Chapter 1-An Encounter Under The Bridge

A Chapter by Nirmala Alba

I’ve always been a solitary person, but lately I found myself completely isolated from other human beings. That is when I wasn't kicking their asses. And that night was all the same. At least that’s what it looked like from up there, up in the roof of an old and deteriorated building. My knees were starting to hurt from being stuck on that freezing dark roof, but that’s what I did. I watched the city night like a bird of prey. The only difference between the bird and me would be the purpose of our watching. Instead of doing it for survival, I hunted for redemption.
I couldn't stand doing nothing, so instead of waiting for trouble to find me I decided it would have to be me the one who went looking for it. I knew places, stained with sin. Filthy places, where there was always someone who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. It is quite stupid to be wandering the streets after midnight unarmed, and even if you were packed up with guns, it would still be pretty reckless. But these were desperate times, and the people I tried to save were usually drunk fathers and husbands who didn't know how to deal with this messed up world. Sometimes, too many, they were young girls, looking for a man that'd rip off their innocent soul in exchange of money, if they ever paid. So I hunt for those who can’t and for those who won’t. I climbed down the building helped by pipes and window sills. It felt good to be moving again. As soon as I reached the cracked pavement I started moving swiftly, running faster and faster covered by shadows. The speakeasy I was looking for was hidden under a bridge that used to cross a river that now lays completely dry, just a memory, like so many other things after the war.
There was a single purple light bulb at the entrance of a steel door, a couple of gorila-men guarding it, and another three guys with trouble looking faces. One of them with the whole face covered with tribal tattoos, chatting and drinking against the wall. Not really what I was looking for, there was actually no one in need of my aiding. But I needed this, I needed the rush of a fight, I needed the adrenaline, I wanted to feel the pain of a punch, and the anger that comes with it. I wanted to feel strength filling my body, oxygen filling my every cell, blood irrigating my veins. I wanted to stop feeling stiff and cold, and useless and invisible. I needed to stop being quiet for a while and shout my heart out as I lunged my fist into somebody’s jaw. Just then, when I was about to come out of my hiding place and introduce myself to these gentlemen, a hooded man came rushing out of the door, knocking down the tattoo face's bottle of absinthe. For a brief moment music and voices escaped from their underground prison filling the otherwise silent air. As the door closed again the music disappeared. Tattoo face grabbed hooded man and gave him a good headbutt. Not a very bold move, now he was clearly trying to recover clarity as did his victim. I decided to return to my corner, it was a very promising fight. As a friend of tattoo man prepared himself to lunge a punch, the gorilla men grab the hooded, not sure if to keep him from causing more trouble or if to hold him still for the imminent hit. He then turned around freeing himself using his elbows hitting them both at the stomach at the same time. His hood fell down and I realized it was no man fighting against five thugs, but a boy, not much older than I was. Just a boy. I came out of my stupefaction when I realized two other huge man, bigger that the bouncers, coming out of the door. The boy was now surrounded by seven bigger and angrier men, and as much as I would have liked to watch how this all developed without my intervention I felt it was my duty to help him. After all, he looked like the pure definition of a poor soul in trouble. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting.’ They all turned around to look at me. I liked that, surprising, being noticed, being underestimated for my small figure, and then surprising them with my sharp tongue. ‘Wouldn’t want to ruin what clearly looks like a very beautiful dance. Because it is a dance right? Ballet, maybe? But please, by all means, go on.’ I smiled, the game was on.
One of them broke from the group and lunged for my face. But I was fast, and by the time his fist reached the place my face would have been I had already moved aside and had hit him twice in the stomach and once with the knee to the groin. Then what looked close to chaos broke free. Though fighting them was not all I was doing. I was freeing my inner cholera, with every move I made, every punch and kick I gave, I was welcoming my own darkness, enjoying the feeling of not being restrained. My breathing was going fast, and despite the cold, I was sweating, just the way I liked it. When I stopped four man were crawling at my feet trying unsuccessfully to get up. I saw then the boy trying to fight still two of the drunks. He wasn’t bad, not good as me, but for such skinny musculature he was holding up pretty good. ‘When you’re finished there,” he said breathing hard "you could give me a hand here.’ And it was that kind of comment that made my blood boil. Maybe I shouldn’t have reacted that way, but who did he think he was. I had to put four men down ‘cause he wasn’t clever enough as to stay home at night. So with four counted moves I had knocked down one of his attackers. With five I’ve punched tattoo guy twice in the face, twice in the ribs, and cut his lower arm with his own pocket knife. And with only one I cornered mister ungrateful guy, and held the knife to his throat. "I think the words you were looking for are ‘please’ and 'thank you’.”
As I said that I looked directly into his eyes, trying to figure out what was the deal with him. I knew my reasons for being out there looking for trouble, but what would he be doing in that rat nest.
“Alright. Alright, I’m sorry.” He babbled. “Thank you for helping me out”. He said nervously giving quick glances to the blade strongly pressed at his neck. I pressed the knife one last time before letting it fall to the stone floor, leaving a red thin line of blood on his skin. It really didn’t matter to me what his deal was with those man pursuing him. I helped people fighting, but I was not about to solve someone’s life problems. So I didn’t even give him a second glance as I walked back to the shadows, I didn’t even hesitate half a second as I heard a distant “wait”, and I didn’t even flinch or stop running until I was up high on a building’s roof.
It was all too tempting, talking to a person, getting involve with their affairs, exchanging knowledge, becoming a friend. So I ran, because that was just another night. Nothing important or worth to remember. Just another night in which I had to fight other men. A night in which I lost a little more of the now lacking faith in human kind I had in me. So no, I weren’t looking for a friend, I was just a hawk looking for a prey.
Times weren’t always like this. Before there were not curfews, or so many soldiers patrolling our city’s streets, people weren’t so scared, and people didn’t die for a simple theft. There was a time when men believed in democracy and human rights, they trusted and had faith in that system. Now all has changed. Of curse the past wasn’t perfect, after all it had led us to this mess.
In nights like this one, the hard ones, I felt as if my past was right behind me, tapping constantly on my shoulder, begging -no- commanding me to turn around and pay it attention.
So that is why I kept running that night, never looking back.
I once had a friend, of the good sort, of the best sort. He also had messy hair like the boy under the bridge, his name was Kyle and he was without any doubt the most talented and brilliant of us. But if something I’ve learned from the past is that qualities like goodness, loyalty, integrity, and compassion, may lead you to heaven, but not to a long lived life. You know what they say, ‘only the good die young’.
The building were I was at was also my safe house. No body lived here anymore, it was too close to the northern district. People flew from this area when the war started, and never came back once it was over. And twelve years later it remains empty, never a safe place again. But I didn’t mind. I stayed on the top flat, only used it to sleep and hide during the day, and of curse to watch out through the windows, not looking down to the streets like I did on my night hunts, but to look to the horizon, to the mountain lines surrounding both sides of the city, and the Elaine Lake heading south that provided the city with water. A beautiful view for such awful times.
That night I would go to sleep earlier, I was tired, and cold, and even though I knew my bed wouldn’t be much warmer, it was extremely welcoming.

