Monsters, Hunters, and Mothers

There was a whole world underneath us. We hadn’t expected that. When the war started, so did the digging. They dug deep into the earth, all over the country, to awaken beings that had been sleeping there, for years and years and years, they told us, waiting for this moment. The moment was a world war and to continue as a superpower country, as a country that thinks they can’t be harmed, our president said,

“Do it. Unearth them.”

I know this because my husband, James, had the news on every night around that time, the blue flickering light dancing across his weary face. The president, old with loose skin around his eyes and throat, had said these words while staring into the camera, his wrinkled finger pointing towards the ground. I had found the whole thing dramatic and cheesy, laughing as he stared at me from the safety of my living room. But James didn’t laugh. I think he knew more than he told me he did.

“Pretty soon they will grow a taste for blood,” he had said of the creatures being dug up.

This was before we knew anything about them. When he said this, so many months ago, I had pictured little ghouls, lanky things with bumpy skin and yellow teeth, with their jaws around a plump woman’s thigh, their canines poking into her flesh. I don’t know why I pictured it to be a woman. It might have been because, at that time, I was recovering from giving birth, from being pulled apart. My baby girl came into this world, fast and angry, only to not breathe as she emerged from my body. As James spoke of betrayal, of creatures of war who could inflict damage and devastation, I could only think of my dead daughter. I already felt like everything had been taken from me. What could these monsters do?

*

I have been alone for 103 days. I’ve been walking for months across what is left of the desert, now an even harsher place with the threat of being found at any moment. But I’m getting closer to water, to the ocean where I once called home. I can feel it. California was always an interesting place, where you could find the sea and the desert close to one another, two extremes. But I never knew how much desert there was until I found myself lost in the middle of it. Now the desert isn’t smooth, with velvety hills and proud cacti sprouting splashes of magenta flowers against the blue sky. Now it is riddled with holes, some the size of a human body, some the length of a truck, some even bigger than that. This is where the digging started. The mounds of sand make good hiding places at night. I have had to become one with this wasteland to survive. Dust clings to my eyelashes, in the cracks of my split lips. Everything tastes like dirt.

What emerged from those holes were not human. We simply called them monsters because there wasn’t any other word we knew to describe them. The big ones, pulling themselves from the dirt with thick, swollen arms, had mouths that filled up most of their face, rotten teeth with sharp points. They had powerful legs and were smart enough to take orders. The President’s army had weapons made for them, hammers and stakes and axes, triple the normal size. As soon as they emerged, they went to work, clearing homes and neighborhoods, woods, and playgrounds, to make space for their camps. The president was a weak man, you see. The monsters were buried here for emergencies. Although now that I know what they are I can’t imagine an emergency that would ever warrant their use. He thought our war with surrounding nations was enough reason to bring them from the ground. And when his people rebelled against this plan, he turned the monsters on us. Men always want more power. They can’t get enough.

Devastation began to move along the coast, cities falling to waste, one by one like dominos. Then they dug up the smaller ones. The Hunters. These monsters were sneaky. They could smell you from miles away. They could run fast. They were very good at taking orders, too.

James had grabbed my arm so tightly on the day the bombs started to drop, that a purple bruise began forming before he even let go. He told me to pack everything I could, as fast as I could. My body felt as though it was moving through molasses, sad and slow, still healing from giving birth. I had shut my eyes as we drove away, the people around me in the height of chaos. There is something so ugly about human fear. But also, I couldn’t watch my beloved ocean fade away in the distance. James had brought me there, by the sea, after we were married and I had fallen in love with the frothy blue waves, with the spongy shore, with the steady lullaby of its predictable and constant movement. I craved so much back then. Stability, home, family. All the things I never had as a child, my father a drinker, my mother a wanderer.

That first night we spent in our home by the sea, I cried joyful tears and I swore they tasted different than the tears I was used to shedding. Tart as cherries. Although I didn’t know it yet, my daughter had already begun to grow inside me. That night, I felt the pull of the ocean as if she were about to wrap me in her embrace. Like a mother would, loving and steadfast.

