now blinded by my puke. I try to push on, just now passing the blood-painted words, “EAT THE RICH!” and the end of the flesh-covered road is now just a few hundred feet away. The shifting bodies and gore beneath my feet becoming an all too familiar feeling. The cleaner road is just up ahead but I can't seem to ever see an end to this cruelty.
I heard that in heaven the streets are paved with gold, but in my hell, they are paved with guts.
As I finally ended my journey across the flesh road and exited where the trucks previously were parked I stood next to the remaining abandoned truck. Its windows were bashed in and its tires were slashed, there were even scratch marks on the hood, the scratches dragged downward, and there were a total of ten. The pain and fury my neighbors fought with, clearly apparent here. I reached through the shattered glass and fumbled the lock; *click* the door unlocks. I pull it open, and find a completely black leather interior and a multitude of compartments. My hands run across the thick cool plastic searching for a latch or lever of some sort. Then my fingers feel a button, cold and metal, and as I press it the glove box pops open. My eyes instantly fall onto the box of ammunition, and as I reach for it my blood splotched arms become apparent again. I rub them onto the leather seat next to me, then I continue onto the ammo, but once I clutch it, I realize instantly that it’s empty. I toss the weightless box aside and dig through the rest of the glove box but only find some papers, a pen, and a snack bar. I pocket the bar and search the compartment overhead. Surprisingly -not really- there was nothing up there but a pair of sunglasses. I shimmy my thin body to the back seats to look, but once again find nothing. Disappointed, I step out of the truck, my bloody boots hitting the ground and making a mushy wet sound. They are filled with blood, and I somehow didn't realize that until now. But without any other shoes, my feet must remain in the gory boots. When I look upward from my boots, I notice the flesh streets seem to be oozing toward me. Blood poured over into small pools on the cement where the group of trucks were parked. I can't help but wonder if any of that blood is Uncles, and once again I feel the urge to cry. The blood calling to me, trying to claim me. Maybe I was supposed to be in there. Maybe I should have died. I think about the gun in my jean pocket, I think about the easy way out, I truly contemplate it. But I can't, I just can't do that. All these people who fought until the end in front of me, they went out strong, and it would be pathetic of me to take my own life in front of them. Taking my final glance at the town I have called home my whole life, I turn away, take a deep breath, instantly regret it because of the stench, and I begin my walk. I begin my journey, because certainly anywhere but here is better.
I walked for ten minutes before I realized I really didn't know where I was even going. I've never left the town except for one time when Uncle took me to a city miles in the opposite direction I'm headed now. But that was all before the world started to go to hell. As my weary feet and blood-soaked boots carry me further down the street my old school starts to come into view. The crumbling concrete wall that outlined my town stops and a rusted chain fence begins. The rusty gates to the school are locked tight with padlocks of all sorts as if anyone would willingly try to break in. Not only that but also the fence is too high to climb and even if anyone tried barbed wire is strung across the top like tinsel on a Christmas tree. My legs drag me further ahead and the town begins to fade into insignificance behind me; only the tops of some buildings are visible. The sky ahead of me is grey with warning, and the crickets in an open field to my left try to convince me to turn back now. But I persist on my journey and march ahead.
The road is quite boring, especially when you are all alone, it's the same depressing grey with a solid yellow line in between. Not a fun yellow line either, it doesn't move fast like when you are riding in a car, it's just a slow boring yellow line. The blood in my boots still sounds like a wet sponge with every step I take, but it is becoming less apparent. Now when I turn around there is nothing, on my right there's a chain fence to my left an open field; nothing in sight ahead nor behind. Just me and the open road.
March 7, 1952
Tuuli
I slept off in the wooded area by the field for the night. I walked for so long, it was probably way past midnight by the time I settled down for the night, the school fence long gone. It was so late the crickets were even asleep and the night seemed simply dead. Stars twinkled and the moon was large enough to light my path. I found a mossy patch of Earth next to a fallen tree and slept there, my arm pretending to be my pillow. The entire night I felt as if bugs were crawling all over my body and biting me; but eventually, my exhaustion won and I fell asleep, despite the bugs. Early this morning when I awoke there was a fat centipede crawling up my arm. I flung it to my side with the entire force of my body and I saw it flying in the air, its body twisting and turning like a top until it ungracefully tumbled into a bush. I picked myself up and brushed everything else off my dirty and worn clothes, and I decided to walk in the woods in case any officers drove by. So that's what I did. I walked on, my feet crunching the twigs and sticks below me and walking through any greenery. The day, once again gloomy and depressing, flew by and before I knew it the spring sun was at its peak. Thankfully it wasn't as hot or humid as summer days here, but it was hot enough to make you break a sweat even when walking. As I walked on through the day, by noon a faint rattling grew louder in the distance. It was coming towards me. I ducked behind a tree close by, only the side of my head popping out to observe what was passing. Then like a flash of colors black and red jeeps flew by and were out of my sight before I could fully comprehend who they really were. I continued to duck in fear of any followers behind the three jeeps but no one else came. I stood back up and fastened my pace, the threat too close for my liking. The predator and the prey, a tale as old as time. And unfortunately, I was the prey.
The day seemed to drag on forever and ever until finally the sun began to settle into the west horizon and began to fade behind the trees I was walking through. No other cars passed me, but a strange old man did. He was walking on the road and didn't seem to see me but I could hear him talking to himself. He looked like he had been through a lot, his hair was matted and gray, his skin darkened with dirt and dried mud and what looked like blood stained his clothes, I was too far to be sure. I didn't try to talk to him because he seemed a little off his rocker but he appeared unarmed. Of course, to someone else’s eye, I'm sure I would appear unarmed, even though I'm not, so he could have easily had some sort of weapon, but nothing that I could see. I kind of just ducked and watched him pass, his movements unpredictable and sort of zombie-esque. Eventually, he faded into just a tiny blob down the boring and dead-looking highway so I decided to continue moving to.
My legs were extremely tired by then and felt like they could fall off if I continued walking. But just to be safe and far away from the man I continued on until dusk. Each tree and each sound I heard a little different from the last I saw on my journey.
I set up the pathetic excuse I called a camp, it's practically not anything except… Well actually except nothing, all I do to make it “camp” is simply sleep here. My stomach is absolutely starving and my throat is parched for water. I haven't eaten or drinken since those last berries and I can absolutely feel that. But instead of suffering from the hunger of my stomach I decide to sleep it off, or at least sleep so I don't have to feel anything.
My eyes are cloudy and seasoned with sleep as I am awoken by a high-pitched barking in the distance. Not the bark of a coyote or fox but of a dog I think. Its barks sounded short and painful but also full of fear. I rush myself to a somewhat awakened state and tug my shirt down below my hunger struke stomach, my eyes not fully adjusted to the darkness of the forest. It must be the very early morning or something because the forest is dead silent except for the barks. I begin to rush towards them in the darkness, but then I feel like a thousand needles just punctured my arm. *POP* I could scream from the pain, but refuse in fear of being caught. Somehow I'm now laying on my arm and it feels completely numb, I look up still dazed and vision impaired from the lack of light and see the cliff I just fell off of. Specks of dirt fall from it onto my face and I simply have to endure it. At Least 30 feet above me is a drop off and I just fell off of it. You can see exactly where my foot slipped and I went tumbling. But my arm now excruciatingly painful lays numb below my chest. The silence of the night feels utterly painful as well but nothing compared to my arm. But then there it is again, the barking. The damn barking that got me into this mess in the first place! Yipping all over again, it's close to me. I go to lift myself up but I feel like I was ran over by a hundred trucks, I feel dead. I just lie there, motionless my face staring up at the damned ledge that just did this to me.