I woke up with the first ray of light, still tired, and I wouldn’t have bothered waking up if it weren’t for my rumbling stomach. I couldn’t recall the last time I ate something. So I walked to the storage room, grabbing a sweatshirt on the way. All the food I kept here was either dried or canned. I longed for some eggs and toasts, but I would have to do with some beans and tuna instead. I ate my breakfast sitted on what I’m sure used to be a very fancy couch, looking out the window at the sun rising up. When I was finished I headed for the shower, the water was painfully frizzing, but at least I had water. My head started hurting and my limbs went numb, but I stood there looking at the fading purple and blueish spots covering my skin. I was good at fighting, I had been very well trained for it, but I was becoming too reckless lately, getting involved in unnecessary fights. I passed gently my hand through my left side. The ribs, the stomach, my heap. The rough texture of the now healed burn lay there as a reminder of what I lost. I quickly dressed up and put on my boots. I went down to the street, and swiftly moved with my hood up. There weren’t many patrols here, but then again I didn’t want to expose myself unnecessarily. I usually never walked the streets in plain day light, but I needed to get myself a new knife. Last one I had I broke it, and yesterday night instead of grabbing the one from one of those drunks, I simply threw it away as if I had many to spare. I would have to steal one now. There wasn’t any guards in sight, but I soon started to feel as if I was being followed. But every time I turned around, or looked to the sides, I saw no one. There are people who do not believe in that they don’t see, that’s just stupid. I couldn’t see my stalker, but I knew someone, was watching me. I fastened my pace, entering narrower streets, soon I was running, turned around a corner and abruptly stopped. My back was against the cold bricks of a house, my breathing going slower as I calmed my beating heart, and then I heard it, quiet steps approaching my little trap. By the sound of it I could tell it was only one person, and by the lacking sound of their characteristic boots I could tell it was no guard. I started counting back, three, two, one. He turned around the corner and with a simple move I pushed him against the wall where just two seconds ago I was resting my back. I used my lower arm as a knife, pushing it hard, to his throat. And then, when I was sure he wasn’t going anywhere I looked at his face, and realized who was I cornering for the second time that day.

