run. And run. There’s nothing else we can do but run. All of our supplies are back at the camp, along with most of our weapons.
And Ulrich.
The bullet storm is behind us now, all but a murmur in the distance. As we stop to catch our breath, it ceases. My heart replaces the sound with drumming of its own, beating erratically. For every second of silence, I’m forced to wonder if Ulrich’s been killed. Now.
Or now.
Or now.
It’s maddening.
Then there’s an explosion and I don’t have to wonder anymore.
“No half measures,” I whisper to myself.
It’s impossible to know how many machines Ulrich took with him. I don’t doubt he took some, but it’s safer to assume the survivors will resume the hunt shortly.
Samuel and I make our way through the forest quickly, shrouded in grief and morning mist. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. There’s no time for eulogies. I remind myself I didn’t know Ulrich well enough to give him a proper one anyway.
Still, I rub my cheeks when Samuel isn’t looking, sucking in a shaky breath. In my present body, I hardly knew Ulrich, and barely liked him, but my old soul must have recognized a friend, because I’m infected with mourning.
Samuel has it worse than me. I know he’d never compare suffering, but it’s true. His willowy frame seems even less balanced as we move, at times stumbling over nothing. There’s something in his expression, some lack of comprehension. With his free hand, he keeps pinching his nose shut and swiping at his eyes.
“I’m sorry. About Ulrich,” I say.
He nods and keeps nodding for a long time. His lips are pressed tight together, sewn shut over a possible spillage of sorrow.
“He was my friend,” he finally says. The little smile he offers at this small realization is destructively sad. “I don’t…I don’t think he knew that. At least, I don’t think I ever told him. Isn’t that strange? We worked together for years, and I never told him I considered him a friend.”
“Well, Ulrich didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would spend a lot of time writing ‘Samuel plus Ulrich equals BFFs forever’ in a spiral notebook.” It’s weird to be talking about him in the past tense. He was such a present-tense person.
Samuel chuckles once, nodding again. He’s having trouble speaking.
“Besides, I’m sure he knew. Actions speak louder than words, after all. And, uh, friendship is a two-way street. There are other fish in the sea? Let me know when you start to feel better and I’ll know I’ve hit your aphorism sweet spot.”
His lips twitch with another smile, or maybe a grimace. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
“Is it working?”
“Yeah,” he says, though his eyes are still red and watery. I know he’s lying, but pretend to be duped and stop forcing conversation on him. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve through my graceless attempt at therapy; it was the equivalent of slapping a bandage on a sucking wound and then shuffling the patient along.
Everyone’s fine. Nothing to see here.
But this is not a shallow hurt. It needs to be experienced, exorcised,
felt,
in all its penetrating sadness. Both Samuel and Ulrich deserve this much: a brief interval to howl.
—
In the end, time accomplishes no healing, but it does bring us to the edge of the forest.
Small relief. We have nowhere left to go.
“What are the chances help will arrive within the next five minutes?” I ask Samuel, staring ahead at the snowy wasteland.
He squints up at the gray sky. I look with him. Thin cloud cover magnifies the sunlight, making it unbearably bright after we’ve been in the forest shade. “Truthfully? Not good.”
“How about untruthfully?”
The ghost of a smile graces his lips, but it’s gone too soon.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” I point out. “And there’s no cover out there.”
“We can skirt the tree line, head farther south. That’s really the only option I see.”
“Will help
And Ulrich.
The bullet storm is behind us now, all but a murmur in the distance. As we stop to catch our breath, it ceases. My heart replaces the sound with drumming of its own, beating erratically. For every second of silence, I’m forced to wonder if Ulrich’s been killed. Now.
Or now.
Or now.
It’s maddening.
Then there’s an explosion and I don’t have to wonder anymore.
“No half measures,” I whisper to myself.
It’s impossible to know how many machines Ulrich took with him. I don’t doubt he took some, but it’s safer to assume the survivors will resume the hunt shortly.
Samuel and I make our way through the forest quickly, shrouded in grief and morning mist. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. There’s no time for eulogies. I remind myself I didn’t know Ulrich well enough to give him a proper one anyway.
Still, I rub my cheeks when Samuel isn’t looking, sucking in a shaky breath. In my present body, I hardly knew Ulrich, and barely liked him, but my old soul must have recognized a friend, because I’m infected with mourning.
Samuel has it worse than me. I know he’d never compare suffering, but it’s true. His willowy frame seems even less balanced as we move, at times stumbling over nothing. There’s something in his expression, some lack of comprehension. With his free hand, he keeps pinching his nose shut and swiping at his eyes.
“I’m sorry. About Ulrich,” I say.
He nods and keeps nodding for a long time. His lips are pressed tight together, sewn shut over a possible spillage of sorrow.
“He was my friend,” he finally says. The little smile he offers at this small realization is destructively sad. “I don’t…I don’t think he knew that. At least, I don’t think I ever told him. Isn’t that strange? We worked together for years, and I never told him I considered him a friend.”
“Well, Ulrich didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would spend a lot of time writing ‘Samuel plus Ulrich equals BFFs forever’ in a spiral notebook.” It’s weird to be talking about him in the past tense. He was such a present-tense person.
Samuel chuckles once, nodding again. He’s having trouble speaking.
“Besides, I’m sure he knew. Actions speak louder than words, after all. And, uh, friendship is a two-way street. There are other fish in the sea? Let me know when you start to feel better and I’ll know I’ve hit your aphorism sweet spot.”
His lips twitch with another smile, or maybe a grimace. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
“Is it working?”
“Yeah,” he says, though his eyes are still red and watery. I know he’s lying, but pretend to be duped and stop forcing conversation on him. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve through my graceless attempt at therapy; it was the equivalent of slapping a bandage on a sucking wound and then shuffling the patient along.
Everyone’s fine. Nothing to see here.
But this is not a shallow hurt. It needs to be experienced, exorcised,
felt,
in all its penetrating sadness. Both Samuel and Ulrich deserve this much: a brief interval to howl.
—
In the end, time accomplishes no healing, but it does bring us to the edge of the forest.
Small relief. We have nowhere left to go.
“What are the chances help will arrive within the next five minutes?” I ask Samuel, staring ahead at the snowy wasteland.
He squints up at the gray sky. I look with him. Thin cloud cover magnifies the sunlight, making it unbearably bright after we’ve been in the forest shade. “Truthfully? Not good.”
“How about untruthfully?”
The ghost of a smile graces his lips, but it’s gone too soon.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” I point out. “And there’s no cover out there.”
“We can skirt the tree line, head farther south. That’s really the only option I see.”
“Will help
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