Hours pass and it is finally sunrise, my arm still aching and numb but not painful enough to keep me from getting up. My arm that doesn't feel like its about fall off reaches up to my forehead and wipes layers of dried mud off, and flakey pieces of mud fall to my feet. My other arm kind of just dangling on my side like an alien part of me, it doesn't feel like me. I carry my broken self towards the whines that were yips just hours ago. Just feet away a little pomeranian is encaged under a homemade rope net. Its eyes meet mine and were full of fear, they were scared. “Do you see what you did to me!” I yell pointing to my arm. Its little body shakes at the ferocity of my words. I sigh and take a deep breath, it's just a scared little guy I tell myself. “I'm sorry,” I say to it as if it was a human being. Annoyed by the fact I’m talking to an animal I reach for the net and pull it up with my good arm, creating just enough room for the little bugger to escape. It runs right out from the rope prison and begins running in circles around me. Its little tail wagging and its tiny pink tongue hanging out of its mouth. “Come here.” I say in an extremely high-pitched voice. “It's okay.”. It just barks and wags its tail and zooms around me. “Come here, I’m nice.” I attempt to entice it with, but it doesn't seem to understand my English as it continues to run around. Eventually, it gains the courage to come up to my hand and smell it, but only to jump back and bark some more. Becoming agitated by its reluctance I am about to get up and leave when it comes right underneath my legs and rubs against them. I squat back down and reach to pet it with my still functionable hand and feel its matted and wet fur underneath my fingertips. When I bring my fingers up to my face they now hold that terrible stinky dog smell but in a way, it is sort of comforting. I always wanted a dog but Uncle told me they were just another mouth to feed. I tuck my good arm underneath its belly and lift it up. Instantly the thought hits me, “You know what, I'm going to call you Chiko.” I say and Chiko just looks at me and wags his tail. He doesn't try to bite me or get down, he doesn't squirm, he just accepts me and knows that I will protect him. Chiko, I see a bright future for you.
I carry myself, my numb arm, and Chiko down the road further, hunger driven and tired I feel like a walking zombie. My entire body aches with just about every step, that is except for my arm considering it doesn't quite feel like anything. As I am walking on I realize all of this looks the same, besides the trees and bird songs. The road seems to drag on forever, and this wooded area I’m walking through seems to be infinite. What if all this is a dream? All a simulation I'm just programmed into? My thoughts run rampant and I feel myself beginning to spiral, but Chiko begins to bark. I pull my attention from my abstract thoughts and become aware of my surroundings. When I look up there is a woman standing in front of me. I think about my gun but with only one good arm and its propped under Chiko I can't do much. “S-Stay back!” I try my best to order, but my young appearance and shaky voice makes me look like a fool. “Don't worry kid, I ain't here to hurt’cha ” She responds back in an accent I've never heard, it's sharp and fast. I stumble backwards by foot tripping on an up-rooted tree root. Before I know it I’m planted on my butt, and in the commotion, Chiko escaped my hands and runs right over to the stranger. “Who are you?” I ask, still scared. “The name’s Scarlett.” she says and reaches her hand out to me, Chicko in her arm. “Tuuli.” I say. I hoist myself up but twist my bad arm in the process and my body folds from the pain. “Well Tuuli that arm don't look to good.” she says pointing at it, its color turned from a soft peach to having a purple undertone. “I know, I fell and twisted it” I admit, “it sure looks like a lot more than a twist.” she says planting Chiko back onto my good arm. “You better come with me, I got a camp up north, not far from here.” “I'm flattered but I can't do that,” I say. “And why’s that, you on some mission? If you're worried about officers there ain't none of them where I'll take ya.” “And where is that?” I question. “You'll just have to see, normally we don't bring in strangers so you ought’ to be thankful.” I weigh my choices, spend another night outside, exposed and starving, but I may find somewhere better, or follow a stranger into a possible trap but they may have shelter and food. I must've dazed out while thinking because Scarlett snaps her fingers. I sigh, “Fine.” “Finally, you acted like this was life or death. Let's go.” She says a little too cocky for my liking, because this really is life or death… “By the way, who is this cutie?” She asks with her hand gliding over Chikos head. “Chiko.” I tell her trying to shield him from her touch. She must’ve gotten the hint as she takes the lead and leaves me to follow. I try to push my gun further into my pocket so she doesn't notice it by shaking my body, but it doesn't work and only seems to have made it more visible. I set Chiko down and he looks up at me confused, I grab the gun quickly and tuck it into the back of my underwear. I pick him back up quickly so Scarlett doesn't suspect anything and pick up the same pace I was walking at. While following I take mental notes, her hair is brown and greasy, she is tall, and older than me, probably late 30’s, but she looks fed and relatively clean. She turns around and faces me “We’re almost there.” she says then continues, “Oh and what are you doing out here, I forgot to ask?” “I… My town.. Umm, it was destroyed by officers, completely destroyed. I think I am the only one who survived.” “Lucky girl,” she tells me, but by the way she says it I’m not sure if she means lucky the town was destroyed, or lucky I survived. “Well, what are you doing out here?” “Oh you know, foraging for the community.” she answers without even turning to face me. I was gonna ask what she was foraging since I've not seen a thing, but instead, I ask about the so-called “community.” “So what's this community all about?” I see her neck crook and she seems hesitant. “You know, bringing people together. Providing sanctuary, the basic stuff.” She says like she just read it off of a piece of paper. “Does it have a name?” “Deadwood.” “Deadwood?” I repeat with a curious tone but she seems to be growing mad at my questions so I stop. We walk a few more minutes and soon come to a stop in front of a huge fallen tree. ”Here.” she says. “we’re here?” I question looking around but not seeing a community “You heard me didn't’cha?” she says while walking to the fallen tree trunk. The leaves were completely gone so it must have been here for a while. She straddles herself over the tree and waves her hand at me to follow. I slide onto the trunk and roll myself over but my hopes that there was an invisible curtain that hid the community faded as it looked the complete same on this side as it did the other. “So-” I start but before I can finish my sentence she bends over and pulls up a hatch door. Inside the mysterious hole in the ground, there's light and lots of it. Warm orange light and sounds of people bustling about escape the hole. “Don't be shy now.” Scarlett tells me and drops herself down onto the ground and hooks her feet to some type of rope. Before my eyes, she shimmies herself downward and quickly is underground. I know if I don't get a move on it she'll be hollering up at me real soon, so in a flash of genius I tuck my shirt in my pants and set Chiko in it, his head just peaking out the top. With my foot, I hook onto a rope-feeling net and then do the same with my good arm. I climb down and after about ten feet I hit a cement floor. Scarlett is standing close by talking to someone and they keep glancing at me. I look around in the meantime, to my right is a vast hallway with a seemingly bustling population, and ahead of me is a less populated-looking area. Down the right hallway, an old woman is cooking some sort of meat, and the scent bellows throughout the community. The walls are seemingly carved of stone and candles line them creating that warm light I mentioned earlier. Scarlett and the woman, waving their hands in what must be a disagreement, finally stop and come my way. “Hi, I’m Clara '' she says, her dirty blonde hair is short and parted down the side, her face greasy and looks like it's covered in dust, her eyes are saggy and seem to be caving in on themselves. “I’m- '' I begin to introduce myself but Clara says “Tuuli, yes I'm aware. I'm the leader here, but don't worry you can just call me Clara. And by the way welcome to Deadwood.”