We drove for days to try to escape. Through the desert for miles and miles. We thought we were far enough away, but the Hunters still found us. They pulled us from our car. They took James away from me. I don’t know how I managed to outrun them. Most days I wished I hadn’t. In my escape, I got turned around. I had no idea where I was then and I don’t know where I am now, but I’ve been spending my days walking in the direction I hope will bring me home. At night, I dream of the ocean, of James’ face. I pray that he is back by the sea with the waves lapping at his feet, waiting for me. And I hide, from those that hunt me.

*

I touch the pink ribbon I have tied around my wrist as I approach it. An abandoned barn. I’m happy in what little way I can be, after walking for so long. My feet are blistered, most of my toenails gone. My hair has begun to dread itself at the base of my neck which leaves a constant itch I have grown to ignore, thanks to the pain in my feet. I found the ribbon on my third day out here, twisted around a tree branch as if the wind had plucked it from a little girl’s hair. I thought of the girl it must have belonged to and I thought maybe her name might have been Rosie, a cheerful name to match the vibrant hue of the ribbon. In such a colorless land, this little piece of fabric has become a comfort to me. Sometimes I speak to Rosie, I pretend she is traveling with me. At night, I whisper her name over and over, my evening prayer. Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. Take me to the sea.

The corral still smells of hay and cow shit as I make my way to the barn. It is in one piece, and I’m relieved to find it empty. I’m hungry but it’s not safe to wander around and forage at this time of night. After weeks of living off small animals, I dream of black olives. I crave that soft flesh, that brininess. I want salt. Sometimes I even dream of filling my mouth with ocean water when I get there. I find a space in the corner of the barn, where I hope to be hidden. I haven’t seen a Hunter in days but that doesn’t mean they aren’t close. When we had been leaving our city all those months ago, I had heard someone say the Hunters don’t like water. That because they came from the earth, the sea had the power to harm them. At the time, I couldn’t believe these fierce, angry things could have a weakness. But now, I’m desperate to know if it’s true.

*

I awake before the sun has gone down. This is the longest I have slept in days. I feel like a baby bird, wrapped in her nest and for a moment I wish that someone would come to feed me. To repair my ravaged body, to clean my hair. As I pull myself from my hay nest, something falls to the dirt floor with a soft thud. I get on my hands and knees, pushing the hay and dirt around. A flicker of gold catches my eye. It’s a necklace, a heart-shaped locket. It is tarnished and faded so I spit on it to remove the excess grim, rub it on my shirt. Inside the locket, there is a faded picture of a cat. Its feline eyes wild as if ready to dart away as soon as the camera flashed. I think it must have belonged to a child. For a moment, I’m filled with rage, an anger that makes my skin feel hot and itchy, that I have uncovered the remains of yet another little girl, like my ribbon. Why must I see this kind of loss when I have already witnessed it? The cat reminds me of the baby blanket I had ready for my daughter, covered in cartoon kittens. As I hold the locket in my palm, a warm rush comes over me, something I can only describe as otherworldly. Talia, I whisper. The name I was going to give my baby. That is what I name this one. Another spirit to walk with me, to bring me to the sea.

Suddenly, I hear a noise from outside the barn. The deliberate movement of hay, the closing of a gate. I get low to the ground, stuff the necklace in my pocket. As I press my body against the barn walls, move closer to the door, I hear footsteps on the roof. Two loud slams are all it takes for them to come crashing in. Dust and wood and hay explode around me, my ears ringing. Three, no five Hunters land in front of me. As the dust settles, I have one hand on the door frame, ready to pull myself up. I run hard, out into the sunlight. I hear them behind me, their loud ragged breath.

I’m running with all my strength. I feel the necklace in my pocket, a strange weight for so small a thing. I run away from the barn, through a patch of trees. It is then that I smell it. That cleansing smell of water, the brininess of the sea. The trees are beginning to part to reveal shimmering blue. The Hunters make a ghoulish noise behind me. I don’t look back. I have waited for this moment for so long it almost feels like a mirage, a trick of the eye. Dirt and stones kick up at my feet as I feel their bodies getting closer and closer to me. I reach for the locket, hold it tight in my hand. I think of James, of his loving smile. Of my daughter, who in a way, I’m holding right now. The Hunters scream behind me as I plunge into the ocean, her great waves pulling me in. I let myself be taken by her tide. A mother and her two daughters, drifting out to sea.