“You”. I said accusingly with all the fierceness I could manage. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

He looked more surprised than he looked scared, and if I didn’t know better I’d say I saw a faint smile of approval on his face.

“I was following you.” He said as if this was the dumbest question he had ever heard.

“Obviously, the question is why.” This boy was getting on my nerves not because of his way of talking to me, but because he knew where to find me. I don’t know how, but he did, and that was unacceptable.

“I need your help. When I saw you fighting last night I knew you were the perfect one to help me out with my problem.” He tried to explain.

“I think you’ve got more than one problem, and right now I’m the main one. Listen out now, I don’t know what it is that you want, but you won’t find it here. So be smart for once and let me the hell alone. If you don’t you are going to end up pretty damaged, or worse.” I backed up, releasing him from my grip.

“You could try.” I heard him whisper.

“Excuse me?” I turned around to look at him.

“I said you could try, but trying’s all you’d do.” He was provoking me, he wanted to fight me, he was really that stupid. The smart thing from my part would have been to leave in that instant before a guard heard us and came poking around. But he was challenging me, and that was a treat I could not resist. I pulled back my arm clenching my fist, and threw it forward. He somehow managed to avoid it in the last second.

He was fast, but not enough as to skip the elbow waiting for his side. I hit him twice before he tried kicking me, in a split of a second I crunched to the floor swept my leg and made him fall. I sat on him, blocking his arms with my knees. He was mine, or so I thought. I wasn’t really going to kill him. I never killed, I may go around threatening to do it, but it wouldn’t make sense to seek for redemption by killing people. So once I caught him, I wasn’t sure what to do next. I was debating for a second whether to leave him unconscious or not when he suddenly made us flip around and had me now lying on the floor, he on top of me. But his face wasn’t of triumph, but of worry. He putted a hand in my mouth to keep me from making any noise. I didn’t know what to make of that, was he really going to try to abuse me? I stared fighting off of his grip, then he put a finger to his lips in a way to hush me. “Keep it down. Stop! There’s someone coming, three or four men.” He said. I shut it and then I heard the steps. Sensing my body relax, he let go of me. We stood up fast. I looked to my surroundings trying to find the best way out. But we were trapped in a a dead end street. We looked at each other, agreeing with a glance a truce. The fight was over, at least for now. I spotted an open window not too high above, with a little run I could jump through it. So I took a run and grabbed the window sill as best as I could, impulsing me inside. I took a deep breath, sweat falling down my temples, no guard saw me. I wanted to get the hell out of that place, leave and hide for the rest of the day, but deep down I knew it was wrong to abandon that boy there. I ripped off the curtains from the old room, and threw them to him as if they were ropes. “Hold it.” I said. “I’m gonna try pull you up”. It was hard, I wasn’t that strong, but I knew if I didn’t pull he would be dead if not for the guards, for the fall. So I kept pulling and pulling for what seemed eternity, until I saw him hopping in. We heard the guards entering the dead end street, talking and discussing whether it was a cat or a rat they heard. Maybe both I thought. Once they were well gone, the stranger started laughing in relief. “I’m Jasper by the way”. With a broad smile he extended his hand for me to shake it. That took me off guard. It was only one minute ago that I thought he wanted to abuse me or kill me. But I saw then the truth in his eyes. He was more like me than I thought. Someone young in the middle of this ruined city trying to survive. Fighting off his fears by fighting against those that scared him most, those that told him he wasn’t strong, that he was no one, that he would never be. But now he was just a boy, introducing himself to a girl. So I answered. “Rowan.” I didn’t shake his hand, but I kinda forced my lips to draw a faint smile. After all he was the one that heard the guards approaching. He kinda saved my life too.