March 8, 1952
Tuuli
That was the first time I have actually slept since I had left my home. Clara took me around Deadwood and explained what this place was. She told me they have been fighting the silent war ever since this place came to be and welcomed guests occasionally. She showed me a few things along the way to the dormitories, but told me she would have Scarlett give me a real tour in the morning and that she would make sure I visit the infirmary in the morning. I call out to Chiko, his head stuck in a bag of food, he pulls it out and has an orange powder all around his face. “Come here” I cheer playfully. He wags his tail and zooms around the room until we both hear a knock at the door. I open to see Sacrlett’s sagging face, “Good Morning,” I say but she just rolls her eyes. “Lets go” she snaps. I pick up Chiko and follow behind her. “These are the dormitories… obviously” I nod my head and we continue walking, “and this here is the gathering hall, it's sort of the heart of Deadwood” I look around, the ceiling is carved high here and in a dome shape, there are small stands selling all sorts of items. What catches my eye though is the lady grilling meat as she was last night, she has a growing line outside her stand and she can't seem to cook enough to keep up. As if she senses that I'm looking at her she looks up abruptly and just stares at me, her face somber and wrinkled. “You don't want what she is selling,” Scarlett says and tugs me along. Scarlett leads me down the hall and past the net I climbed down to the hallway that looked less busy last night. “So what's the deal around here anyways, what's everyone do?” I ask. “Well, everyone does something.” is all she says and then introduces the area we now stand in. “ This is the cultures and medical bay” Over there is Clara’s office, and there is our excuse of a museum, and here is the infirmary.” “What's that place?” I ask pointing to a small building next to Clara's office. “Come on,” is the only response I get and we enter the infirmary. “This is Dr. Rayson’s,” she informs me while looking at a brown middle-aged man. “I’m Tuuli.” I announce but he just laughs. “Oh I am well aware of you Tuuli.” “You are?” “Of course, fresh meat, everyone has heard about you. And your dog” he says with a chuckle. “Well I'm flattered, and so is Chiko.” I say, Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Well let's take a look at that arm of yours.” He says and pats on a cot he walked over to, motioning for me to take a seat. I set down and he begins his examination. “Oh this doesn't look to good, no not at all. How long has it been like this?” “A few days now.” I admit as if it's my fault. “There's no blood flow to your arm Tuuli.” “What do you mean?” “I mean there is no blood flowing into your arm, I don't think there's anything we can do except…” He trails off. “Except what?” I ask frantically. “Well, nothing but amputation…” He admits sheepishly, my heart drops, and I feel like I can't breathe, like I can't do anything, like the walls are closing all around me. I'm simply nothing and everything all at once and feel like I am going to die. Dr. Rayson tries to calm me down, but his words fall flat and can't reach me. How dare he. How dare he try to comfort me when he hasn't been through anything like this. My breaths are rapid and I feel like I am starting to float, my other fingertips begin growing numb, my mouth starts to scream. Then *BANG* silence.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
“Tuuli?” my name sounds foreign and far, unnatural. I jolt my head and attempt to move my body but I'm engaged. Trapped. My neck strapped down and my legs too. “Tuuli” The voice repeats. “Who the hell’s there?” I scream. “No need for harsh words kiddo.” the raspy voice says then Scarlett walks into my view. “What are you doing to me?!” I scream into her face. “I didn't do anything, that was all Dr. Rayson.” “What are you talking about? Where’s Chiko?” I spew the questions out like I haven't spoken in days. The room I'm in is a sterile white, one that evokes a headache just by being here, and the light isn't warm like the candlelight, it's bright and cold. “Well of course Clara approved of it, so I suppose it was Dr. Rayson and Clara.” Still confused as to what she is talking about I ask “What was them?” “You haven't noticed?” She says like I’m dumb. She steps over toward me and unlocks the neck strap, allowing me to look about. “Say hello to your new arm… or the stub of it” I look and my arm is gone, I think its a joke, like my arms playing hide and seek, but this isn't a joke, the remainder of my arm is a small nub on the side of my body wrapped in gauze. “UGGGHHH!” ”AGGGHHHH!” ”HOW COULD YOU! YOU DIRTY LITTLE-” I scream then my head begins to spin again and I feel light. Then silence once more.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
I wake up to arguing. “I told you not to talk to her!” “I thought she might want company or something” “You know better than that Scarlett! We don't talk to food!” The word echoes in my head “food” over and over again. “What?” I ask, my voice loopy and slow. The two voices instantly stop and go silent. “Hello?” I called out. Then the room goes pitch black. “Hello” I sound desperate but that's exactly what I am.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
The silence was excruciating. I layed for hours in the dark strapped down like some mental patient, thinking about that word. “Food”. It echoed in the room, then I thought about how the room went silent then pitch black. Then I heard a noise come from the left of me, it sounded like a heavy metal door open. Someone ran in, I thought about my gun but I couldn't feel it against by butt, and even if I still had it what good would it do me tied down? The person was Scarlett as she rushed to my side and started to unstrap me. “What's happening?” “Officers are outside” I had so many questions but now I couldn't seem to sputter out a single one. She unstrapped me completely and sat me in a rusty wheelchair. As she pushed me somewhere I had never been the world felt irrelevant now that I only had one arm. There was one thing that actually felt relevant, and that was Chiko. “Where’s Chiko” I said staring at the nub at the end of my arm. “He’s fine,” she said and pushed me forward. Still loopy and dazed the world all faded into one giant blur, and out I went again.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
“You’ve been out for days' ' I hear. I look up, I'm in the room I slept in the first night, not strapped down, not drugged up, just asleep. Clara stood near the doorway and Chiko wagged his tail in my lap. “What happened?” I am not sure exactly what I am even referring to as so much happened. “Well, your arm was amputated. Dr. Rayson took the opportunity that he was presented with and I confirmed it.” “So you just think it's okay to cut people's arms off! And why did he call me ‘food'!” “Food? You must be mistaken, you were on a lot of drugs and going through a lot of stress.” “No! I'm not mistaken he called me food!” I yelled. “Yes, you are mistaken, and I am sorry if you are upset about your amputation, but without the procedure, your arm would have become infected and you would have died” I just stare at her. “And what about the officers?” “What officers?” Clara asks. “ The ones Scarlett rushed me away from, the ones she said were outside?” “Clearly you have been through a lot Tuuli, why don't you take the rest of the day to rest,” Clara says, trying to sweep this all under the rug, she turns and faces toward the door but pauses and mumbles. “Rest up, we wouldn't want you to become tough meat ” “What?” “I didn't say anything.” She exits, and Chiko just looks into my eyes. '`What's happening here Chiko?”I ask him rhetorically. I know I remember them talking about me as if I were food and I remember the officers being outside, even if I was drugged up I know that was real.
I spent the rest of my day thinking about what had really happened. Was Clara right, was it all just a figment of my imagination? Was it all just make-believe? I could have sat in my own misery for hours contemplating these questions, gaslighting myself to believe either side then I switch and believe the other. I needed answers, I needed the truth. I exited my room, Chiko tucked into my shirt and I went to go find Scarlett. Everyone who passed me was silent, some even looked at my stub like I was Frankenstein’s monster. The old lady was cooking her meat once again and stared at me when passing by. I went to the cultures and medical bay in search of Scarlett but the whole area seemed to be a ghost town. As I looked at all the makeshift buildings that one caught my eye once more, tucked behind Clara’s office and concealed by shadows, it called out to me. I fell for its siren calls and before I knew it was standing right in front of it. It was shaggy and unkempt compared to the rest of the buildings around. It was smaller than the other buildings and painted orange like the stone walls of Deadwood. I began to walk the perimeter but came to a dead stop when I passed the right wall. Penned in a similar red to the first, “EAT THE RICH '' was smeared on the wall, and all of the memories came flooding back to me. Uncle, the red sea of guts, my arm, the riots, the tank. It all came back like a slap in the face, it stung like a sting of a bee, and it hurt, it just hurt. I scrambled away like I just witnessed a crime, stumbling and shaking like a drunk man, I gave up my search for Scarlett in that instant and just wanted to go back to my room. I held Chiko tight and made my way through the crowd. The journey seemed to flash by and then I somehow ended up with my back pressed against the heavy bedroom door. Chiko stared up at me and my breaths grew fast. I looked into Chiko's eyes and forced myself to take a few deep breaths. Then a few more, and a few more. I then found myself sitting on the ground next to Chiko, it was the strangest sensation, it was like I was watching myself from outside of my body. It was like I was just teleporting. I ate whatever I found in the cabinet which tasted terrible, drank some water to wash the flavor down, and shared some with Chiko. Then I went to bed, thinking about everything today. Where my gun went, all of the past events I have lived through, being called “food”, every single thing until I slowly began to drift into sleep.
