Cutthroat, and Other Nightmares

     I force my eyes open, one after the other.  Every time that I yawn, I close my eyes, and I sleep for a few minutes.  Then I start the process all over again.  About the fifth time “hitting my snooze button,” I take in my surroundings.  No wonder I can`t get up.  It`s pitch black.  My internal clock went off extremely early.

     I try to go back to sleep, but my head is throbbing uncontrollably.  It`s like being at a rock concert…where I`m the drum.  It`s in the front of my head, and I just hold my head with my hands putting pressure to try to stop the beating.

     Even through my pain, I am able to be thankful for all the good things I have gained through this journey.  Things like a sister and a friend, and renewed value of life, and a full stomach.  Im also glad that I was attached by the panther and not Cat, because Cat is so small she could have been killed more easily.

     When I turn around, I can barely make out Cat`s figure, even though she`s sitting up.

     “Cat, it`s me, go back to bed,” I whisper, trying not to wake up…uh…nobody.

     “I can`t,” she whispers back, “I`ve been awake for a while wishing for something to eat.”  Cat scoots herself next to me, and I hand her a fist full of nuts, and we both eat as we watch the sun slowly rises over the horizon.

     “Can we go somewhere today, this place creeps me out.”  Cat says.

     “Yeah, I`m ready to get a move on, too,” I say.

     After breakfast, I remove my bandage, clean it in the river, and attempt to put it on.  After a few failed attempts, and it slipping all over my face, Cat asks with her arms folded across her chest, “Need help?”

     I hand her the bandage, and she wraps it around my wound, with ease.  “Thank you,” I tell her.

     “No prob, let`s go,” she says eagerly and then runs a few feet ahead of me.  Then she looks back and asks, “You coming?  Or are you going to stay with the bones all day?”

     Bones?  “The panther`s bones?”

     “Yeah,” she says with a bit of an attitude attached to it.

     “I`m coming.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and follow her up the mountain.

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     By now, I am just placing my feet down wherever I feel like it.  I don`t pay any attention to the thorns that puncture my shoes and feet.  Even if I did pay attention to them, I don’t think it would matter, because my feet are so numb that I probably wouldn’t feel it.  After hours of placing one foot in front of the other, and having the sun beat down on me, I don`t think that I can take it any longer.  My hair has so much sweat in it, that it`s turned from dry to extremely oily.  My sweat is replenishing the gauze with moisture.  My poor back is sweating like crazy, and well, let`s just say that I am currently bathing in sweat.

     My skin has already turned three shades of brown and one shade of pink from today only.  I won`t even begin to think about all the cancer that is inevitable, because of my excessive exposure to the sun.  My skin is on fire!  It`s sensitive to even the slightest touch, and I can barely bend my arms, but really, what`s new?

     Cat is walking along the riverbank.  She walks like a bride going down the aisle, listening to the birds sing in perfect harmony.  She only stops to pick up a wild, purple flower, which she adds to her ever-growing, colorful bouquet.

     The bird`s sonnet seems to carry Cat as if she had her own set of wings.  Their song doesn`t affect my broken down legs, though.  “Cat, let`s rest, and eat something,” I request, plopping myself down on the still wet grass.  I`m not letting her have any other way, but it doesn`t matter anyway, because Cat is already seated on the ground by the time that I pull out our very last coconut.  I break it open, just like the rest, and hand Cat the slightly larger half.

     I have become so fond of coconuts, that I find myself licking the inside of the shell, just to get a hint of the sweet flavor.  I make myself a mental note: Never eat coconuts in front of Mariah.  She would be horrified if she saw me eating like a pig. Yet again, if I ever need a pick-me-up, I know exactly what to do.

     When I am certain that I have drunk every drop of the juice, I raise my head to find Cat staring at me.  Her eyes dance with amusement and wonder.

     “Want mine too?” she asks mockingly, holding the empty shell out to me.

     “No thanks, it`s yours,”  I reply.  We both stand up and get a move on.  Our energy has fully returned.

     An hour later, we approach a small clearing with a large object in the center.  Must be some sort of farm, I tell myself. I mean, how else could the grass be so green, and everything look so perfect.

     As we walk closer, I realize that it`s not a house…or a barn…or any normal object…but a boat, a real, wooden boat!  My stomach starts turning inside out as I realize that we will need a plan if someone lives there.  I don’t know who it is, so I`m counting them as a threat to Cat and me.  After all we`ve experienced here, you just never know. 