Even though the guards were now gone and far from here, we stayed quiet in that house for a while. It’s not like we couldn’t have easily dispatched them, but you simply didn’t do that if you could help it.There was two main reasons for that, for starters they were the only ones who could own a gun in the whole country, even outlaws couldn’t get their hands in them, and secondly, if you ever attacked the General’s guards and got away with it, you would most definitely be hunted until you were caught, and the punishment for that could be worse than anything you could imagine or bare.

I walked over to a bookshelf hanging awkwardly on the floral papered wall, some books lay on the dusted floor. The deteriorated look of the house felt somehow fitting to the kind of person I pictured in my head lived there a long time ago. She would have been old, too old to fix the shelf, or to clean up the dust, or to pick up the fallen books. In my mind her hair was white and her hands wrinkled, and her smile as sweet as the tea she would offer to her visitors. Sometimes I liked to fantasize what would the people look like or their lives when I entered to their abandoned homes. I liked to imagine a reason, besides war and dictatorship, to justify the state of their homes. I picked on of the books “Befriending a wolf” by J.C. Bernard. How fitting I thought looking to Jasper. He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wall, and he was staring at me.
“What?” I asked as he didn’t look away.
“Nothing. Just wondering if you could read.”
“Well, I do. I loved it actually.”
“Now you don’t?” He asked.
“Times have changed, and reading doesn’t keep you alive.” I responded as I put the book back to its rightful place. I walked away from the shelf, and the old woman’s life. I went for the kitchen and found some cans, I stuffed my pockets with them for tonight’s dinner. When I was done I headed for the entrance door.

“Were you leaving without saying goodbye?” Jasper approached me with caution, like you might do if you wanted to befriend a wolf, and stayed just a few steps away. “I still need you’re help. Just hear me out, give me one minute to explain. Please.” I didn’t respond, but I stood there looking at him as a way for him to go on. He nodded, and started with his story. “It’s about my sister, and two other kids that live with us. I told them not to go out while I was gone, but they are kids, so I guess they left to go look for food or to play or something. When I came back they were gone, I got desperate, night had fallen, and it was past curfew. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so I asked around to any soul I could find, one led me to another and this to another, until I found a woman who saw some guards carrying children with them. I don’t know why they took them, they would never steal anything, not even food. So I went to the Purple Bullet to try to hire some mercenary to help me out. And as you saw, things didn’t go as planned. “ He took a deep breath, his eyes were red and puffy. “Rowan, I’m desperate.”

“27th Street, Southern District, number 12.” I said not looking at him, keeping my eyes fixed at the cracks of the wooden floor.
“What?” He sounded confused and somehow upset, as if I hadn’t been listening to him. But I had, the goose bumps on my skin, and the cold sweat that ran down my spine were proof of it. “27th Street. Southern District. Number 12.” I repeated. “That’s where they took them.”

next chapter

© 2015 Nirmala Alba

My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register

Featured Review

Shea McWilliams

"My knees were starting to hurt from being stuck in that freezing dark roof, but that’s what I did, I watched the city night like a bird of prey." - Instead of in I would use on and also, you could stop the sentence at the word did and split it into two and it might sound better.

"The only difference between the bird and me would be the propose of our watching, instead of doing it for survival, I hunted for redemption." - purpose not purpose and also could split into two sentences after the word watching.

"It is quite stupid to be wandering the streets after midnight unarmed, and even if you were packed up with guns, it would still be pretty insensate." - I think the word you wanted to use at the end here was intense, but I may be wrong.

"One of them broke from the group and lunched for my face." -lunged, not lunched. Although they sound similar.

"I ate my breakfast sited on what I’m sure used to be a very fancy couch, looking out the window at the sun rising up." - sitted, with two t's

Sorry if I was nit-picky, just wanted to be as helpful as I could. I do love this story though, very intense and suspenseful. Keep writing!
-Shea