Midnight comes, and there is a knock at my door. “Hello?” I call out into the darkness, but they don't respond. My door handle doesn't shake or jolt, but something slides underneath my door, the material scratching against the floor. I stand up carefully not to disturb Chiko and flick the lights on. On the floor next to my feet lays a note folded on some sort of thick paper. I pick it up and put it in my pocket as I open the door. Out of everything that could have been standing their, what I did not expect was nobody. The gathering hall outside the dormitories was completely silent, not a soul walked it. No trace of my secret messenger, no trace of anything. I go back to my room, and lock the door behind me. Crawling back into my warm sheets I pull the note out of my pocket, The papers tattered and thick like construction paper of sorts. I unfold it, eight folds to be specific, and read the grungey shaky handwriting, “Get out while you still can. This place isn't what it once was, and you don't want to find out what it has become. P.S. Your arm tastes like shit” The note falls from my numb hand and the world feels as if its fallen on my chest once more. I want to run, but there is nowhere for me to go. I want to scream, but if I do someone will surely come. So instead I just cry, my nub cradled in my hand, what the hell do they mean my arm tasted bad. What the hell is happening here? I just cry trying my best to fall back asleep, but I just cry.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
My face is still puffy from all the crying but the bustle of the gathering hall forces me awake. I set Chiko on the floor and have made up my mind, I'm leaving Deadwood, I don't care anymore about what's out there, it's better than whatever is in here. My room door slams behind me and all the people of Deadwood once more just stare as I pass them. The line that is always in front of the ladies' meat stand is shorter than usual and like a psychic, she once again somehow knows I'm here and looks up at me. Her forehead is burdened with wrinkles of all sorts and sweat drenches her. Her hair is grey and raggedy, it almost appears to have missing patches. I speed up to get away from her glare but with speed comes responsibility and without my eyes facing ahead I crash into someone and fall backwards onto the floor. The busy and bustle vanishes into thin air and everyone around is silenced. Their green-grey uniforms all stop moving and in seconds all eyes are on me. The man who I bumped into doesn't offer a hand, but rather creeps backward into the crowd that actively is forming around me. He joins them and their staring continues. It continues and continues until every single person in this place is just staring. Everyone just stares. Stares, stares, stares. And I scream. At the top of my lungs. I just scream bloody murder, and the stares continue. Not fearful stares, not confused, their stares are blank, and their eyes are dead. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” “I WANT TO LEAVE, NOW!” No one speaks, no one says anything to me, they all just stare. “LET ME OUT!” Their eyes are still glued onto me, I stand tall but they don't flinch, no one moves. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” My voice cracks with the scream, but I push onward. I walk toward Cultures and Medical Bay and break through the circle of stares. I push past the people and they all just turn and stare as I storm ahead. I’m outside of Clara’s office in seconds and am pounding on the door. “CLARA OPEN UP, OR GOD HELP-” The door opens and Clara is standing there like a robot. “Good morning Tuuli, how can I help you?” she says all to calmly. “I want to leave.” I tell her, but she just smiles. “Don't you hear me, I want to leave!” she once again just stands and smiles, “I'm sorry that won't be possible” She finally manages to say, her tone monotonous. “Yes, it will.” “No, it won't, is there anything else I can help you with?” “Yea, leaving.” “I'm sorry that won’t be possible.” She repeats as if programmed and that disgusting smile is still on her face. I could just smack it right off of her. “Scarlett, I want to speak to Scarlett, where is she?” “Who? No one here is named Scarlett. ""Yes there is, Scarlett, the woman who brought me here.” “No.” “What do you mean no? I need to speak to her!” “That won't be possible, Scarlett doesn't exist.” I feel all my rage boiling over, the lies, my arm, officers, every single thing and I feel it in my arm, like a hot spot, and like I was watching it in slow motion my arm is propelling forward and into Clara’s face. Her head jerks to the side and her hair covers it. Then she just picks her head back up and smiles at me after keeping her head in the position it landed in from the slap for a moment; her fingers snap and I hear two pairs of heavy boots trotting my way. I turn around and there are two burly men running my way, and before I can run they have me by the arm, and nub. “LET ME GO!” I scream, my body thrashing like a fish out of water. “LET ME GO!” “Tuuli, it's okay, you're just confused, these men are going to help you with that.” Clara says, still smiling. “ I DON'T NEED HELP, I NEED TO LEAVE, NOW!” Clara steps forward to the men and whispers something into the ear of the one. Then she comes up to me, pressing her forehead against mine, and looks into my eyes ``You're here to be safe, shelter, food, community, and opportunity, most people out there would kill for that. Don't be ungrateful Tuuli.” She turns away and slithers back into her office building “ YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!” I scream but no one listens. The men begin dragging me away ignoring my flails and shakes and bring me to the medical bay. My one arm is strapped down and my legs are too, Dr. Rayson appears overhead and flicks on a bright light. Its fluorescence, artificial, it's blinding. And I feel something being stabbed into my arm. “STOP IT!” I scream, but they don't. I start to feel sleepy, and despite my best efforts to refuse the artificial sleep, I am soon unconscious.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
“Hello?” My words are weak, I feel weak. The room is dark and smells like chemicals. No one is here, not Scarlett, not Dr. Rayson, not Clara, not Chiko. It's completely silent except for a low hum in the room. I try to move my arms, but it's no use. I'm still strapped down. “LET ME OUT!” I scream, my strength coming back in the form of rage. I throw my head against the gurney I’m strapped on, and scream “LET ME OUT!” I thrash and my words echo against the stone walls. Then I just scream, the most brutal, heart-wrenching, primal scream you will ever hear. I scream to an invisible audience, but my screams only echo alongside the white walls and the metal gurney.
…
A door opened somewhere, and hours have passed since my screams and cries. Clara comes over to me, her face peering down upon mine, I'm powerless. “How are you feeling?” I turn my head and refuse to speak. “If you can't speak, you can't leave” “What do you want from me?” “We just want to protect you” “Well I don't want your protection, I want to go” “But you can't, so are you ready to rejoin society?” “No, I wanna leave.” “Okay, if you're not going to answer, you can stay here.” She stands and her back turns toward me. “ Wait! I’m ready, I’m ready, I’ll be good.” I say unable to bear this silent torture for much longer “Perfect,” she says and turns back to me, she calls in the men and has them unshackle me. “Tuuli, we just want you to be safe,” Clara says and the men escort me back to my room, all of Deadwood seems to be absent, the vendors missing, and not a single person lurks. The men let go of me outside my door, their bulky bodies stand and watch as I let myself into my room, and not soon after I'm inside I hear them walking away. Chiko is excited to see me and wags his tail to show just that, but I fall to the floor, it's cold and hard, and Chiko curls his tiny body into my lap. He must be hungry, I think in my head that's so full of thoughts I'm surprised I could even hear that one, so I get up and fetch him something from the cupboard. I open the foil packaging and pour something green and chunky into a small bowl. The bag simply reads “FOOD.”, and Chiko scarfs it right up. I on the other hand cannot force myself to eat whatever that is, so I just have water and once Chiko is done I pull him and I into bed.
…
Midnight again and there is more knocking at my door. The same scratchy sound slides under my door with another note and I spring out of bed and open the door first this time. Once again no one is there, there's no noise, nobody, nothing. Just the empty rooms and halls that make up this place, and even they seem more grim than normal. I close the door, making sure to lock it tight and pick up the note. I crawl back into bed and unfold the note, this time it reads, “That was stupid. You need to be smart about this before they lock you in The Cooler. Meet me tomorrow night, at 10 around The Gathering Hall, I'll try my best to explain.” I have no idea what to make of any of this, the notes, the imprisonment, Scarlett. I just want to leave. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I feel like reality is beginning to crumble the longer I stay here.
March ?, 1952 (Afternoon)
Tuuli
I spent the day inside my room, not willing to exit and step foot into the crowds of people who just stared. There wasn't much of anything to do, so I tried to sleep but after so many naps your body makes you stay awake for some reason. I found one of those yellow legal notepads covered in a thin layer of dust and a pen in a drawer and decided to draw. I used to like drawing a lot when I was a kid, but I never was that good at it, I kind of just drew. I wasn't sure what I wanted to draw when I picked up the notepad but once the pen hit the pad it's like it took control. It drew lines and obscure shapes of all sorts on the paper, eventually, the lines and shapes became an abstract birdcage with a small dove perched inside, it just kind of happened, I'm not entirely sure how, but somehow it formed this. That's what I love about art, it can mean so many different things to so many different people, and when it's created partially by accident it means even more. Creativity is born in solitude and when being created it has no set goal, it's simply a jumble of things that come together to make something beautiful, something worthy of attention. I wish I could become art.