     I stand staring at the boat for what seems like days.  A black, tattered pirate flag sways in the light

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breeze.  One edge of the boat is smashed into the ground, indicating that this island must have been underwater at one time.  The wood looks like it is fairly new, and something about the boat reminds me of one of those fun pirate ships at the beach.  I feel Cat`s eyes glued on me, and it is like they are asking, “What`s the plan?”  Even though this looks like a “fun” ship, something tells me that this is a life or death situation, and the carefulness that I put into my plan will determine the outcome.

     We can`t go around the clearing, because it stretches for miles upon miles, and the safest way to go up the mountain is on this track.  The only plan is to make it to the forest on the other side.  “When I tell you to run, you run with every ounce in your body,” I warn, not even bothering to ask if she understands me word for word, which is vital for this mission.  I know that she realizes the full danger of this clearing.

     We speed walk for about fifteen or so feet, when am old man cries out in a hoarse voice, “Stop right there!”

     “Run!”  I yell, not even bothering to consider the fact that it`s just an old geezer.  We both break for the trees.  Cat, with her angel wings, flies into the trees in a matter of seconds.  I`m only a few feet from the thicket, when he trips me with his cane, making me fly face first into the ground.  I know I fought the panther, but this is different.  How could I even think about getting out of this bind alive!

     I slowly turn onto my back to face a shirtless, hairy man, whose beard touches his fat stomach.  A crude wooden leg completes the picture.  Wiping my bloody nose on my shirt, I ask, “Who are you?”  Black Beard?  Black Caesar?  Calico Jack?  I thought all pirates were long dead, but I must be mistaken.

     “Who am I?  Who am I?” he repeats enraged.

     Yeah, that`s what I`d like to know.

     “I am Cutthroat, terror of the seven seas!  But the real question, princess, is who…are…you?”

     “Blade,” I spit the name at him, because nobody ever calls me princess.

     “Blade,” he snickers, “that ain`t a name.  What`s your real name?”

     “The proper word is isn`t,” I correct him.

     “Do I look like I care?  Now, I asked you a question.  Answer it.”

     “Abigail,” I say between my teeth.  “But only my mother called me that.”

     “Called?  What happened to her?”  He asks intruding into my personal life.  

     The scene plays through my head for the millionth time since her death.  Tears flood my eyes as I recall my dreadful mistake.  I can hear the rough gang pounding on our heavy door.  They hated my family, because my dad, the police officer, had just put their drug-dealing leader in the slammer.  The

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bolted door gave my mom enough time to hide me and baby Tie in the secret room, next to the fireplace.  As she was shutting the door, I grabbed her neck, and wouldn`t let go for the life of me.  Our eyes met for one last moment, and she whispered, “It`s okay.”  Her last words to me, “It`s okay.”  She then took my arms off her neck the sweat resting on my wrists, and she shut the door quietly.  She had only run a few feet away from us, when the Skulls broke down the door.  They drug her out of the house, as she cried, “Help! Help me, please!”

     The next thing I heard was the gunshot, and everything ended.  My mom`s short twenty-seven years…our friendship…my childhood, it all ended at the bloody hands of the Skulls.  At that moment, I became Tieson`s mother, the only one he would ever know.

     At the gunshot, Tieson jumped and began crying.  Luckily, the Skulls didn`t hear him, because they would have done the same thing to us.  I believe that after they shot my mom, someone or something scared them away, so that they weren`t even there when Tieson started crying.

     I remember staying in that dark, cramped place hugging my brother to my chest.  The tears rushing down my face added to the dampness.  I recall thinking, Who would do that to my mommy?  What did she ever do to them?

     I stayed hidden for as long as I could stand the moldy walls and my aching body.  My knees that had been pressed against my chin and Tie`s body, were killing me.  I remember walking out of what was left of the door, and seeing my mother.  Blood covered her youthful, pain-filled face.

     Dad moved us from Florida to North Carolina that week.  He said that he needed to keep the Skulls away from us, but I knew that he couldn`t bear to look at the blood stained sidewalk, or mom`s favorite spot at the lake.  Dad immediately got the police job that he holds currently, and plunged himself into it.  He worked for hours on end, and I knew that he was overworking himself, so I begged him to slow down, which he did.  I couldn’t lose both of my parents so soon.

     Every day after that, as I adjusted to being Tie`s mom, the thought that I let my mother die filled my young mind, and haunted my every dream.  I didn`t share many of these feelings, though, fearing that they might hurt my dad.

     I snap back to reality, as Cutthroat is lifting his heavy cane.  He brings it above his head, and with one swift motion, brings it down.  The cane glimmers in the sunlight, and this is the first time that I realize that this is not a cane, but a sword!  I kick one foot up, to hold up his wrinkled, fat arms.  Then I kick his wooden peg with my other foot.