…
Soon enough the small clock in the room I stay in strikes 10 o’clock, I fed Chiko before in case something happens, and even forced some of that disgusting “food” down my own throat. I exit my room, Chiko tucked in my shirt like when we first entered this place, I'm already two minutes behind and start my walk to the Gathering Hall. I don't see anyone at all, the whole area is deserted, the vendors gone, the weird inhabitants of Deadwood gone, it's like a ghost town. Looking around I fail to find anyone else and assume the notes were just a lead-on, my legs begin carrying Chiko and me back to our room quickly, when I hear a sound. “PSST” My body turns and I scan the area for anyone but fail to see them, “Hey girl, back here” The voice is old, feminine, and scratchy. “Hello?” I say, “Back here.” It responds in a whisper, the voice echoing from a shadowed corner behind the old lady's meat grilling stand. I step forward into the shadows and my vision fails me, I can't see anyone or anything. “Hello, is anyone-” An old wrinkly hand bolts to cover my mouth, it is cold and feels dead. “Are you trying to make us meat?” A voice whispers into my ear. I feel the old lady's hand pulling me somewhere. “Shh,” she hushes and continues to pull me. Then, the sound of rocks scratching against each other slowly fills the air. A ray of light escapes from a crevice and then more, and is followed by some more. Eventually, a large enough hole that you could slide through illuminates both myself and the old woman. And just like that, her identity becomes clear. “Your t-” She raises her finger to her mouth and her eyes grow wide like they have seen a monster, her finger moves from her lips to the hole, directing me in. In an instant, I decided to enter. It was life or death whether I stayed or entered this hole, and I don't think I had many more opportunities back there, so I crawled forth and the old woman followed behind. I stand up, my eyes travel and observe the new room, as she pulls the rock shut, outside of the rock I hear heavy footsteps trotting about. The room is small compared to the other rooms in Deadwood, but large enough to fit at least sixty people standing. It is lit with candles hung on the walls and the exposed stone walls are once again a defining characteristic. The woman stands and looks at me, “What were you doing out there? Have you lost your mind?” she howled “I was just trying to find the person who left me those notes.” I answered. “Well, you found her.” You're the woman from the meat stand right? ""Wow, you at least have some brains.” I stand there not knowing how to even respond to that. Eventually, I say, “I’m Tu-” but I'm cut off, “Yes I’m aware, Tuuli, everyone knows you.” “What do you mean everyone knows me?” “Listen, girl, it isn't every day someone new is brought down here, have you seen anyone show up since you’ve gotten here?” “No.” “Exactly. Especially with your show the other day, if someone hadn't acknowledged you before that they certainly did then.” “Okay, I get that, but I need answers, I need to leave. And what did you mean my arm tasted like shit, and what is this room, why didn't anyone show it to me? And also where is Scarlett? And what is your name? And how come everyone around here acts like zombies? And how do I leave?” I find myself sputtering questions faster than she can answer, repeating the one about leaving. “Girl, you're gonna’ need to take a seat for this one.” She sits down on her legs and pats the ground “Don't be shy.” I slink down to the ground and sit next to her. “Just listen, don't talk Tuuli. This place is called Deadwood, it's an underground community that was built by the government once they realized they were gonna lose to the Nazis. It's said that they secretly built thousands all over the states for civilians and only selected the brightest to live in them, with the eventual goal of restoring democracy. I remember when I was selected, I got an envelope in the mail, there was no sender it simply said ‘Classified’ It talked about how the government was building these communities and I was selected to join, I couldn't tell anyone though, and I had to leave everything behind to meet at a collection sight. I had a few weeks to make a decision and eventually, I did, it wasn't too hard ‘cause I hadn't had anyone anywho, but I did have to leave my house. Oh, she was a beauty, I worked so hard on maintaining her curb appeal, but I knew if I stayed I would be a dead woman, especially if the Nazis really did win. I remember too that the government had specific rules and a mock government of their own already set up in Deadwood. It was a small version of America's old government and followed the Constitution, but like all forms of government, it eventually grew corrupt and chaos broke out. That was after the officers really did invade so it was up to us to fix it ourselves. Clara was much younger then, optimistic, and somewhat human, she called for the resignation of our old leader, Liam Rakon, who was put there by the government before they collapsed. She called for a change in the way Deadwood was led and called for an election. Initially, Liam refused the idea and didn't believe she was serious, but Clara was serious. She was very serious. She caused riots of all sorts, of course, they were silent or at least very quiet in fear of Nazi discovery, but they still caused Liam chaos and by the choice of the people, a election was held. Clara a young liberal against Liam a conservative, and come election day Liam was blown out of the water by Clara. Even I voted for Clara, she promised a change in the way things were run, she promised accurate representation, and she promised democracy, a real one, run by and for the community. But that was a huge mistake. Clara took office and Liam and his few supporters were outraged, they saw Clara as a threat to everyone and held their own riots. Eventually, they decided they wanted to leave Deadwood, but Clara couldn't let that happen, what if they ratted her out to Nazis, they could have led them right to Deadwood. They promised that was not their intent, but she controlled us all with fear and convinced us that our own people were our greatest enemy. On the day they planned to leave, there was Deadwood's small military there waiting for them, they begged to be let out but the military refused, following Clara’s orders, and when the group started using violence the guards overpowered them and took them into custody. That night Clara threw a large celebratory dinner for all her supporters, she served lots of meat, grilled meat, roasted meat, stewed meat, meat pies, you name it she probably had served it that night, and that basically all there was, meat. At the end of the dinner, she climbed on top of one of the picnic tables that were set up and gave a speech. She went on about how there was to be great change in Deadwood and how she would make sure everyone's voices were heard. But the part of the speech that everyone remembers is when she mentions Liam, “And old Liam, such a classic man, he is no longer a threat to us because you all have just solved the problem. You’ve eaten Liam and all his supporters!” She said it like it was an accomplishment, she generally thought it was. The crowd went silent, nobody spoke, too stunned, that was until a few people began gagging. Then a few more started puking, just everywhere, on the floor, the tables, and each other. Clara stood up tall and reassured us, “No, it's okay everyone, human meat is a renewable resource and completely healthy. It's the future of food!” She sounded genuinely convinced of that fact. Someone shouted something hateful at her and then some others did too, calling her all sorts of names, calling her a crazy liberal, insane, and other words that I'm sure you can imagine. She just stood there unbothered and almost confused as to why people were mad at her. “Oh you guys, it's fine, they were a danger to us all, if they left you might not be here right now, and I didn't want them to go to waste. It tasted fine, didn't it? And even if you didn't like it, you better get used to it, ‘cause that's what we will be serving from now on, human meat.” She left the Gathering Hall, and some people just sat there stunned, others furiously went home, and others talked about overthrowing Clara next. I was one of the people who went home, and the next day Clara was still in power and acted like nothing was wrong. But she wasn't lying, and ever since then Deadwood has captured and butchered people and officers alike, sometimes even its own inhabitants. She hired me to become the head chef, that's why I'm always grilling, and that's where your arm went… And yea it tasted like crap, all hard and chewy, you got me some bad feedback! But that's not the point, the point is you need to go. I built this room all myself over the course of years, the reason no one showed you it, is ‘cause no one knows about it except for me, I started building it the night after Clara’s feast, and have been since. No one knows where Scarlett is though, after the night the officers found us and Scarlett was pushing you into safety she went missing. Some people think the officers got her, but if you want my opinion Scarlett was cooked and eaten. You and her seemed somewhat close and I think she told you too much or something and Clara got mad. But as for my name it's Pame, but it's pronounced Pame.” I simply sat in shock and tried to take everything in, even though this Pame lady didn't answer all my questions, she sure did explain a lot. My confusion must have been showing on my face as she patted me on the back. “I know its a lot girl” “So your telling me, you eat people?” “Well yes, but it's all because of Clara, that's what we did when the officers showed up. We killed em’ , cleaned em’ then cooked and served em’ right up.” I take a breath to say something but I exhale it and sit there still dumbfounded. “Don't worry girl, there is a way out of here, at least there can be, the door to Deadwood is locked from the outside and only Clara has the key, she installed it like that after she took power to keep everyone in. She keeps the key in her office somewhere, but rumor has it there is a passageway is The Cooler, that prisoners have dug throughout the years. The Cooler’s that old building by Clara’s office, its where we keep the meat. It's where you were gonna be, but Scarlett said you were special.” “Well thank you, but how do I even get in the cooler?” “I can let you in tomorrow or you can land yourself in there if you keep acting up, so you best be good! You gotta go now before they do the 11 o’clock sweep, but meet me over there tomorrow at 10 in the morning.” “Why in the morning?” “cause they clear The Cooler out at 9 am so you’ll have lots of time.” “and if it doesn't work?” “We’ll figure that out if we get there, now come on, let's go.” She shoves me out and closes the rock door behind me, with a stumble in her walk she walks aside me. “By the way, thank you Pame.” “Don't mention it.” she says in the rude fashion she says all her sentences in. I walk ahead and enter my room, locking the door tightly behind me as always. But before I can, I hear a muffled sound and a stumbling, I whip my head around, but nothing is there, not Pame, no one. I peek around the corners of the hallways but see nothing again, and figure I imagined it. I shut and lock my door and I pull Chiko out of my shirt and set him on the bed next to me. I pet him for a while and then turn on my side and look at the picture of the dove I drew sitting across the room from me. “What a delightful drawing.” I think to myself and my eyes begin to grow tired.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
Its nine in the morning when I wake up. Glancing at the clock I realize I have an hour to kill before meeting Pame, I sit at the tiny desk in the room, the yellow legal pad and ballpoint pen below my hands and Chiko running around the room below my feet. I pick up the pen once more but can't find the motivation to do anything with it, this time nothing flows. So I spend a while scribbling aimlessly on the page but nothing comes to me, the squiggles don't become beautiful art this time, but rather just squiggles on the page, just a mess. It's nine-thirty before I know it and I figure I’ll walk around for a little while before meeting Pame. The Gathering Hall is less busy than normal and Pame isn't in her normal spot, but rather an older gentleman who's slightly overweight and bald. I walk away and go toward to Cultures and Medical Bay area but see Clara standing outside The Cooler. “Ah Tuuli!” she calls out to me as I walk toward her, She talks as if nothing has happened. “It’s so nice to see you, I haven't seen you in days, have you been a little introverted?” “Nope, just busy.” “W-With what?” she asks and I instantly regret using that excuse. “Just drawing,” I say, not knowing what else anyone down here could be busy with. “An artist, our museum could always use some new pieces!” she says smiling with that same artificial look. “So, what brings you to Cultures?” “Uhh- Just on my way to check out the museum” I lie, and she looks disappointed. “Oh Tuuli, don't you know it's rude to lie?” “I'm not lying.” I try to rebuttal, but I know she knows. “Pame told me everything Tuuli, at least after awhile, and just so you know there is no escape in The Cooler.” “What are you talking about?” I say still trying to convince her I don't know what she’s talking about. “Don't play dumb, let's go.” And she punctuates her sentence with the snap of her fingers which once again summons her bodyguards. “I want to show you something Tuuli, follow me.” She tells me as we walk into The Cooler, her bodyguards forcing me down the dark hallway. We walk down a flight of stairs, her bodyguards practically pushing me down. It's dark and keeps getting colder the further we walk down. After what seemed like an endless amount of stairs we finally hit the ground floor, it's cold damp, and the air smells wet and like something dead is down here. The dark hallway is only lit by torches which are hung sparingly on the walls and there are multiple cells lining the walls, cages. Metal bars that look as if they have grown from the ground reach upward to the sky. We walk on until we make it to the end of the hallway, the cages we pass by are mostly empty but some have a few bodies, which must have been officers, their uniforms stripped from them, and their bodies left completely nude. Mangled and lifeless they lay upon the cold concrete floor. We make it to the end of the hallway and there is one final cage, the only cage that is horizontally placed. The light from the torches are to dim to illuminate this one, so the inside of the cage is completely concealed by shadows. “Tuuli, I want you to see what happens when you betray Deadwood, when you betray me.” Claras voice booms as her hand reaches for a torch hung on the wall and holds it forward. Laying on the floor Pame is limbless, arms, legs, their all gone, her head is shaved and what remains of her is a limbless torso with a head. But, she isn't dead, her nubs are all wrapped in gauze like my arm, this was done meticulously, to make her suffer. Her head begins to turn towards me, the look in her eyes. It's indescribable, its bestial, its dead. Her lips move but her words don't make it out, she tries again “R-ruun, Tuulii.” They're slow and so quiet you can barely hear them. My eyes fill with tears and my vision blurs, The light from the torch becoming blurry with tears. “YOU CAN'T DO THIS, YOU SICK BASTARD, YOU CAN'T YOU CAN’T!!” I scream at Clara but she only tugs on my shoulder and faces me the other way and tries to get me to walk away with her, The bodyguards stay behind in front of Pame's cage, and not soon after Clara and I are at the stares The Cooler is filled with blood-curdling screams, Pame’s screams. They’re nothing like I have ever heard, then the sound of someone choking on their own blood, then… silence.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
Clara reaches the top of the stairs with me, the ominous abyss of The Cooler below, but it is all a blur, nothing is clear, I have nothing to lose, and practically nothing to gain. “We do eat people here Tuuli” “ We did eat your arm.” Her words turn my fear to rage which echoes in my ears, then the world begins to ring. Ringing, ringing, ringing, then a high-pitched buzz in my ears, through my cloudy tear vision I see Clara standing in front of me, but my tears fill a pot of rage that is boiling over. My breaths quicken, my eyes begin to clear up, and I feel the blood of my body rushing through me. She’s just staring, staring at me like a lunatic, her stupid little face that pierces my soul meets my fist. I didn't even know I did it, it just happened. And before I knew it I had her pinned down underneath me, my hand pounding into her face. I'm screaming, she's screaming, but both screams are drowned out by that high pitched buzz in my ears. I punch and punch and punch, I punch until I feel like I could throw up, but I don't stop, My fist continues plunging into her face. Then I started punching her stomach, altering between that and her face, it was just all a blur, a bloody enraged blur. “YOU SICKO!” I scream into her face. She tried fitting back, her left hand coming up to swing at me, but I stomp it back into the ground with my foot. The sound of her wrist snapping in the process fills the air. I hear a crowd of mumbles gathering around, but my fists don't have ears. “LET ME GO!” She screams through her clenched teeth, “HELP, HELP!” she protests, but the murmurs pretend not to hear. “THIS IS FOR PAME, YOU SICK BASTARD!” and with that I delivered my final punch to her throat, so hard, so full of rage that I felt the rock floor through her throat. Then a pair of arms are pulling me back. I fight the resistance, I kick and scream right at them too. I elbow at the body of the arms but it barely flinches. I turn my neck towards my captor, my fury only sparked further by my capture, and I see it is one of Clara’s bodyguards. His arms are locked tightly around me, almost completely stopping my spasms, but not my screams. “ I WANT TO LEAVE!” I holler. “SHE DESERVES TO DIE!” He begins to pull me away, my body is half the size of his so my attempts to refuse are insufficient, but he stops moving, everyone does. Clara, still lying on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood, mutters something. Her voice is weak and sounds like she is overcoming a cold. It isn't then until I look upon my hands and realize my knuckles are cut up and bleeding, probably the same amount that her face is. But her words seem to bring everyone to a standstill, that or her other bodyguard who's by her side commanding everyone to “SHUT UP!”