     This buys me a few seconds to jump to my feet and into the trees.  Cutthroat is quick to his feet, though, and is already chasing me into the woods.  All the while, he is screaming his dirty threats at us, “I`ll get you little girls, and when I do you…you`ll be sorry!”  He also screams some other nasty threats at us, that lightening should strike him for.

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     I feel like I have wings to run on.  As Cutthroat`s weight bears him down, my slender body is carried by the wind.  It`s like I`m running on air, or bounding on a flat plain.

     “Ah!”  I yell at the sudden, wrenching pain in my left leg.

     Cat looks back to see me holding my bloody foot, with an animal trap sinking it`s metal teeth into the vulnerable flesh right above my ankle.  I try to free myself, but with every jerk, pain surges through my leg.  Cutthroat and his filthy mouth are coming closer and closer.

     “Go.  I`ll be fine,” I choke, looking back at Cutthroat.  He stares at the ground, and intently examines where to place his foot before doing so.

     “Booby trapped,” I whisper.

     “What?”

     “Be careful where you step, the whole area must be booby trapped.”  I explain.

     Cat drops to her knees, and grabs the bear trap.

     “What are you doing?  I told you to get out of here.”

     “I`m not leaving you,” she shakes her head.

     She pulls on both ends of the trap, and separates it a few inches.  Her eyes bulge out of their sockets, her lips lock together, and her arms shake ferociously from the difficulty.

     I slowly wriggle my foot out of the trap.  The cold teeth rip off my flesh, causing even more searing pain.  My biggest fear?  That I`m moving too slowly, and Cat won`t be able to hold it any more.  There`s already a two centimeter deep incision in my leg.  It`s a wonder that I still own my left foot!

     My foot is finally free, and Cutthroat is a few feet away.  We jump into the bush beside us, and hope for the best.

     In a few minutes, he has made his way right in front of us.  Please don`t see my blood track.  He bends down, picks up the heavy trap, and runs his finger across the blood.  Then he shakes his head a little bit, letting his black curly locks shake too, and says, “Not worth it.  She`ll be dead by morning.”  Then he walks away, keeping a close eye on the ground.

     Cat turns to me and says, “We need to do something.  I can`t lose you.”  He eyes begin to sprinkle, “Why is it always you who gets hurt?”

     “Cat, it`s fine.”  I say, sternly, unraveling the bandage on my head, and transferring it to my ankle.  “I`m okay.”  Okay is a great word, if you count rapid blood loss okay.  I`ve lost all feeling and color below my wound.  “Let`s get going, it will probably make my foot feel better.”  Not!

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     I struggle to my feet, and put all my weight on my right foot.  Currently my left is just for decoration, and I drag it behind me, as if it were a deflated balloon on a string.  We watch the ground for booby traps, but find none, so we decide that Cutthroat didn`t lay any further ones.

     “Did you hear that?”  Cat asks.

     “What?”  It is just silence here.  Then a bird gives a vicious, chest call.  “That?”  I ask.  Why is Cat so uneasy about a bird`s call?

     Cat throws her knife at a bird seated in the bush a few feet up from us.  She hits it right in its deep, red chest.  It plummets to the ground, puncturing the earth with its long, thin beak.

     I stare at Cat half in awe at her perfect marksmanship, and half in confusement as to why she killed this innocent bird.  It`s just not like her.  She`s too tenderhearted to kill an innocent animal.

     “Fast Kills,” she says, nodding to the diseased bird.  “If you don`t kill them quickly, they spear you to death.  These are smart birds.  They spear you in many different places, to cause pain, then they stab you on the left side of your Adam`s Apple, to finish you off.”

     “Why?”  I ask, even more confused.

     “They uh…their food is…um…human blood.  When they can`t catch us, though, they eat each other,”  she explains hesitantly.  “They never drink from something dead, but always from the freshest spring.”

     I feel like barfing.  With this news, who could hold down their lunch?  “How do you…know this?”

     “My mom…she didn`t die from a fever.  I was three when they attacked her.  All I remember is the blurred birds, spearing her, as my father carried me away.  When I was younger I was mad at my dad for not chasing them away, but now I understand that there was nothing he could do.  If he would have tried to chase them away, they would have killed all of us.”

     “I`m so sorry, Cat.”  When she was younger?  Well I suppose she is mature for her age.

     “It`s okay.  We need to get out of here.”

     “Why?”