. Her throat looks collapsed and she seems unable to squeak out a single word, but as everyone is watching her I look around and analyze my surroundings. She tries to take a breath, which sounds like she has severe asthma, which even further manifests the silence among everyone. That's when I spot it, as Clara lays, and the crowd is frozen, I see my gun on the belt of the very man holding my arms. It’s sitting precisely in a leather holster on his right hip, which is illustrated by a horse running through a prairie. I know what I have to do. And I accept that I may die right this instant, but I’d rather die than stay here. So I send my right heel flying backward with all of my energy left into the bodyguard's crotch as if I were that horse kicking something, and I feel his grip weaken just enough and his chest fold in just enough, that I can break free from his clutches and send my good arm flying back to my gun. And as soon as my hand grasps the cold metal I know it's mine for sure. So I rip it out of the holster, spin around to the bodyguard just in time, and pull the trigger. The bullet flies through his chest and a grunt escapes his mouth as he flies backwards in the same direction that the bullet exited him. It left a clean hole right through his chest, and the ground shakes a bit as he collapses onto the bare rock floor. I turn and see the other bodyguard running at me like a quarterback, he’s too close to draw my gun so I duck and jump off the side. I pull my gun up and send another bullet flying right at him. Bullseye, I think as he falls backward onto a rock pillar behind him, a clean hole right in between his eyebrows quickly grows red, which contrasts the light pink brain matter that is plastered on the pillar which supports his lifeless body. The gun is smoking in my hand, and the crowd is silent around me, everything is silent except the ringing of the gunshots on the rock walls and Clara's broken windpipes still gasping for air. I stand with my gun still clenched in my hand, the crowd shutters as if I was going to shoot them all too. My steps are slow and purposeful as I make my way back to Claras, near lifeless body. My foot lands into the pool of blood around her head, and I look down upon her, not like a peaceful dove though, but like an eagle. Her one eye is swollen already, the veins around it busted. Her nose is now crooked, and blood pours out of it. Her face is all cut up, she's completely and utterly destroyed. But she still tries to breathe, her attempts to survive so pathetic it makes me want to just stomp her throat in right then and there. Her eyes find mine, and her tears begin to form, a disgusting attempt for pity. Her eyes search for anybody's sympathy. But nobody jumps to save her, nobody wants to. I looked down at her, so enraged I hadn't done this sooner, so mad at her, mad at myself for being so weak. Her breaths still try to rescue her, and I realize truly how pathetic she is, her tears rolling down her bloated face, mixing with blood along the way. To think I feared her, feared this. Then her silence is broken and she mutters something through her cracked voice and missing teeth, “ I just wanted… To save you all” She stops to cough up blood, then continues, “ I never meant to hurt anyone, I am the reason you all are alive... ME, I'M THE REASON YOUR CHILDREN STAY FED! I am the one who was brave enough to do what NONE of you would! I'm a hero! I'M A HERO-” *BANG*. The smoke off my gun rises slowly and fades into the air to reveal her face. Missing a chunk of flesh in the center of her forehead, and the pool of blood around her only grows larger. Her mouth is left open, an unfinished sentence dies on her lips, her gaze frozen onto mine. It's always the ones who think they are innocent who are the biggest threat to us all. Because at least a self-aware villain understands the consequences their own actions bear. But the innocent ones, they’re the ones who always fail to see the monster they have become. Which in the end is always more dangerous, not only to us but to themselves.
March ?, 1952
Tuuli
Pame is gone, Scarlett’s missing, Dr. Rayson's missing, the bodyguards are dead, and Clara’s dead. The inhabitants of this place are still so awkward and shy, I feel as if my dog and I are the only ones here that are truly alive. No one said anything when I pulled the trigger for the first time, and no one said a thing the last time. No protest, no action, no cries, they acted as if they had been watching a movie. As if they have fantasized about this moment for years, but were too scared to ever act on it. So, I stand above Claras body, the gun still suspended in the air, the ringing gone now but a new sound is taking its place. A sort of rumbling, a low and deep growl. I look up from Clara’s body and on my hand falls a small piece of rock. That's when the heard of people around me actually make some sort of sound. Its panicked mumbles. I bring my attention to the ceiling and see that the entire structure of Deadwood is shaking. Which in turn causes small rocks to begin to rain down upon us all. Nothing big or deadly of course, just small pebbles, but the masses which are used to their small homes and predictable lives, begin to scatter. They push against each other to the exit as if the place was being flooded. But that's when I started to worry too because above the rumbling ceiling, a shiny piece of metal pierces through. At first, it's just a little piece that's slowly spinning, then it grows bigger and bigger. I find myself pushing against the others to the exit when I turn to the sound of a scream. The metal is now ginormous and spinning furiously, the scream came from a young boy, and that's when I see him. A six or seven-year-old boy lays on the floor, his leg crushed under the weight of a boulder that fell from the ceiling. His mom is standing next to him, crying and screaming for anyone to help her son as she attempts to push the rock off the boy's leg. But no-one listens, and when she turns hoping to see a crowd rushing to her son's rescue, all she sees is a crowd running away, running for their own lives. She screams and cries more, her son crying below her, but no one bats an eye except for me, but even I am still pushing my way toward the exit. That's when her eyes find mine, and like a plea for mercy her eyes beg mine, the most pain I have ever seen in a pair of human eyes ever before, but they’re selfless cries and pleas, they’re for her son. But before I find myself running to her sons help, I force myself to break eye contact and turn around. Her screams only intensify, and the entirety of Deadwood only shakes more. As I finally reach the exit I turn to look upon her and her son once more and she is kneeled next to him, no one else around the two and she plants a kiss on his cheek. A tear falling from her face onto his. Then, another boulder comes crashing down and smashes the two, the only remnants left is their combined blood escaping from underneath the weight of the boulder. I look up and it becomes apparent that a drill is breaking through the ceiling. Its rough metal spinning so fast the blades blur into the drill and become one. Its huge, and is to the ground before I even know it. Sunlight hits the inside walls of Deadwood for what probably is the first time ever, and I turn to run to Chiko. I run. I just run. Without any regard for anyone or anything else, frankly without much regard for even myself. Because if Chiko isn't safe, how could I be? So I bolt through the door of my room, and snatch Chiko up from the corner he was curled up in. He’s shaking like a leaf on a windy autumn day, but I tuck him into my shirt propping him up with my arm stump. The walls are shaking in here now too, so I grab up any of my belongings and run out. As I run, my legs pounding into the ground then propelling me forward, I pass the abandoned stands of the merchants when a boulder comes crashing down in front of me. Surprised, I fell backward onto my ass. The weight of my body all collapsing onto my tailbone and I feel a sharp pain shoot up my back, originating at my tailbone. I stand, the pain shooting up my back again, but I must continue to the exit. I go around the boulder, each step more painful than the last and hobble as quickly as I can to the hatch. There's a group of people all gathered around it banging and hitting on it, in attempts to get it open, but it is sealed tight. I myself join the crowd that's gathered below the hatch, men and women all crawling toward the hatch on the net, trying their very best to force it open. But it doesn't budge. And all hope seems lost, a kid is crying next to me, her hands raised to her mom who is swinging above on the net, an elderly man is hunched behind me, his cane supporting his weight, which is primarily in his stomach. Chikos black glossy eyes look up at me in my shirt and appear to be asking the question we all are thinking, “are we gonna die?”. Everyone lets out a collective scream as the archway to the gathering hall crumbles into pieces. Trapping everyone left over there abandoned. Surely left for death. “ Hurry pull the stones out, we have to save them!” someone yells as they run toward the fallen arch, but the old man behind me lifts his cane and in a deep commanding voice says “If you pull those rocks, you may collapse this whole place. Do not touch them.” But the teen pushes through the old man's cane, ignoring the warning. “Don't.” I say, the click of my pistol freezing him in time. The kid turns slowly, “We can't just leave them!”. “Yes we can.” I tell him “Screw this, my sister is over there! Get out of my way.” He growls, but I don't move and nor does my gun. He pushes on my shoulders and I slap him across the face with my gun. A fight is on the brink of existence when a cane flies into the back of the teens head. He turns and tackles the old man. I go to kick him off when someone screams to stop, “I HAVE THE KEY!” and everyone faces toward them. “You have the key?” someone repeats in question and the young woman who got everyone's attention pulls a silver key from her pocket and holds it in the air. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief and a pathway is cleared for her to the hatch. “Hurry!” someone shouts. But not everyone is completely relieved. “What about the others? What about my sister!” the teen yells but everyone else is to focused on their own escape to even process his words. Then the hatch is opened. The rumbling of Deadwood grows almost irrelevant as the sunlight shines in and falls onto my skin. The sweet warmth is an odd feeling after being down here, one I have missed. And so I grab ahold of the net, much like everyone else and begin pulling myself upward with one hand. The net sways side to side due to everyone's combined efforts of escape, but this fact is irrelevant when you see the sunlight of the day just above you. And so I crawl, we all crawl to our escape. I'm just about all the way up the long net when I hear a cracking sound, but I chalk it up to being the drills. But that's when the right side of the net flys downward dragging everyone attached to that part down. Being on the left means I’m okay, but the traffic now thickens and it has become a human net more than a rope one. But I fling my arm upward still. Determined to live. I step on others fingers who claw at my ankles and the ones above me step onto mine. But I still pull myself upward, I still try. That's when my hand goes to grip onto the next rope section when instead it clenches dirt. Dusty cool air blows onto my face from the outside, and with one final pull my whole upper body is free from Deadwood. I push my feet into the net below and propel myself up to freedom. My tailbone screams at me, but it fades back into the background again once I realize my surroundings. I look down into the hatch, like ants emerging from an ant hill, people spew outward and onto solid ground. And on my last glimpse, my eyes are drawn to the teenage boy tossing the rocks aside, unmoving in any attempts to flee but rather focused on helping others. But as I begin to look up, my ears fill with what sounds like a million boulders clashing against each other and the entrance to Deadwood is completely gone, one last person manages to scathe their way out, but everyone else is trapped below, under the weight of mother Earth, they are now bound to their coffin. But gunshots pull me away from my thoughts and all around me herds of people converge in battle. Some barring guns, others their hands. And as my eyes catch the red and black decals and black leather trench coats it becomes completely apparent that these are officers. I try to run deeper into the woods, but am stopped when I cross paths with one of the huge drills, which has destroyed Deadwood. The officer inside sees me and draws his gun, a brown and black AK47 is being lifted in his arms with me in mind, but as he goes to open the drill’s door, I pull up my pistol and fire. The shot hits his leg and he yells, his gun firing along the ground in the process, and I lift mine again and put another shot in him, this one through his chest. I run to the drilling machine and pull the gun from his dead grip. It's much heavier than I thought it would be, but without another arm able to support the front of the gun I rely on my one arm's strength to be able to aim and shoot. I'm grasping the new gun in my hand when another officer runs toward me, I lift the gun and shoot off a round of bullets in his direction, but thanks to my unfamiliarity with this gun the rounds land in his pelvis region, and the shots were sloppy. Just to be safe I run to the downed officer and put a bullet through his head, and searched his coat quickly for anything helpful. My fingers clutch what I thought to be a pack of ammo, but it was only a pack of cigarettes, and upon inspection of his good taste I pocket the Marlboros. I decide in that moment that instead of running like last time, this time I want to be a part of the revolt, the battle, I want to make Uncle proud. So instead of cowering and passing out, I run back into the chaos and rage of war, a gun that's oversized for my body in my arms, a pistol tucked into my tight jeans, and a puppy dog secured tightly under my shirt, that is what I run with, that and the anger that hasn't left my body since I killed Clara. As I backtrack to the now broken hatch door of Deadwood, an officer and person from Deadwood wrestle on the ground. I lift the AK47 and send a shot through the officer's head, the man giving me a nod of appreciation as he runs off. I push ahead to the crowd of people that's formed around the officer's black and red jeeps and fire rounds at every officer I lay my eyes on. The people raged. The people fought. And momentarily I felt like I was right back at the beginning of all this, the crowd that fought until they died, the ones that died because they fought. But this time, I refuse to let others die while I hide, I refuse to let the officers take everything away from me again. So I fire my rounds and watch every single one hit its target, dropping them instantly. The people around scatter to get the officer's guns and begin chanting a chant all too familiar, “EAT THE RICH, EAT THE RICH” I run to the crowd and jump onto one of the jeep's beds. I position myself toward the fighting by Deadwood's entrance and try to scout out any officers. I fired rounds into the treeline and saw some officers fall after my shots, others were running and were too hard to hit, but I fought nonetheless. People around me were shooting into the treeline as well and most were still chanting. I felt brave, I felt undestroyable. That was until I heard a rattling, a sort of metal on concrete sound and then someone screaming “GRENADE!” I covered my head because I knew I couldn't run fast enough, then there was a bright orange blast, then I saw nothing. I heard nothing, and for a moment I thought I was dead. Then my senses began to come back to me and my ears were filled with a high-pitched deafening ring. My eyes open and as if it were the first time I ever opened them they are filled with a blinding amount of sunlight. The pitched ringing fades slowly and the sunlight dims and I realize I'm trapped. Chiko is still in my shirt, but he’s holding his leg funny. I try to move but barely can, I look over to my side and right next to me, stabbed into the ground is a car door, right where my arm would have been if it were not amputated. My remaining arm then starts to feel a warm, slightly thick, liquid pooling around it. I look up and right above me is a mans lifeless body, whos blood and guts is leaking onto my arm. He was impaled in the stomach by another car door and his eyes remain open and look like they are staring into my soul. On Top of my legs lies a hurley man whose weight is crushing me. I push as hard as I can and manage to roll him over and off of me, somethings wrong with my foot and I can't bear to put much weight on it. So I stand with most of my weight on my left foot and look for my gun. I was flung about 100 feet from where the jeeps were previously parked and landed on a hilled grassy area. But no matter how hard I looked I couldn't seem to find my gun anywhere, and my breaths began to speed up. There are people who want to kill me extremely close to me, and I'm hurt and defenseless. I spiral, all the what ifs, the whens, the hows, fill my head, then in a moment of clarity, I think “Tuuli, check the bodies for weapons.” So I run back to the two lifeless bodies and search them for anything helpful. Gunshots still fill the air and the first man has nothing helpful on him. The second man proves more helpful and has a Glock tucked into his pants pocket, replacing the one I had lost. So with the metal once again tucked snuggly into my palm I feel safer. I hobble to a large rock which I prop myself behind and rest my arm on, the barrel of the gun aimed at an officer in the distance, and I pull the trigger and drop one more. Then sight in another and *BOOM*, another drops to the ground. Then one more, and another, and another. But as I fire my last shot the entire world falls silent, there's no other shots in the forest, and no other shots in the distance, I don't even hear anybody, no screams, no shouts, no cries. It's like the world froze. It's silent like this for one moment, minutes pass and I hold my gun steady, pointed in the direction of Deadwood. Then someone emerges from the treeline, I point my gun at them, but refrain from shooting, because they aren't an officer, there just some person, dressed in the Deadwood signature jumper, then another person, not officer, emerges. Then another. I watch in disbelief, did we really win? Did we really kill all of the officers here? Then there's this sound, like thunder clapping in the sky, but the sound isn't coming from the sky, but rather the ground. Then I hear faint chants, but their words are inaudible. I stand from behind my rock and turn toward the direction of the sound. The remaining people by the treeline turn to, I quickly limp toward the road and meet the others. We walk toward the sound, us armed raise our weapons, and curiously we walk on the road back in the direction of my old town. As we make our way to the edge of the road before it takes a dip downward, the thunder gets louder, and that's when I realize it's not thunder at all, it's marching. Below us emerges a ginormous group of people, they look so tiny from here but the numbers are undeniably there, thousands cover the span of at least a mile and only more come into our view. Their thunder-like marching is so in sync and intimidating that it floods over the hills of the road like a tsunami of power. That's when their chants become clear, they are chanting “Eat The Rich!” and they are headed my way,
THE END
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