     “Where there`s one, others are waiting to drink the leftover blood.”

     “Then let`s go!”  I exclaim, as I pluck the knife from the strange bird`s chest, and wipe the knife clean on the grass.  “Your knife, Miss Perfect Markswoman.”

     She falls into a fake curtsy and thanks me.  Then we hightail it out of there, before a different Fast Kill spears us to death.  Every now and then, a Fast Kill gives his ferocious call.  Every time this happens, I look over my shoulders and scan everything around me.  My heart is probably set on hypertension mode

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for the rest of my life    

The forest gets darker and darker.  My knife is now permanently attached to my hand.  I stare into the trees, trying to put myself one-step ahead of the Fast Kills.  Every time the leaves rustle in the light breeze, I jump, my body stiffens, and my hands fly to my throat.

     “Don`t choke yourself over the rustling of a few leaves,” she warns.  Then she laughs, “You`re way to jumpy.”

     “How can you stay calm, with all those birds out and about?”

     “Darling, this isn`t America.  Animals around here only feast once a day, and before you came, I was part of that group.”

     “How do you know that they`ve already eaten?”  I retort, wondering how she`ll match this one.

     “Are you being attacked?”

     “No.”

     “Then they`ve eaten.”

     In a few minutes, we exit the dense part of the woods, and decide to set up camp.

     The roaring fire adds to the unbearable heat and humidity.  We roast a few nuts, while the heat roasts us.  When I offer some to the girl, who is intensely staring into the fire, she just shakes her head.  I pop a few nuts into my mouth, setting it on fire.   It`s not the heat that makes it hard to swallow the nuts, but the fact that I am once again reliving my mother`s death.  That October morning plays through my head.  In the morning I was a happy-go-lucky girl, playing outside, because Mom saw that my concentration wasn`t where it was supposed to be, during school, so she gave me the day off.  At night, I was sobbing on my pillow, watching Tieson sleep soundly.

     Is this what Cat is thinking about?  Her mom and her horrible death?  Is this why Cat`s face is ghastly pale, or is she sick again?

     “I know what`s it`s like.”  I whisper just loud enough for Cat to hear me.  Cat still stares into the fire, not saying a word.  “To lose a Mom.  I lost mine six years ago she died around this time.” 

     “What happened?”

     “Some men broke into our house and shot her.”

     “Why?  Who would do such a thing?”

     “They were angry at my family, because Dad threw their leader in jail.  So they got revenge.  The worst revenge they could ever dish out.” I can`t cry now!  I need to be strong for Cat.  Besides, Storm`s

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never cry, at least in front of others.

     “I`m sorry, Blade.”

    “She was always saying how she was ready to go.  Not that she wanted to leave us, but when the time came she knew she was ready.  She was a Christian, and at some point I considered myself a Christian too, but ever since her death, dad and I have written God off.  He let my mom die, so what good could He be to us anyway?  What loving God would take a young mother from her children?  I don`t have all the answers, but I try not to think about them.  I don`t need God, and He doesn`t need me.”

     “Oh ok.”

     That`s all she says, ‘Oh ok.’  That’s why I love Cat so much, she`s not one for words.  “Let`s turn in for the night.”

     She simply walks over to me, and rests her head on my lap.  Depression sweeps over her, and I only wish that I could help her bear her memories.  Her eyes are still focused on the fire.  I begin stroking her mud-clumped hair.  Wonder what mine looks like?  I think, reaching up to feel my own clumpy hair.  As I am stroking Cat`s hair, I find a small patch of blonde, onto which I focus my strokes.  Her hair is extremely oily and knotted, but I`m sure with a little work, it could be gorgeous.

     Cat`s eyes finally say “good night” to the world, and “hello” to a nightmarish night.  After a while, I lift her head and place it on the soft dry ground.  Then I lie down beside her, and put my arms behind my head.  I stare at the sky, and try to forget about my mother.  It would be nice to have a peaceful night`s rest for once in six years.

     My thoughts turn to Riley and Mariah, as I drift off to sleep, but it`s Riley who I dream about!  There`s this girl in his arms whom I don`t recognize.  I`m furious as I stand there watching them make googly eyes at each other, but they don`t even seem to acknowledge my appearance.  Riley and girls…yeah, but Riley holding a girl whom I`ve never seen…no way!  He would have gotten clearance with me, before he would even begin to think about liking a girl.  That`s how close we are.  We check out the people to see if they would be a good match for the other.  But not this time!  Now he just goes without me and slow dances with some girl!  How long has this relationship been going on?  I can`t believe he would do this to me!